The Big Yankee Excursion, Part 1.

It was a dark and stormy night....

No, really. But I'll tell you all about that part of the trip in a bit.

We headed out on a beautiful hot and sunny Thursday morning, optimistic and rip-snorting (especially the Principessa Elsa - but then she had visions of singing cows to spur her on) and ready to rumble. The ride to Pennsylvania was long and peaceful and pretty. Ally was a trooper (as well as a smart and frugal mom) and stopped at rest areas along the way for picknicking, drink-mixing and potty breaks, so I was able to carry on mine and X's tradition of collecting maps from each state. We hit Hershey Park sometime between 5 and 6, which gave us a good four hours to peruse the park and amuse the Principessa. I was a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing. Corporate Americana both repulses and intrigues me (I like TV commercials and kitsch - I just don't understand why people fall for it...) and Hershey Park was a teeming example.

Our first stop was a ride where they show how the candy is made [Cue singing cows!]. I've discovered that the secret to enjoying these places* is to go with small people. It seems like when you're Officially a grown-up, you almost need an adaptor to tap into certain pleasures. I honestly feel that I'm closer to the current than most adults, but still one tends to look at the world through the experiences and lessons of all those years. When you're doing something with a three year old (or an 8 or a 10 - anything less than the Terrible Teens, 'cause then EVERYTHING sucks... Hi Abe!) you're led to look at things in the light of the sparkle from their eyes. Something that you might just be tolerating is something that they are making memories from. And frankly, if I'm going to be part of a 3 year-old's (or 8 or 10...) special memory, I want to do my very best. Luckily, it wasn't hard. The sun began to set and the lights on the carousel came up and my camera was charged and my cards were empty. My eyes led me around the park and I let my heart and my feet follow. The Not Rude Pennsylvanians became people-shapes, the individual words faded into a steady hum, the ride music rose to the surface and the lights got brighter as the night got darker. I had a lemonade, I rode some rides (the Pirate boat, of course, and the carousel, as always, and needless to say, the Night Train...), I took lots of photos, and I watched La Principessa slowly and sweetly build her way to a cute and manageable sensory overload. The smile really said it all. Ally kept asking me if I was having a good time, and I assured her that I was. There were rides I would have ridden had I had a buddy to either hold my hand or talk about the nigh-pukiness with afterward, but I knew there would be other times. I tried to reassure her, but how do you really explain to someone who doesn't know you all that well that anything new is enough, that if I wanted more I would certainly have it, and that it's not just 3 year olds' who can suffer from sensory overload? In fact, I can honestly say that Elsa has more wherewithall than I do, because it took her until around 9 to hit that zone, whereas I was a bit stupified the second we got out of the car.

The only two ooky things at all were the HUGELY blatantly pushy commercial aspect (but then again, we weren't exactly touring The Zen Buddhist Park of Owning Nothing, right?) and that was a given, and I could cope. Yes, I even bought a few souvenirs... hello, the place IS called "Chocolate World"! :) The other was the fact that I was dealing with my first real Yankees on their home turf and couldn't immediately understand why everyone seemed so rude. It turns out that they aren't bad people, or truly rude, they just aren't as... well... polite as we are taught to be. I suppose their grandmas were more worried about coping with the weather and just didn't have the whole year of daylight and relative warmth to teach them things like social manners and actually noticing that other people exist. After a very short time of trying to make my way through a crowd in my accustomed manner (and remember we are towing large bags and a small person), Ally thought to warn me about the fact that people here don't really hold doors or apologize - or even NOTICE - if they bump into you. So, instead of just taking my usual "Hmph. Yankees." approach, I decided to try to be a little more understanding** and also, to set a good example...

HAHAHA! Guess what?! Politeness scares city Yankees! If you hold a door for them, they look at you funny - especially the lads, though the ladies display very interesting quizzical expressions. And if you bump into them (or more likely, they bump into you - I'm used to being careful in my little space. Hmph. :) and then apologize, they often look as if there's a hidden meaning, perhaps sarcasm there. That made me sad. It definitely wasn't all of them, and small town and country Yankees seemed much more friendly than the city folk (and I'm sure there are lots of reasons for dissociating there, too... I've never lived in a big city, but I've lived near New Orleans my whole life, and I can imagine why one would feel the need to be tough, distant and wary...) - with some exceptions. We were in Skaneateles, which is about the size of Hendersonville. The locals were lovely, and the stunning old lake town had an atmosphere of pride and family, similar to that of Saluda. Elsa and I were leaving the local pizza place (Valentine's) on main street, and I had her baby bag, a small cooler, my backpack/purse, her, of course, and an armload of picnic. There was a small foyer - a little wider than the door and maybe 8 feet long. The doorway from the restaurant was open, and there was a man, older than me but not old, leaning against the wall in the foyer. I walked forward toward the door, knowing that I couldn't open it, but instinctively trusting that this man, standing arms' length from the door would be a gentleman and ... HA! I had to ask him to help, and when I did, I made my voice so charming and Southern you coulda' spread it on !#$% biscuits. I was in my swimsuit and a straw hat, too. Hmph. Yankees. :)

Foreign culture is so interesting, though. So I continued my studies and experiments. Luckily, I was soon to meet Uncle Rod...

Overall, Hershey Park was a great treat. Elsa had a blast from the second we got there, all the way through to her triumph over getting to ride the tram to the parking lot and finding our car. She was asleep almost as soon as she hit her car seat. She did get to see my favorite part of that leg of the trip, though. As we we leaving, there was a big orange 3/4 hunters' moon hanging over the park and the roller coaster and ferris wheel were lit and sparkling. It was a little piece of Sam heaven. We headed out through the Pennsylvania back roads and made our way to Old Forge by midnight or so, to be welcomed into Ally's grandma's home and the next leg of our grand adventure...

-to be continued!

*anything larger and more organized than a small town fair has always made me feel uncomfortable, on multiple levels. I'm grateful that we only did one day of Disney - well, Epcot - last year... I'm STILL not ready for DisneyLand/World/Planet/whatever... Carowinds is basically my preferred outside limit... though SeaWorld was worth it.

**You know, that's probably the very moment when the SIFUY was born... History in the making, folks.