The Return to Jerz

Well I'm back in New Jersey, after a two day trip from Asheville, North Carolina. I left around noon on Monday, and with the help of Larry Miller's "Spoiled Rotten America" (book on tape--a collection of sometimes comedic essays) and Cormac McCarthy's "No Country for Old Men" (a wonderful novel by the author of "All the Pretty Horses", which while lamely titled, is one of the best novels in recent history), made it to West Virginia in style and with ease.





Arriving in West Virginia, I stayed with my Aunt Jean and Uncle Garry at their new house--a beautiful new structure that abuts a golf course in a rural area. Driving into their development, I passed turkey vultures flying and deer running. The whole scene was wonderful, and the nearby town of Hedgesville is, without a doubt, one of the quaintest, most "American Traditional" towns that I have ever seen.

We all shared a lovely meal and a couple of beers before relaxing on the couch and heading off to bed. Foolishly, I borrowed a book from my aunt to read before sleeping. Foolishly, I say, because the book contained so gripping a tale that I lay awake reading until late in the night.

The book was called "A Long Way Gone", by Ishmael Beah, and is the autobiographical tale of a boy that fought as a child soldier in Sierra Leone, and eventually escaped. It is harrowing, truly, and nearly impossible to recognize an accomplished drug-crazed killer in the smiling, Oberlin graduated face on the back cover. This young man fought for two years in the Sierra Leone army, from the age of twelve, in the midst of a confused and insane war. Reading of his guilt and following him through a period of rehabilitation was too amazing to interrupt until around two a.m. I woke in the morning to finish the book before leaving the house.



On Tuesday, I continued my drive, again with the continued help of Cormac McCarthy, and stopped in Harrisburg, PA, for lunch with my good friend Dan (owner of the moniker "Jesus Dan", on account of his hair and beard-style in college). We lunched outdoors at a local diner in lovely downtown Harrisburg (no irony or sarcasm here, as I am a true defender of the coolness of PA's capitol).

I continued my drive, and finally made it into Jersey around four p.m. It was a nice change, celebrating my mother's family with the entire family. My brothers and parents are all in town, and we drove together to dine at Cucina Calandra, a local Italian restaurant owned by a local bread-magnate that has somehow amassed a huge and impressive fortune, and owns a number of restaurants, hotels, and bakeries.

The food was good, though I didn't really know how to take the restaurant's generosity with the Calandra bread. At the end of our meal, our Hungarian waiter Charlie, arrived at the table with our check and five loaves of Italian bread. Apparently, this is the custom at the place. We demurred, and only accepted two loaves. I only wish that Calandra were a Prosciutto ham distributor or a wine merchant or drug dealer.

But, alas, the man is in the bread industry, and so bread we got.

I'll be in Jersey and New York for about a week before heading off to Spain and North Africa. I hope that all are well, and please stay posted for new adventures on the other side of the ocean.