Hot lobster rolls.
Unlikely
French translations. Fire-lit cauldrons.
Impressionist enthusiasm.
Freedom
of expression.
History amidst the
present.
My weekend began pleasantly, with an opportunity to hear live music,
one of my favorite activities.
The
adjacent restaurant, Aspire, hosts live music Thursday, Friday, and Saturday
nights. Every Friday, it’s jazz.
I
walked into the Aspire courtyard and the evening atmosphere of warmth and
liveliness enveloped me.
Sitting across
the way, I saw Lilian, the woman from ‘Yoga in the Park’ who I recommended the
hummus plate to.
I recognized her, as
she was wearing the same ball cap from yoga.
It appears she had taken my recommendation; she was there with her
husband.
I went over and introduced
myself, happy to see a familiar face, and knowing that she probably didn’t
recognize me without my yoga workout garments.
Lilian was very helpful, giving me advice about the RIPTA bus system and
letting me know that I could get to and from Newport for $4.00. Nice!
After speaking with my students, I have heard
that they are signing up for a Newport excursion with their RAs, so perhaps I
will head over on the same day as they go.
The evening was splendid.
An exceptional trumpet player was added to the jazz ensemble in the
third song or so, and his playing added another complex layer to the
sound.
Sitting next to me, a man about
my parents’ age, Joe, began telling me about his childhood in Providence, how
the buildings had changed, what the 60s were like, and how he grew up
Catholic.
I asked him if he happened to
be Italian (Joe? Catholic? East Coast?), and he verified that he was, delving
into stories about his grandfather sending him to the corner store every couple
weeks for an Italian herb, never speaking a word of English.
Joe had happy, squinty eyes behind his
dark-rimmed glasses.
He reminded me of a
character from the Scorsese film, “Goodfellas,” not in a violent way, but in
the way he looked (gold chain, collared shirt, cigarette), spoke, and
ingratiated himself into my company with familiarity and ease.
After a while, I felt like I could tell him
anything.
He pronounced Santa Ana as
“Sant-er An-er,” telling me about the few times he had been to California.
His lovely significant other, Laura, appeared
later in the evening after her shift at a men’s department clothing store.
She had a short, blonde pixie cut, large blue
eyes, and wore a long fuchsia dress, smoking her cigarette in a
determined, yet effortless way.
I really
enjoyed their company and hearing about their lives.
Sometimes people you barely know will open up
to you, and you learn more about that time and place in the world than you
would ever learn from hours reading a textbook.
 |
| The courtyard at Aspire Restaurant |
 |
| Live jazz |
The next morning, I woke earlier than usual to get ready for
my personal Boston excursion, in
order to be in the same city as the students while they were taking
their Boston excursions.
My amazing Pinole friend, Maggie Brunstein
who is currently living in New Hampshire while attending graduate school near Boston,
drove into the city on Saturday to show me around.
I know Maggie through Pinole Valley High
School.
She is in my younger sister’s
graduating class, and we share several mutual friends. She met me in front of
the Boston Tea Party Memorial and Museum, where parents and (some) reluctant
children entered to participate in a theatrical role-play of casting the tea
over the ship’s side into the water with actors who wore time-period specific
garb and used words like “Aye.”
I
laughed to myself as I saw two actors, dressed in time-period costumes, having
a normal twenty-first century conversation while waiting for the next group of
tourists to arrive.
 |
| The Boston Tea Party Museum and Memorial |
I thought when I met up with Maggie that I was already
looking at a clear view of Boston Harbor, but then Maggie brought me to the
real view of Boston Harbor, and I must
admit, it is the most gorgeous picture I have seen thus far on this trip.
Imagine sail boats and modern skiffs over
sparkling blue water, with a sky so clear it looks like glass.
I kept saying over and over, “I could sit
here for hours!”
But hours we didn’t
have, as there is so much to see in Boston.
 |
| Boston Harbor |
 |
| With Maggie |
We decided to follow the Freedom Trail, an inlaid brick path that connects
all the major historic monuments such as Bunker Hill, Paul Revere’s House,
etc. The Freedom Trail took us to
Faneuil (pronounced like Daniel, but with an 'F') Hall, where we saw kiosks of souvenirs, drink
stands, numerous international and domestic tourists, as well as ticket booths
for the renowned Duck Tour Buses. As we
walked through some of the cobbled streets stemming from Faneuil Hall, I
started to grow with excitement as I saw sign after sign in the restaurant
windows advertising “Lobster Rolls.”
Since before this trip, a New-England lobster roll has been on my food bucket-list. I know that Jack also
wanted to eat a good lobster roll on this trip, so I hope that he met his goal
on Saturday, too. Maggie recommended the
last brasserie on the path we took, called Belle in Hand, I believe. I tried Maggie’s recommendation of a
blueberry-flavored beverage, and we eagerly looked at the food menu. I knew that I wanted either the Classic
Lobster Roll (with mayo and lemon), or the Hot Lobster Roll (no mayo, but lots
of butter). Our server helped me decide
on the Hot Lobster Roll. It’s her favorite
of the choices, and, well, you had me at “butter…” Maggie and I chatted about
how all of our friends are getting married while we waited for our food, and
just as our server set our plates down, a few hurried young women asked us, “Do
either of you speak French, by any chance?”
At first I didn’t say anything, worst-case scenarios rolling over in my
brain. Is one of their family members
stuck in the French consulate, needing my translation skills to negotiate an
urgent release? Maggie pointed to me. Then,
I laughed with relief as the women said they needed to videotape me speaking
French for a bachelorette party scavenger hunt piece. Then she asked if I could say, “My favorite
color is purple” in French. Why sure,
that was fun and easy. I knew I would be
using my French language over here on the East Coast, but I never knew it would
be in such a carefree way. (I had better not speak too soon.)
 |
| Hot Lobster Roll |
After eating our perfect lobster dishes, we continued along
the Freedom Trail. We passed by Paul
Revere’s House, deciding to skip the extremely long line of tourists and
continue exploring the North End (Boston’s more authentic equivalent of San
Francisco’s North Beach district). I adore North Beach’s Little Italy, so
naturally I loved North End. I peered in
restaurant windows and saw people doing quintessential Italian things – sitting
with family over a nice bottle of red wine, talking animatedly or calmly,
enjoying cheese plates or bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I stored a restaurant called Limoncello in
the back of my mind for a future Boston voyage. As we walked along the cobble-stoned paths, we
noticed small crowds starting to form in the entrances of restaurants where
televisions were visible. I knew these crowds had to be World Cup-related. I couldn’t resist stopping at one of the
crowds to see what was happening in the Brazil-Chile game, and there it
was. They had gone into double over-time
tied, and now it was time for the dreaded shoot-out. In my ten years of playing
competitive soccer for club and high school teams, I have only had to
participate in a shoot-out maybe three or four times. Imagine the heightened emotion of
participating in a shoot-out in the World Cup!
Brazil won, barely, in a 5-4 overall shoot-out score, only because the
final Chilean player kicked the ball off the side bar of the goal
structure. I heard a fellow bystander
say, “I wouldn’t want to be that guy.” We were all thinking it, but she said
it.
 |
| The crowd gathering in the street to watch the end of the Brazil-Chile match. |
Maggie and I continued on, to meet my friend Andrew Weiss in
the Seaport area to watch the second World Cup game and catch up on life since
our Euro-trip six years ago. I met
Andrew and his close friends, Lauren Seigel and Joey Bestreich, on a rapid
Europe tour that I took with my sister, Karly, in 2008. Andrew, Lauren, and Joey instantly became our
“New York” friends, and the five of us became inseparable on the tour because
of our shared sense of humor, sarcasm, and weird voices used when imitating
others. Those long bus-rides in between
countries can conjure up some pretty hilarious conversations, and this group
had its share of those. I always tell my
French students about the time my friend, Joey, came down with strep throat in
France, and how I had to describe his symptoms to the francophone concierge and
understand her directions to get him to the nearest pharmacie. (This is how I
hook them, or at least try to, on the importance of learning and knowing
health-related vocabulary in the target language.) Since the Europe trip, we have stayed in
touch on social media and visited briefly during a leisure stint in New
York. Lauren and Joey are still in New
York, but Andrew has moved since to Massachusetts, as he now works in
space-planning at UMass (University of Massachusetts). I appreciated him meeting up with me and
Maggie, and I appreciated them both for indulging in World Cup-mania with me. That first Colombia goal was mind-blowing, by
the way. The ball rica shays off the top
bar and bounces down behind the goalkeeper, past the goal line – GOALLLLLLL!
 |
| North End |
 |
| Catching up with Andrew |
Arriving back in Providence, I walked out of the Amtrak
station and past the Rhode Island State Building. Though an hour before Water Fire was due to
begin, I noticed people were already starting to crowd around the waterway
closest to the train station. I had two
things on my mind – I needed to charge my camera and change my shoes. (I have
realized that no matter how comfortable one’s shoes may be, after walking
around in them all day, there is a point when the feet just need to get out of
those shoes and rest.) I was able to
change into more comfortable clothes and search unsuccessfully for my camera
charger before finally heading down to the waterway in the financial district. Upon arriving, I squeezed into a spot on the
railing overlooking the waterway, and watched as gondolas with pairs of people
floated along in the waterways past the crowds, rowed on by gondoliers in
striped shirts and traditional gondolier hats. A mystifying, simmering instrumental music
played as the crowds awaited the next step. Finally, large rowboats with people dressed in
black moved past us, large piles of wood in the back of the water vehicles, a
torch aflame with just a touch of fire, ready to light the floating cauldrons
at any minute. A shaman floated past us,
wafting a sweet-smelling incense into the air, an action symbolizing
neutralization of negativity and encouragement of positive spiritual energy, if
spirits be present. Finally, the
cauldrons were lit and the fire in each grew and grew.
 |
| The Rhode Island State House |
 |
| WaterFire begins. |
If I am being completely honest, after five minutes of
watching the flames grow, I sincerely wondered if this was all there was to
this event, and if so, what was the big deal?
Was I going to be sitting here (standing, rather) for two hours watching
the same flames flicker? I decided to
walk across the bridge over near the food vendors, and there, my understanding
and point of view of the event completely changed.I started to see glimpses of blue light. I walked closer and
saw a patch of trees with blue glow stars in the branches, and yellow luminaria
bags lining the walkways and sprinkled in clusters across the grass. Walking
amongst them, I began to read messages left to loved ones under each glowing
light. “I miss you every day,” “I am so thankful to have found you,” “I pray
for your safe return,” or “I wish you were here, Mom,” were some that I saw. It is difficult to not become emotional, knowing
that people are longing for the presence of their loved ones all over the
world. Other than feeling sadness in
remembering the many good people that I have lost too soon, I instead felt overwhelming
feelings of gratitude for this beautiful moment – at any time I could reach out
to my siblings and parents, hear their voices, and know that in this minute, at
least, they are healthy and at peace. To
have one’s family in good health is the greatest gift and joy. Thus, I ended my perusing of luminaria
messages with one that I felt summed up my feelings for the evening: “To a
happy, healthy year. To fun times and
love.” Well-said. Thank you.
 |
| WaterFire Luminaria |
Remember how I said that my perspective of the event changed
after crossing over that bridge? Well,
after exploring the beautiful glow-lit luminaria area, I understood that
WaterFire is more than just the visual aspect of water on fire, it is an
evening of reflection and gratitude, a time to remember those lost and
celebrate those living, to be spiritual, or hold hope for the peace and health
of those not near us. I decided to think about the lessons of my previous yoga
class and be ‘present in the moment.’ I
acquired, through a donation to Water Fire, a blue glow stick and wore it as a
headband. I walked back and forth in the
crowds of people, acknowledging the accordionist, the banjo player, and the
guitarist that played their music softly into the dark night. I purchased a Chicken Tikka Masala from the
Indian restaurant vendor and ate it quietly on a ledge overlooking the fire,
the creamy tomato sauce tasting sweet against the buttery slice of naan bread. I sat in several different areas surrounding
the waterway, noticing the crowds thinning out with time and seats becoming
more available closer to the water. I listened to the music, now recognizing
that the artists and lyrics of these songs spanned all cultures and religions,
a perfect nod to Providence, a city founded on the ideals of religious freedom. I had walked across the College Street Bridge
at 9:05PM, wondering if the monotony of the fire could keep me entertained for
the next ten minutes. Now, here I was, returning
to my hotel nearly three hours later, not wanting the evening to end.
 |
| Wearing a glowstick headband and an MIT shirt. |
Sunday morning, I had set up an optional excursion to the
Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) Art Museum with the Brown-I cohort. I met them on the Benefit Street entrance, and
we entered the museum. Sunday admissions
are free, and I was reminded of Paris, where Sundays, too, are often free or
half-priced in the hundreds of museums present in France’s capital. I knew that I wanted to explore the European
art, 19th and 20th century art, and the Greek and Roman
art. But first I started in the “Graphic
Design: Now in Production” exhibit. In
talking to Arnold, I knew that it was his first time in an art museum, and he
seemed to be loving it, snapping pictures of the graphic design art. This made me really happy. I continued into a room that held twentieth
century art. I like how RISD combines all genres of art – interior, as well as
fashion design, into each time period. I
was ecstatic to see some work by Henri Matisse in this room. I have been to many art museums since my studies in Paris in 2007, and the more I visit museums, the less I
feel the need to read or look at everything, but rather just approach art or relics
that draw me in. However, on the other
side of that statement, with more art exposure, I probably in turn find that
more oeuvres draw me in than before I started frequenting art museums. In the twentieth century room, I studied some
mid-century modern furniture that I or my mom would love to own. I also saw a
gorgeous floor-length black dress by Calvin Klein, simple, yet comfortable in its
jersey composition, its museum description giving a nod to Coco Chanel’s
pioneering of comfortable garments for women.
 |
| Mid-century modern furniture |
 |
| Matisse oeuvre |
 |
| The Calvin Klein dress |
Next was the Greek and Roman room – I was blown away with
the variety of genres this museum houses! I immediately remembered the Art
History class I took at Cal, one of the more difficult classes due to the
required recall of dates, artists, and styles over the span of centuries. Still, it was breath-taking to see these
marble statues and sarcophagi, now white, but likely painted vibrantly back in
their original construction. I moseyed on into the next room, feeling like I
needed more time in the museum than I would have, and realized I had arrived in
my comfort zone, as I was in the French Impressionist Art room. I saw some works by Claude Monet, Eduard Manet,
his wife Berthe Morisot, Paul Cezanne, Pierre-Auguste Renor, Henri Rousseau,
and Pablo Picasso (not French, but lived in Paris during the impressionist/post-impressionist
eras). Brandon told me he had seen this
room, too, and I am sure it brought his memory back to our French 3
Impressionist Art project, where the students had to research and imitate the
work of their chosen artist through a drawing or painting. I was drawn to a Monet work, A Walk in the Fields of Argenteuil (or La Promenade dans les Champs à Argenteuil),
where he had painted a field scene with French red poppies. I have become somewhat occupied over the past
month with obtaining French red poppy seeds for my garden, after seeing the red
dainty flowers in the Berkeley Botanical Garden during a visit with my
significant other, Sohil. This painting
really made me miss my garden at home, and furthered my light-hearted obsession
(oxymoron?) with obtaining those red poppy seeds.
 |
| This sarcophagus is one of the few to chronicle the Trojan War. |
 |
| A piece by Picasso |
 |
| Greek vases reminding me of the opening of Disney's "Hercules" movie. |
 |
| A glimpse of the French red poppies! |
I could go on for hours about the art museum, but I will
stop here, as I have come to terms with the fact that I will need to visit RISD
again next Sunday, for I didn’t even step inside the sixth floor, where the
Egyptian Relics and Asian Prints exhibit is housed. The students and I met back in the lobby,
minus Kevin, who would sprint to meet up with us later. We ended up seeing the outside of the First
Baptist Church of America, snapping some pictures and vowing to return later
for a tour at an admissible time, and continuing onto Canal Street to find
Roger Williams Memorial Park. I had been
here previously for yoga, but did not know as much about Williams’ life and
work before this morning. After hearing
the students’ accounts of Roger Williams, now experts after their junior year
of AP US History, and seeing the video and touring inside the Visitor Center
(thank you, Sparkle Bryant), I now feel that I have a better understanding of
Roger Williams’ journey. He left England
for Massachusetts at a time of great religious divide, and after studying to be
a Protestant theologian himself, he realized that he held views that were not
necessarily in line with what he had studied all of his life. He founded Providence on the basis of
religious freedom, as a place where peoples experiencing persecution for their
religion or lack of religion could find refuge.
He was the earliest proponent of separation of state and church. His most prominent work, A Key into the Language of America, has greatly influenced our Bill
of Rights, and the original copy is actually housed in Brown University’s
Anthropology museum. Providence reminds
me a lot of the city of Berkeley, another city where freedoms of belief and
speech were historically pioneered, though much later in United States
history. I love seeing the LGBT pride
that appears in little nuances throughout the city, and I am sure the city’s founding
ideals play a large part in the freedom of expression seen and felt here.
 |
| The First Baptist Church of America |
 |
| The Visitor Center at Roger Williams' Memorial Park |
 |
| Williams' compass |
 |
| What houses looked like before the 19th century in Providence |
After our morning, the students and I went our separate ways
to prepare for our big dinner at Siena Restaurant later in the evening. I had brunch at a chic café titled XO Café,
where I had the XO Benedict, potato pancakes and short rib covered by poached
eggs and a chipotle hollandaise. The
motif inside the café was romantic and luxurious, with plush pillows separating
the seating, and leopard print apparent amongst luscious textiles.
 |
| XO Cafe |
Dinner at Siena was lovely and very enjoyable for all who
attended, it seemed. I walked over to
Federal Hill on my own – I wanted to be there early and make sure appetizers
were set up for the arrival of twenty guests.
You know you are in Federal Hill when you cross over a freeway overpass
and walk under an elegant arch. The
street is lined with little unique shops and lots of excellent restaurants. Federal Hill is definitely a hill – when you
look around you don’t see skyscrapers and tall buildings like other parts of
Providence, just the clear sky and sun as far as the eye can behold. The five cohort students, experiencing a
close brush with tardiness to an ILC event, came sprinting up the stairs to the
back room of the restaurant, out of breath but looking dapper in their formal
wear. I smiled and shook each of their
hands, acknowledging that they had made it a minute early, relieved that the ‘hosts’
had arrived before the guests. I am
proud of them for trying the RIPTA bus system, but I think they will think
twice about departure times before the next mandatory event. I will say no more about it; they made it on
time in good form. And the thought of
them sprinting down Atwells Avenue in their formal wear makes me giggle a bit.
Our dinner included a lot of good conversation and advice
about being successful at Brown. I
learned from Helen about Brown’s Open-Curriculum system. Richard shared the ‘feeling’ he got when he
knew that Brown was where he wanted to be and where he wanted to stay even
after graduation. Juan and Julio were
able to share their own post-graduate experiences, as they are alums now, both
working in education. Camera knew that
she wanted to be a Brown student when she saw that students acted normally and
were able to function harmoniously even during finals’ time. I thought this was interesting and
refreshing. As a Cal graduate, I can
honestly say that being at such a competitive undergraduate school, I
definitely witnessed some less-than-healthy finals’ week behavior – all-nighters
before a 4-hour final, cramming with the use of study drugs or caffeine pills, students
I normally saw every day disappearing into their rooms or libraries for a week
at a time to scour over notes, peoples’ physical appearance seeming to
deteriorate from lack of sleep or stress. I personally felt that I was able to
balance my normal life with finals fine, but it would have been nice to feel
that my peers were doing the same, and it sounds like at Brown they do. (Again, I LOVE Cal, but I couldn’t help but
provide a contrast to Brown’s finals' culture.) Lytisha talked about the ease with which she
was able to change majors from Physics to Biological Health at Brown, which I
know relieved some of the cohort members who weren’t quite sure what they
wanted to study.
As the dinner came to a close, I took a few pictures of the
group, and although they were technically “dismissed,” I was thrilled to see
that everyone genuinely wanted to continue talking, and so they did so standing
for the next several minutes. Guadalupe Morales, a Richmond High School graduate and alumna of the Ivy League Connection,
offered to walk the students back to campus, which was a really kind
gesture. She and Arnold were able to
connect, as he is a current Richmond High School student. Although I didn’t get a chance to sit at the
same table as Bianca, Isaiah, Eveyln, Lizbeth, or Candice, I could tell they
were having lively conversations with Jack and Arnold. The walk home felt easy, as I got a chance to
speak with Jing about her family and how much she was enjoying her time at
Brown in Providence.
 |
| My choice: Penne Alla Vodka with prawns |
 |
| The group |
 |
| Genuine conversation post-dinner |
I look forward to this week and celebrating the Fourth of
July in a New England city. What could
be better than to celebrate our country’s freedom in a city whose ideals were
founded on the basis of freedom?
Providence, je t’aime!
