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| "Clinton, Connecticut" |
(Clinton, Connecticut, Monday, 5th July 1999 9.00 p.m. )
I started the day off with my usual breakfast of a Metrex protein shake. They're actually very good you know! I even brought my little blender with me.
A constant throughout the day was the steaming heat and humidity, excessive even by East Coast standards. So going for a run was out of the question. After much humming and hawing I decided to go for a swim in the hotel pool. You might think this was no big deal, but I should explain that I've never really overcome my phobia for swimming. It's just been one of the areas I haven't confronted because I haven't had to. When I was in high-school, in my first year at Harton Comprehensive, I did everything I could to get out of swimming class. I hated my body and hated even more to let others see it. Often I did get out of class, along with the school weirdo, Garvick (a severerly emotionally disturbed kid). But sometimes I was forced into it and I'd slink in, wrapping my long arms around my meagre chest.
The phobia was intensified because earlier - much earlier - in the happy period before I became aware of how skinny I was - I'd been splashing around with my cousins in the big swimming pool in Whitley Bay when I'd somehow gotten into trouble and almost drowned. I remember flailing around, the water flooding over my face, trying to shout. My cousin thought I was just playing around. Fortunately the life guard spotted me and fished me out
I guess I've long since lost my actual fear of swimming, and I can do a reasonable breast-stroke if I need to. But my heart has never been in it, and I've avoided swimming situations whenever possible. Which is what made today's swim so pleasurable, since I swam laps for twenty-five minutes - not bad for someone who basically hasn't swam at all in about eight years. I would have kept at it longer if it hadn't been for the old biddy who kept wandering obliviously from side to side, blocking my path. Emerging from the water, I felt fit and strong - a nice feeling.
By the time I'd checked out of the Great Western - I mean Best Western (wasn't the Great Western an enormous steamship?) and had had an extra shocking hundred bucks forked out of me for what I thought had been local phone calls to keep in touch with you lot (grin), and had had a second breakfast of chicken-caeser salad (another daily staple of mine), it was eleven-thirty.
Two states later, I was in New Haven, Connecticut. I spent a very hot afternoon exploring the deserted Yale campus and practising the photo composition techniques I'm trying to teach myself.
Big Man on Campus
I spent the late afternoon leisurely driving along the coastal routes of Southern Connecticut. Some of the villages, like Guilford and Madison, are breathtakingly quaint.
The 17th Century Henry Whitfield House in Guilford
The Same House
In Clinton, I found a cheap, clean motel - run by Indians of course (for some strange reason something like 40% of motels in the States are run by a single caste of Indian ex-patriates, according to the New York Times). After some initial confusion where the elderly owner charged me 56 cents for my stay, it was all sorted out, and I settled into my plywood splendor.
As the sun departed reluctantly from the scene, I walked a long, quiet road, lined with clapboard New England homes flying flags, to the beach. It was peaceful and it was a time to be quiet - something I never make time for in San Francisco.
Clinton, Connecticut - on the beach