‘Goggle Box’, ‘Idiot Box’, ‘Television’ – call it what you will. There’s no denying that these fancy packages of televisual-trickery have had a transformative effect on society. That’s been fairly clear since they first started popping up like mushrooms 90-odd years ago. They’ve let us learn about the world, and its news, without having to set foot beyond our doorsteps. They’ve entertained us with high drama and low comedy. They’ve taught us to explore our options in ways we might never have figured out on our own.
Not everyone would agree that their impact has been entirely positive, especially if we focus on the low-rent effluence that passes for entertainment these days, not to mention the carefully-curated ‘news’. Maybe those things were better in the past? Maybe they were worse? But one thing is certainly clear – the way we received them was different…
Yes, indeed, there were no OLED, QLED, Mini LED or IPS screens in the glory days of The Before Times. Nothing was flat-backed or wall-mountable in any straighforward or convincing sense. What we had were CRTs – bulky, heavy, and decidely three-dimensional cases housing a Cathode Ray Tube, whose glowing fosfors delivered their images across a curved glass screen. When you put it like that, they seem pretty unappealing compared to the massive-scale, ultra-high-definition, and eye-searing brightness of modern tellies.
At the same time, however, they had an analogue allure and charm that has yet to be fully replicated by the clipped digital experience of the modern Age. You’ve no doubt heard tedious middle-aged audiophiles bang on about the spiritual qualities of analogue sound? You know the type. They’ll spend hours waxing lyrical about how vaccuum-tube technology can transform the sound of a rattling dustbin lid into the precious whisper of a visiting angel? Well, here’s the thing – 99.99999% of people who make claims like that are wrong. Not as a matter of opinion, but demonstably so. By the time you’ve assembled enough cash to afford that kind of kit, your hearing has naturally deteriorated to the point where you simply can’t reigster the finer nuance of the over-inflated specs. The specs may be accurate. But beyond a certain point, they’re only measurable using specialist equipment under laboratory conditions. That’s not to say, however, that all this value-added can’t possibly have an impact.
While we cannot hear the whole range of sound produced by top-end audio equipment, there is a possibility that certain ultra- and sub-sonic frequencies can activate parts of our brains independently of our ears, stimulating certain kinds of experience in the process. This is true of natural phenomena, like the Northern Lights, where the pops and fizzes experienced by many witnesses have been shown to be activated directly in the brain, rather than through the mechanical conduits of our ears. There is also growing evidence that Stone Age peoples were aware of these properties of sound, and may have used them in the design of ancient temples, such as the Tomb of Eagles in Orkney, and the Hypogeum of Hal Saflieni in Malta. Pressumably, the idea was that carefully modulated chanting and groaning would be warped by the accoustics of the building in a way that helped promote spiritual elevation??? We’ll leave the question of ‘performance-enhancing substances’ to one side for the time being.
Now, think about CRT TVs.
They work in a different way, and with a different purpose in mind. Most people watch them with their eyes. But perhaps their glowing tones of shimmering light also serve to open a gateway in our subconscious, in this case linking our waking present with our deep-rooted ancestral heritage?
Regardless of the rubbish that was on TV 40 years ago, we might compare the act of huddling round a glimmering CRT to that of staring wistfully into a flickering fire, and drfiting, in thought, from what we were actually seeing to other forms of consciousness – just like our ancient ancestors must have done in their caves and hovels for thousands and thousands of years beforehand? Oooft! I know! Deep stuff, eh?
‘But where on earth is all of this leading?’, I hear you sigh. Well, it’s the begining, isn’t it? The threshold to the world of the video arcade. I wrote a poem about it. But what does it mean? What does it say to you? Let me know in the comments below!
In the Beginning
In the Beginning was the Light,
flickering and grey.
The Light resolved into a picture -
a moving image of people, rooms, houses, and streets.
Then in a flash!
The Light burst into colour.
The Light was confined to a Box -
glass-fronted, with polished wood-grain sides,
and sturdy legs of angular steel.
The Box loomed sentient at the heart of our world.
It brought warmth to cold winter evenings,
It opened a window onto the Universe.
We huddled before it, mesmerised by its hypnotic glow.
It held us in its thrall.
Until the other boxes came,
with their dials and buttons and wheels and levers,
Demanding attention, giving control.
They were everywhere. Then, they were gone.
I’m certainly glad I went, and would absolutely go again if I had the chance!
But 4,000 miles is a looooong way to go just to visit an amusement arcade – even one of ACAM’s callibre!
Besides, flying to Boston and driving to Weirs Beach opened up a lot of scope to do other things too.
In the summer time, the area round the lakes is packed with tourists, and served by all kinds of tourist amenities and activities. There’s the Winnipasaukee Scenic Railroad, for example, which can get you from Laconia to Weirs Beach, and onwards to Meredith. And there are festivals and gatherings aplenty – which is a real Boon if you’re keen on motorocycles (see what I did there?). In fact, driving around the lakes area, the sheer number of bike (work)shops and salesrooms was difficult to miss.
Obviously, I was keen to have a look around Weirs Beach. How could you go there and not check out the iconic signpost, amble down to the beach itself, stroll along the renovated boardwalk – or find out if anything was actually open! Visiting in the middle of winter between two snowstorms, the chances of that were slim from the outset. And right enough, when I arrived, this tourist Leviathan was slumbering peacefully under its blanket of ice! The bars looked barn-like, the boardwalk, bracing, and the amusements, amazing… but almost everying was shut. For the same reason, the incentive to catch some rays on Weirs Beach itself was also limited. Nevetheless, when the sun came out, you could close your eyes in the warmth and imagine what it must be like in the summer months.
For three of my four nights in the US, I was based at the Best Western hotel in Laconia, about 7 miles down the road.
The hotel itself was relatively modern. It was also clean, with friendly staff, and even had an indoor swimming pool. But its biggest attraction was being right on the edge of the town centre, which I figured would be a bonus if snow made driving difficult.
As far as towns go, Laconia is small, but nice enough. There isn’t a lot to it, really, beyond a few shops and cafes, a decent record store, and an actual theatre (ie. not in the Amercian sense of the word). While there were always loads of cars swirling around its roads, I hardly saw anyone walking around the shops. Apparently, however, that’s not an Unsual State of Affairs in America (groan). Still, as a tourist, it made kicking about a wee bit easier!
With the town being surround by lakes, and the weather gloriously sunny, I was inspired to explore the local ‘nature’. But that turned out to be easier said than done. So popular is this area with folks from Boston, that pretty much all of the waterfront land has been bought, built on, and fenced off. Which means it isn’t easy to access. In fact, finding a way in to nature spaces in general was a very different experience in this part of New Hampshire than we are used to here in Scotland.
Outside the town’s commercial centre, the pavements soon disappeared. Given the prevalence of car culture in the USA, that was only to be expected. But apart from the carparks for the various fastfood outlets, diners and roadside shops, there were very few places to park either. The most common roadsigns by far were the ones warning you that the property was private, that parked cars would be towed, and occasionally, for that extra little frisson of excitment, that trespassers would be shot! What this meant, in practice, was that if you did notice something potentially interesting off the side of the road, there was very little scope to pull over and go and take a look. Fortunately, the dynamic duo of Android Auto and Google Maps came to the rescue, here, highlighting a number of public recreation areas and beaches round laconia, where you were free to go and have a look-see. Bonus!
Nice, eh? It was a rather chilly morning when I took those photos – somewhere down in the single digits fahrenheit. That’s colder than -10°C in new money! So, perhaps unsurprisingly, there weren’t many other people about. By the looks of things, however, the exact opposite is true in the summer. As you can just about make out in one of the photos, several of the better beaches are reserved for local taxpayers. These are local beaches for local people, there’s nothing for you here! ‘Violaters’, we are told, ‘will be ticketed’. Not sure how that would work in practice, though. Would the beach warden staple a ticket to your towel while you were in the lake having a swim?
For a more upmarket and livelier town centre experience, I’d recommend the community of Meredith, a few miles North of Funspot. My morning in Meredith was a dreich one. I’d driven up there to get some lunch at the excellent ‘George’s Diner’, which was packed. While waiting in the queue, I got talking to a lovely American couple, with whom I shared lunch, and gleaned a long list of interesting things to see and do – one of which was coming back into town later that evening for dinner at the Lakehouse Grill. The amount of structural wood on display in that buidling was impresive, and the food was marvellous, if a little on the dear side.
There were plenty of eats closer to ‘home’ too, especially of the more familiar fastfood variety. In fact, they were kindof difficult to miss. If there was one thing that marked the transition from one community to another, it was the appearance of yet another outpost of Dunkin Donuts, McDonalds, Taco Bell etc.
I tried to stick to popular diners myself – for a better chance of genuine and decent food. And it soon became clear – from the ones I visited – that they were popular for a reason. They were very good! I had me some eggs-over-easy, chowder, bacon pancakes, ‘pie’, coffee on tap. Sadly, with the GBP still down in the doldrums compared to the USD, the meals were rarely what you could describe as cheap. But they were extremely tasty. If you’re only in the US for a short visit, I would recommend not paying extra for hotels with built-in breakfast, and finding yourself a diner instead. The hotel breakfasts I had were adequate, but very limited – and served on paper plates with plastic knives and forks. Premier Inn buffet breakfasts, they most certainly were not.
For reasons of scientific research (honestly!), I did also visit a few fastfood joints, including the poshest McDonalds I’ve ever seen. It even had a functioning fireplace – and no, it wasn’t in a skip round the back! But for a Big Mac meal, a hot fudge sundae, and a coffee, I paid the best part of twenty bucks… ouch! At that price, there’s no reason to go there instead of a diner.
By Saturday the 18th of February, with my time at Funspot and Laconia drawing to a close, I took some time out to dial-in the fine details of my exit strategy.
There were loads of things I could have done if it hadn’t been winter. Had it been a mere 60 degrees Fahrenheit warmer, for example, I might have gone for a gander up Mount Washington. As mentioned in an earlier blogpost, however, that particular hill had recently been the site of the lowest ever recorded windchill temperature in the US. So that little excursion was obviously out of the question.
And, of course, if I’d had more time, I could have travelled further afirth, visited Vermont, taken a boat out to Martha’s Vinyard, and maybe even rode the train all the way down to Noo Yoik. With hindsight, I should have spent at least another day Stateside. Driven by that thought, I realised it was important to make the most of the time I had left.
My last night and day (19th -20th of February) were reserved for Boston – which turned out to be far too short a time.
With the weather set to improve on the Sunday, I resolved on a road trip to the Maine coast. I’d drive along Lake Winnepasaukee to Interstate 95, then up to the coast. My goal? A basket of Noo England lobsta on the quayside at Portland. After that, I’d head down to Salem, Massachusetts, which I’d heard was nice, before escaping back to Boston after dark, or rather the conjoined city of Chelsea, where I’d be staying at the Hampton Inn.
Driving from Glendale to Alton Bay, there was some stunning scenery off to the left across the lake, but nowhere to stop and admire it. Well, there was one public view point, but I misstook that for an emergency layby, and managed to drive past. Doh! Moral of that story? Figure out the potential stopping points in advance so you don’t miss out. While I’d planned on taking a break at Alton Bay for a coffee, the town was rammed for an ice-fishing festival. There might not have been anywhere to park, but while I was stuck in traffic, I could see the different teams pull their sledges out across the ice, and get ready to drill down and fish! In fact, I probably got a better view from there than anywhere else but out on the ice itself #silverlining!
Apart from Alton Bay, the roads were relatively quiet. I enjoyed driving through a slice of American life, witnessing scenes and landscapes I’d seen in countless movies and TV shows. It was interesting seeing how the architectural vernacular changed too. While the houses in New Hamshire were mostly wooden, the further into Maine you drove, the more of them were built in brick.
Portland is a reasonably large city, with some big city issues. There’s a fair bit of homelesness in the strip round the centre. But the town itself seemed busy and ‘happening’. Parking in a multi-story on the edge of the town centre, I set out for an explore. Maine is famous for its seafood, and Portland – as the name suggests – is where some of it comes in! Standing on the quayside and squinting into the distance, I fancied I caught a glimpse of the Isle of Lewis. But as the sudden squaking revealled, it was just a seagull.
With this being a Sunday afternoon in the deepest depths of winter, most of the more ‘accessible’ lobster joints were closed. But I’d come forewarned, and headed off instead to the famous Duck Fat Frites Shack, where I enjoyed a hefty portion of Poutine – crispy chips, topped with cheese curds, a fried egg, and some sumptuous gravy. Double yum! I don’t think I’ve had cheese ‘curds’ before, but if you get the chance to sample them yourself, don’t be afraid! They’re just like regular cheee that hasn’t been packed into blocks and fully matrured. Can’t say the same for the root beer which I got with it, though (for cultural reasons)! To my taste, it had an overtly medicinal flavour, a bit like like a junior version of Laphroaig whisky, without the alcohol. Ironically, the shack was in an alley outside a craft ale brewery. But having a two-hour drive in front of me, I decided against partaking 😦
Back to the car and out onto the freeway, I contemplated the various things I could have seen if time had permitted. I’d like to have seen some of the Maine lighthouses, visited some of the big seaside resorts, and perhaps popped into the tourist traps like Kennebunkport on the way south. But Salem beckoned.
I first heard about Salem at secondary school, when we read Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible as one of our set texts for English. For those of you who haven’t read it, it’s basically a powerful and disturbing portrait of mass hyseria – and how the lunatic fringe can undermine the forces for sanity and reason in any community. In The Crucible, the action is centred on the Salem witch trials of the late 17th century. But the symbolism and metaophors are widely applicable [closes revision guide].
As I arrived in Salem, it was just starting to get dark. So I didn’t have a lot of time to look about. But what I saw impressed me a lot. It was a lovely town, with plenty to see and do, and all of it do-able by foot. By Amercian standards (!), there were lots of really old, and interesting buildings, some of which get name checked by Arthur Miller in his play. There were also lots of shops. Many of which were filled with things you might actually want to buy! Nossir, the streets were not full of vape stores or charity shops or boarded-up department stores – as you are likely to find in most Scottish towns. On the other hand, there were quite a few retail outlets that seemed to specialise in witches’ hats, crystals, tarot cards and the like, which I though was maybe just a tad disrespectful given to the town’s tragic history. But I suppose that was balanced out to an extent by the many museums, galleries, and ‘experiences’, foregrounding the whole sorry episode. For me, the most poignant of these (on my short visit!) was the memorial outside the old graveyard on Chapel Street – whose entrance was framed with quotes from the ‘trials’ of the victims. Dunno if it was a combination of the long day and the coffee, but I found that all a bit sad.
On a more positive note, there was no shortage of places to eat, drink and make merry, especially down towards the old harbour area. With my driving not yet over for the day, the closest I got to the latter was bumping into a retro games shop, with a fantastic stock of ancient consoles and cartridges, where I picked up a copy of Tarzan for the Colecovision!
Down by the harbour, where things were still ‘pumping’ despite the falling darkness, I even spied a retro arcade bar. It was temporarily closed, but spying in through the window revealed what appeared to be a great collection of classics from the Golden Age and later. I could easily have spent a few days here.
By the time I left for Chelsea, it was pitch black. I also needed petrol.
When I picked up the hire car, the onboard computer reckoned that the tank was good for about 420 miles of driving. Amazingly, that turned out to be accurate! By my reckoning I had just under 20 miles left to drive. Despite my road trips, and commuting round the lakes, I still had just over 20 miles-worth of fuel left. At this stage, however, I wasn’t keen to take any risks on the road. Without Android Auto, I’m not sure I would have been able to navigate round the various one-way streets to a petrol station that was still open. Phew!
Several hours later, I’d dropped off the car at Boston Logan, and, with the help of the hotel’s free shuttle bus (yay!), I’d made my way to Chelsea. I had planned to dump my bags and head into Boston for something to eat. But it was getting late, and I was knackered. So I got something from the retail park next door, watched some basketball on the TV, and went to sleep.
When I woke up on Monday morning, it was early – but time to kick into gear and head off into Boston!
While the weather was on the grey side to begin with, it soon cleared up, and heated up. Two days before, I’d been out taking photos in -10°C. By the afternoon on Boston Common, it was +17°C. The ice rink in the middle had started to melt, but that didn’t deter the punters, who skated gracefully round the waves!
But what to say about Boston? In short, it’s brilliant!
I’m not really sure what I had expected before I went. Some generic big-city experience perhaps, with a xeroxed museum-cafe-shops theme? Well, I was wrong. With only one (long) day at my disposal, I only just scratched the surface of what there was to do. I would like to have visited the Museum of Fine Art, or Harvard, or the Revolutionary War site and Museum at Bunker Hill. But there just wasn’t time for any of that. What I did do was walk…
Boston is a very walker-friendly city. As part of a multi-billion dollar infrastructure project, dubbed ‘The Big Dig‘, the motorways that used to cross the city were moved into tunnels! Special tunnels were also dug for busses connecting the city with the airport – very handy! I should add that public transport is very good indeed. Later on in the year, there’s also a short ferry connecting Boston Logan with the city centre, which would have been an even better way to enter the fray. But over the course of 7-hours’ walking, I think I got a pretty good feel for it.
Boston has something for everyone. There are so many distinct ‘quarters’, it’s hard to know where to start! There are waterfronts, green spaces, an ‘old town’, shopping precincts and the huge public park at Boston Common. The thing that links (a lot of) it together is the Freedom Trail. I made my own way round the sites, but managed to squeeze in:
The house of Paul Revere, whose legendary, and partly mythologised messenger-mission, saved the colonial forces from British ambush, and ultimatey helped secure independence.
The Old North Church, which was a pivotal look-out post and signal centre during the Revolution. The number of lanterns hung in the steeple window was coded to show how British forces were arriving, ‘One of by land, two if by sea’.
Faneuil Hall, where the ‘Sons of Liberty’ first expressed their dissent against royal oppression.
The Boston Tea Party museum, which, thanks to land reclamation, is now several hundred metres from the original site.
The Old South Meeting Hall, from which the participants in the Tea Party set out to take care of ‘binnith’.
The Old State House, from whose balcony the Declaration of Independence was first read out to the public, but also where discontent aired at the governer had previously led to the Boston Massacre.
The Massachusetts State House, one of the oldest state capitols still in use.
Fascinating stuff! Several of these buildings also house small but informative museums, and all seem to have very friendly and well-informed guides, who’re happy to answer questions and expain stuff for you. I found the story of Revolutionary New England, and Boston’s later development equally intriguing. Back in the late 18th-century, Boston itself was on an island. Over the following century, however, civil engineers levelled the hills on the island, back-filled the surrounding channels and bays, and made the original island into the promontary it is today. Boston Common, for example, used to be right on the sea. Now it’s in the middle of the city. Even more interestingly, the site of the famous Boston Tea Party is now dry land!
For lunch, I visited the famous Quincy Market. What a place! A good hundred meters of US and international street-food stalls indoors – which must be pretty handy on the colder days. I didn’t have to look far to find me a ‘Maine Lobsta Roll’ – ticking the box left empty in Portland. Although after paying for it and waiting in the queue, the sight of the Philly cheese steaks at the stall across the corridor had me doubting my choice. But it was all good in the end. Lobster has a very subtle flavour, and they seemed to have the balance of accoutrements just right.
To round off the day before heading back to Logan International airport, I made one final detour – to the pub used in the continuity sequences of 80s sitcom Cheers. It’s a fair way away from the city centre by foot, and right on the edge of Boston Common. The building itself is instantly recognisable from the TV show. But you just know the inside isn’t going to be the same. And it wasn’t. It was a pleasant enough wee pub, with a good selection of ales and eats. They even had Ted Danson behind the bar – albeit in framed-photo format. But I’d be surpised if it was a fifth of the size of the set you see in the show!
I really enjoyed Boston, and could probably have spent three or four days there, walking about, visiting museums, and eating street food.
While my return flight was to terminate at Edinburgh, there was a short layover at JFK in New York. Seeing that city from the air was, quite frankly, scary. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was mind-bogglingly huge. Rows and rows of houses and shops that seemingly never ended. Nearly twice the population of my entire country squeezed into one city! All those people, everyone with their own hopes, fear and aspirations. How do they feed them all, where does the drinking water come from, how do they dispose of the sewage?! The airport was proportionately huge. And therein lies my final tip. As a massive international hub, it was inevitable that the return flight would be full beyond the gunwales. Being an overnight journey, with no extra space to stretch out, things were perhaps not as comfotable as they might have been (!) So my advice would be to fly back to Europe from Boston itself, or shell out a bit more for extra leg-room. Probably worth it for the day after you get back!
That’s the end of this thread, folks. I hope you enjoyed it. Please share your own experiences in the comments section below. I’ll be back with something new about something old at some point in the near future.
Arcade Odysseus 