Okay, so King Tut wasn’t actually physically at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia (hence, in hindsight, the cleverly worded “The Treasures of King Tut” exhibition), but we did enjoy the opportunity to see more ancient Egyptian stuff than we’ve seen in one place before, as well as an all-too-brief glimpse at Philadelphia. The town itself was old and beautiful with a lot of green space; very reminiscent of all the things we liked about Boston. It’s also surrounded, not by suburbs, but by genuine small towns with local eateries priced accordingly. For dinner, we split an incredible sausage pizza, served on paper plates with no utensils in sight, at an excellent hole-in-the-wall before enjoying the scenic drive down to camp in the Delaware Water Gap–probably our second-favorite part of the trip, despite the fact that we did get a little trickle of rain while we slept and it was too wet to make the famous Boy Scout Three-Match Fire. We don’t care what anybody says about New Jersey; the part that we drove through, and slept in, was gorgeous. As Kip would say, “See for yourself.”

The next morning, we shipped out around 7am to drive to NYC, which was actually a shockingly smooth and traffic-free drive, but not without making a pit stop that resulted in our very favorite part of the trip; breakfast, at what we have come to regard as an East-coast rarity: a true greasy spoon. Rose’s Place, serving mountains of eggs (and actually cooked soft and wet, just like I asked for!), homefries, big hunks of sausage, toast (rye and raisin, respectively), excellent coffee, and all for around $5 a person. Nor were they stingy with the half-and-half, which is something of a pet peeve of ours. We were actually very proud of our frugality the entire trip, spending less than $13 total on each meal, for a grand total of under $40. Of course, this savings was very quickly eaten into by the almost $20 we had to spend on tolls, but we can only control so much.

On to Farm Aid. Despite the pleasure we gleaned from being in the (veryclose) company of an eclectic mix of country fans in daisy dukes and cowboy boots, former Deadheads, unwashed hippies, and the Pottery-Barn set hoping to catch a glimpse of Dave Matthews, we threw in the towel before we got to see the Counting Crows (though, unfortunately, not until after we had to sit through the Nelsons, Jr, who tried to pack country and metal and just about everything in between into a set whose only vocals seemed to be “Uhhhhhhhhh”). The only reference I’ve heard to their performance is buried in the article linked to above, and it doesn’t sound like we missed a ton. By the time we had sat on the ground in the scorching heat for over three hours, the prospect of doing it any longer just wasn’t balancing with the prospect of maybe getting to hear them play, for a little while, especially after the ass-kicking sunburn we received the weekend before. Likewise, the water in our Nalgene was getting very low and very warm, and we couldn’t stomach the prospect of paying $6 a bottle, especially at a festival purported to celebrate the underdog and grass roots. So we packed up our stuff and promised ourselves that the next time the band comes within 100 miles and the tickets are less than 100 dollars, we’ll go for it. (It’s probably good we set that limit, because they’re in NYC next week for a very small, already sold-out show for which tickets on Craigslist are starting at almost $400).

But, we enjoyed the experience and were happy we went; we got to see New York again, hear some live music, eat some organic flatbread pizza ($5 per person, which is more quality food than you can usually buy for twice that much at any concert or festival I’ve ever been to)… and boy, did it feel good to get back to some air conditioning.

We’re back!

Sweaty, sandy, and sunburned (oh, so sunburned), but we’re back. As promised, here are some pictures of Assateague Island:

We left DC around 8 in the morning and got to Assateague before noon. We enjoyed the lovely, scenic drive (and the opportunity to drive over 55 for a change!) and decided that anybody who lives in DC and claims “we don’t live near any good beaches” needs to move to either Iowa or Wisconsin to get a perspective on what it’s like not to live near any good beaches. When you can leave after breakfast and get there before lunch, it’s near enough for us!

From there, we checked in at the ranger station and hiked down the beach to our campsite. That’s a three-hour hike. In the sand. And the sun. Anybody who’s never walked on sand for three hours is missing out on a real treat. I can’t complain, because Matt carried the tent and all the other gear (though he let me try it on for several yards when we hiked back today) while I just carried a backpack stuffed with clothes. He did his best to pretend that this was a fair division of labor, but I told him it was like when my family went to Disneyworld when I was two and my mom gave my brother and me our own “suitcases” to carry. They were lunchboxes.

The ocean was beautiful and the perfect temperature, and we saw plenty of wild horses within the first hour. We hit just one real sticking point, which was that the park literature had specified that there was a fire ring at our campsite and so we had brought onions and potatoes along for dinner, but when we got there–no fire ring. The idea of eating raw onions and potatoes wasn’t especially appealing, so we did what anybody else would do: talked to strangers. We (okay, Matt) struck up a conversation with a very friendly native Marylander who invited us to share his family’s campfire and also entertained us by catching a baby sand shark. AND I saw my very first shooting star, something I’ve waited ages for. I told Matt, just when I thought our lives were as perfect as they could get, we go to the fricking seashore for the weekend and see shooting stars and wild horses! I’ve never actually sat down and made a list of things I want to do before I die, but if I have, those are two things that would have been on it–in addition to seeing King Tut and a live performance of the Counting Crows. I feel like a lucky, lucky girl.

Other than that, we got up this morning and hiked back (which seemed to go much more quickly) and stopped and had breakfast/lunch at a local place near the island. The breakfast was so-so but the cream of crab soup was AMAZING. And, because a post wouldn’t be a post unless I showed you what we had for supper, here it is: Stir-Fried Vegetables with Coconut Curry Sauce.
The semifreddo is in the freezer at present, but I’m a little worried about it because the recipe only specified “heavy cream,” so I bought what the label called “table cream,” but I think now that Matt was right and I should have bought “whipping cream,” because I was unable to form the requisite soft peaks while beating. We’ll see.

And lastly, in case you all have emulated our example and have been using homemade rags, but wonder “How do they keep those old shreds of underwear smelling April-fresh all the time?” –here’s your answer.