Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
there was a picture shop called the Dorset Framery. At Bennington, just down the road, I
passed a place called the Publyk House Restaurant. Every inn and lodge had a quaint and
picturesque name-the Black Locust Inn, the Hob Knob, the Blueberry Inn, the Old Cutter
Inn-and a hanging wooden sign out front. There was always this air of quaint artifice push-
ing in on everything. After a while I began to find it oddly oppressive. I longed to see a
bit of neon and a restaurant with a good old family name-Ernie's Chop House, Zweikers
New York Grille-with a couple of blinking beer signs in the front window. A bowling alley
or drive-in movie theater would have been most welcome. It would have made it all seem
real. But this looked as if it had been designed in Manhattan and brought in by truck.
Onevillage IwentthroughhadaboutfourstoresandoneofthemwasaRalphLaurenPolo
Shop.Icouldn'tthinkofanythingworsethanlivinginaplacewhereyoucouldbuya$200
sweaterbutnotacanofbakedbeans.Actually,Icouldthinkofalotofworsethings-cancer
ofthebrain,watchingeveryepisodeofaTVminiseries starringJoanCollins,havingtoeat
at a Burger Chef more than twice in one year, reaching for a glass of water in the middle of
the night and finding that you've just taken a drink from your grandmothers denture cup,
and so on. But I think you get my point.
