How I Spent My Summer Vacation: Part Three

Greetings, Fellow Adventurers!

Before I regale you with more tales from beautiful and historic Salem, Massachusetts, I really have to mention a place where we had lunch on Day Two.

In addition to their charmingly mongoloidian mascot, the Gulu-Gulu Cafe on 247 Essex Street had some truly delectable eats (like their fresh n' crunchy Garden Wrap) as well as fine selection of tasty beverages.  I had a chance to sample the Brooklyn Brown, Peak Pale Ale, Southern Tier Creme Brulee Stout and the Pretty Things ¡Magnifico!, which is an adjective I'd prescribe to any of these fine refreshments.

    
If you only associate American beer with swill like Coors / Bud / Miller Light then you obviously haven't tried some of the amazing microbreweries out there.  Honestly, go off the beaten path a little bit and you'll be duly rewarded with a host of tasty concoctions.

The first thing we did on Day Three was pop into Jaho Coffee and Tea on 197 Derby Street for a light breakfast.  In addition to featuring a pretty decent ba-egg-el (bacon/egg/bagel) sammich, the place has some pretty awesome dark roasts and iced coffees.

En route to our first stop, we paused to admire some of the beautiful houses within the Salem Maritime National Historic grounds including the West India Goods Store built in 1804:

The stately Derby House constructed in 1762:

And the unique-looking Narbonne House which dates all the way back to 1675!

But our ultimate goal that morning was The House of the Seven Gables, which is considered to be the oldest surviving mansion house in North America.  Constructed by seafarer extraordinaire John Turner in 1668, the imposing-looking structure inspired Nathaniel Hawthorne to write his book of the same name in 1851.

Hawthorne himself was a pretty interesting cat.  The product of Puritan ancestry, Nathaniel's great-great-grandfather, John Hathorne, was a ruthless and unrepentant judge during the infamous Salem Witch Trials.  Rumor has it that Nathaniel was so repulsed by his family's dark legacy that he added a "W" to his last name in order to distance himself from them.

Hawthorne's work often reflected on hysterical thought, self-righteousness, ethical persecution and mob rule.  His romantic classic The Scarlet Letter tells the tale of a 17'th century adulteress who goes through untold miseries in order to make peace with herself and reclaim her life.  In a day and age when people aren't merely content to have their own moral ethos without cramming it down someone else's throat, I really believe that this book is more relevant now then ever.

And then there's The House of the Seven Gables; a clam-chowder-flavored Wuthering Heights filtered through Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher.  It's a crackerjack yarn filled with revenge, murder, death, madness, retribution and whispers of witchcraft and all manner of shady dealings.  And, oh yes, there's a l'il dash of implied snoggery thrown in there for good measure.            

As soon as you set eyes on the imposing black manse that inspired Hawthorne, you're brain automatically starts to conjure up shades of well, shades.

A forward thinking lady by the name of Caroline Emmerton purchased the heavily-modified house in 1908.  Using Hawthorne's classic novel as a blueprint, she had all seven gables restored to the home and even added Hepzibah Pyncheon's fictional "cent shop" to the first floor.

But there were even cooler revelations to come.  At one point during the tour, our guide popped the back panel out of an innocuous-looking wood closet and led us into a bone-fide secret friggin' passage which spiraled up through the house's massive central chimney, eventually depositing us in a creaky, schizophrenic-looking attic.  I mean, c'mon, how awesome is that?!?!  

Despite the house's creepy countenance and oddball design, neither of us felt particularly ill-at-ease during our visit.  The same could be said for Hawthorne's birth-home, which was originally constructed in 1750 on Union Street but moved to the properly in 1958.  Both historic sites are well-appointed with
thousands of rare items of antiquity like furniture, dishware, bedding, art, books and photographs.  The Hawhorne House even features a perfectly preserved 18'th Century kitchen presided over by a friendly matron who was quite keen to field questions in return for a few answers of our own.

Also adding to charm of the site were the immaculate splendors of the Seaside Gardens:

And then there was this playground supposedly for "kids" (*Pffffttt!*...labels) which had a cool little wooden boat to play around in.  Naturally I couldn't resist the opportunity to bust out my world-famous Captain Ahab impersonation:

"Thank ye!  Thank ye!  Thou art an audience both noble and true.  I shall be here anon.  Pilot thine carriage with care and prithee try the kidney pie!"

Hey, man, why should they get to do all the 18'th century gags?

By the time we left The House of the Seven Gables the temperature in Salem had risen to about 38 degrees Celsius, which, if my calculations are correct, is about 70,000 degrees Fahrenheit.  By noon both of us were shuffling through the streets like vampiric sloths, seeking shade at every turn and sticking our heads underneath air conditioner units to catch the sweet, sweet run-off.

Motivated by self-preservation, we crawled into just about every shop that boasted air conditioning.  But a completely different motivation led us into Ye Olde Pepper Companie.  After all, it's not everyday that you get to visit "America's oldest candy company".

As is seemingly the case with every free-standing structure in Salem, the shop's origins are truly amaze-balls.  In 1806 an Englishwoman by the name of Mrs. Spencer was shipwrecked near Salem.  She and her son became hopelessly destitute until a rumor started to circulate around town that she was an accomplished candy-maker.  I imagine the following conversation too place not long after:

"Hey, I gots me a hardcore cravin' fo' some candy, right now.  How 'bout you, dawg?"
"Hells to the yeah!"
"A'ight!  Where we gonna score it?  Can you make that shit?"
"Um, well, naw, G..."
"Okay...so...check it, y'know that shorty wif the funny accent that's always be bangin' on about spare change down on Buffum Street?  Doctor J (the "J" is for Jeremiah, BTW) say she make candy like a mother-f#@%er!!!"
"That MILF be a candy-maker too?  She's like...the perfect woman...except fo', y'know the kid."
(awkward pause)
"Ummmm, yeah, so I be thinkin'....since I can't make no candy, and you can't make no candy, and we all got a sweet toof, why don't we all jus' get a coupla Lincolns together, procure a few keys o' that fine white granulated pure cane shit, give it to her and see what she can do?"
"Word!"

And so the town collectively raised enough cheddar to set her up in her trade.  Little did they know that Mrs. Spencer would parley this act of charity into the now-famous "Salem Gibraltar", the very first commercially produced candy in America as well as a staple treat on many a naval vessel at the time.

I walked away with several nummy confections, including some vanilla and orange cremes and chocolate caramels.  Naturally I had to jam every single one of them in my food-hole just as soon as I crossed over the threshold 'lest the poor, delectable, compulsively-edible artisan sweeties melt away into the best-tasting bag of hot chocolate EVAR.

We slowly oozed our way down Derby Street and up Washington Square West, popping into antique stores and witch shops as we went.  Then, in the distance, we spied the stately visage of Nathaniel Hawthone himself and slithered up to it for a photo op before back-tracking down to Charter Street.  

While trundling down the refreshingly shady Charter, we passed by the Witch Trials Memorial, which was regrettable being refurbished.  But right next door was The Burying Point, the oldest cemetery in Salem.  Interred within its gates are several original Mayflower passengers as well as John Hathorne, the aforementioned ancestor of Nathaniel Hawthorne who was a fervent and unrelenting lead judge in the notorious Witchcraft Trials.

Even in broad daylight this place was kinda creepy...      

    

The really weird thing is: I shot all of these in color!  Kidding!  

As if this wasn't unnerving enough, several gun-metal grey clouds began to form overhead and the air adopted a heavy ozone smell which usually heralds rain.  While beetling out in and out of the stores along Essex Street we began to hear the shop-keeps talking in hushed tones about some sort of warning.  It was the threat of something dreadful, something dark, mindless and viciously destructive.  Something I've mercifully never encountered and certainly don't ever care to.  Something I have a stark, irrational fear of.  

Tornados.

Check back on the 'ol ECD soon for the super-spooky continuation!!!  

EPIC READZ:

FAIL:   "ERMERGERHD, TERNAHDEHR!!!"

How I Spent My Summer Vacation: Part Two

Hello, Fellow Kerouacians!

As we got closer to Salem certain town names in Massachusetts (like Newburyport, Ispwich and Gloucester) began to ring a bell with me.  Then it suddenly occurred to me: I was entering H.P. Lovecraft country!

Born in Providence, Rhode Island in 1890, Lovecraft is often cited as a major influence on the modern horror genre.  In addition to being one of the most gifted descriptive writers of all time, Lovecraft also created his own mythos, dominated by the ancient, all powerful cosmic entity Cthulhu.  A slew of contemporary scribes like Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore all cite Lovecraft as a profound early influence on their writing careers.

Seeing these places immediately made my mind up about going back some day.  Except this time I'd be on the trail of the Deep Ones.

I also had to thank Crom for giving me the foresight to pick up a GPS unit.  The only time the thing screwed up was when we made a programming error or if recent construction had altered our route somehow.  This happened right at the end of our journey when it prompted us to loop around to access an on-ramp which had obviously been re-fashioned into a direct left turn just days earlier.  Otherwise, its guidance was flawless.

Without it, we probably would have driven around for hours just trying to find our hotel.  After following its prompts through the Amity-from-Jaws-like town of Beverly, the GPS put us on a labyrinthine, winding country road which eventually led to our destination.  As we pulled into the parking lot of the Wylie Inn, we were suitably impressed.  The place was located on some of the nicest  grounds I'd ever seen:

In fact, the story of the two main buildings (Tupper Hall and the Conference Center) is actually a pretty interesting read.  Although our room was fairly modest, we still couldn't shake the distinctive feeling that we were guests of the Carringtons for a few days.  

It was an absolutely beautiful evening, so we quickly checked in and made a bee-line for downtown Salem.  We managed to snipe a parking spot right in front of the Salem Witch Museum on 19 1/2 (?) Washington Square North.   We were surprised that the place was still buzzing with activity until we realized that the staff was desperately trying to herd people out and close up for the night.  Just as the last few slack-jawed yokels were trickling out I managed to get a restaurant recommendation from a staff member.

"Oh, wow, so many choices," he replied, sounding pained by the prospect of choosing just one.  "Well, you can't go wrong with Salem Beer Works.  It's a microbrewery pub with really good food."

Good food?  Beer?  Microbrewery?  Sold!

Our guide's advice turned out to be spot-on.  Soon we were enjoying a delectable supper:

 And a cornucopia of tasty beverages:

Let the record show that when the waitress came by to offer the last four samplers, I had every intention  to say "No".  But even before I had a chance to decline my infinitely smarter half blurted out "Hells, yeah!  Bring it on!  We're on vacation!"

In fact, I'm pretty sure she even added a "WOOT!" in there somewhere.

Needless to say, after splitting twelve samplers, we both felt compelled to stroll around for a few hours before driving back to the hotel.  This worked out well, since it gave us a chance to get the lay of the land.  We crossed over the South River, went back over Congress Street and then made our way through Pickering Wharf.  

Throughout our stroll, Salem's distinctive architecture and sense of history were palpable.

As we walked out onto Derby Wharf, we stopped to admire the Friendship of Salem, a full-scale replica of an East Indian merchantman built 2000.

Notwithstanding its incredibly lame handle (Who was her former skipper?  Barney the Dinosaur?), the Friendship is a real marvel which functions as both a living museum and as a fully-certified Coast Guard vessel.

But it wasn't until we meandered back up onto Derby street that I really fell in love with Salem.  Within a few short paces of the Friendship's majestic beauty we saw this:

That's right folks: The Bunghole.

Just like everything else in Salem, there's a funny story here.  The Bunghole used to be a funeral parlor that that served as a clandestine watering hole during Prohibition.  Supposedly the Urban Dictionary version of "bunghole" was used as a secret code word in reference to the place, as in "Hey, Norman!  You wanna take a quick dart into tha' bunghole with me tonight?"  I can only imagine the sort of rumors that got started in 1920's Salem when teetotallers overheard these charming little homilies!

When Prohibition was lifted in 1933, the spot was converted into a liquor store and the name stuck.  Needless to say, the owners have a real blast with the cheeky name, selling novelty t-shirts bearing hilariously pervy double entendres.

By that time it was getting pretty late so we decided to pack it in and get an early start the next day.  En route back into the town following morning we stopped in at the Red-White-and-Blue-a-rrific Coffee Time Bake Shop on Bridge Street.

Amidst the Star-Spangled environs I heartily relished an awesome blueberry scone paired with a solid cuppa joe...

While headed back to the car I began to notice just how much Americans love bumper stickers.  They seem to use them to trumpet their opinions in the exact same way that I use the medium of t-shirts to soapbox my own unique brand of cluelessness to the world:

Hmmmm, given all the references to the Grateful Dead and Towlie, I guess it makes sense that the owner bought their car at "Green Leaf Auto Sales".  Gold, Jerry, gold!

Our first stop of the day was the Salem Witch Museum.

Converted from a church built in the 1840's, the museum has served as a major tourist destination since 1972.  The $9.00 admission price earns you a two-fer.  In Part One guests are seated in a large room where atmospheric lighting is used to illuminate full-scale dioramas depicting the scenes of hysteria that broke out in Salem in the winter of 1692 and the completely fraudulent trials that followed.  Accompanying sound effects and creepy narration adds to the effect.

The second part takes visitors through a series of displays illustrating witchcraft throughout the ages.  My favorite part honors the Celtic Pagan Midwife who often used her sage-like knowledge of herbology to cure ailments and treat wounds.  The mind reels when you ponder what course human history might have taken if the Catholic Church hadn't seen these women as a threat and re-cast them as Satanic concubines.  Perhaps Europe wouldn't have gone through such a long and pronounced Dark Age.      

Although I'm happy to see modern-day witches enjoy a semblance of religious acceptance, my sympathies definitely lie more with the Celtic Pagan Midwife then modern Wiccans.  With their crushed velvet robes, leafy headbands and hippy-dippy sensibilities, modern witchcraft seems just a tad too pretentious to me.  Maybe its because they remind me of elves.  And I friggin' hate elves.

"All hail, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn!"  

In all seriousness, I still have more respect for Wiccans then I do for the Catholic Church.  At least Wiccans have the good sense to respect Mother Earth.  Plus they seem to stay the f#@k away from kids.   

The other interesting part of the display was the FEAR + TRIGGER = SCAPEGOAT equation, which likens the anti-witch hysteria to more, shall we say, contemporary counterparts.  

     
Although I could certainly appreciate the reference to Japanese interment, the McCarthy era and the persecution of gay people during the first appearance of AIDS, there was one modern parallel which was conspicuously absent from the board.  Needless to say, it took all my willpower not to steal a Sharpie from the gift shop and add:

        FEAR       +     TRIGGER    =        SCAPEGOAT
   TERRORISTS    +      9/11      =       ALL MUSLIMS

Just outside the museum there's a grim-looking statue of a dude named Roger Conant:

With his stern countenance, imposing cloak and witch-finder general pilgrim lid, it's easy to mistake ol' Rog for a major player during the witch trials.  In reality, nothing could be further from the truth.  Conant was actually one of the founding fathers of Naumkeag, which was renamed 'Salem' in 1629.  He actually died more then ten years before everybody lost their shit over all this crazy witch stuff.  

After leaving the museum, we wandered through the Essex Street Pedestrian Mall, encountering an awesome bookstore that looked like the product of a beautifully disordered mind:

  

We also found a Harry Potter themed store...

So, naturally I got all gooned up on a flat of Butterbeer.  Hey, you know what they say: "When in Hogwarts..."

Unfortunately, in my inebriated state, my wife caught me flirting with a statue of Elizabeth Montgomery from Bewitched.  Wow, talk about awkward!   

I should have known she was a statue; the likeness isn't quite right.  Look closely: the poor girl's got a face like a half-chewed caramel.

One of my favorite shops on Essex Street was Harrison's Comics and Collectibles.   

It was as if someone had taken an old Woolworth's department store and stocked every square inch of it with toys, games, figurines, posters, books, magazines, t-shirts and, of course, a metric shit-ton of comics.  This included Batman #257, which was one of the first comic books I ever owned as a wee lad of only four winters.  Naturally, I just had to buy it!

But by far my favorite stop of the day was Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery on Derby Street.    

This place was right up my alley.  In what must have been a true labour of love, museum owner and horror film connoisseur James Lurgio commissioned a bunch of makeup and prosthetic effect artists to create a horrible host of life-sized figures honoring the greatest fiends in cinema history!  

His impressive collection spans the entire history of the genre.  In addition to Silent Era ghouls like the eponymous Count Orlok and Lon Chaney's "vampire" from London After Midnight, all of the Golden Age Universal monsters are also present and accounted for.  There's even a considerable section dedicated to Hammer's horror cycle as well as the notorious stable of modern slashers like Freddy, Jason and Monsieur Myers.     

Every once and awhile James would pop out of some secret corridor or alcove to try and scare the ever-living crap out of us.  I don't think it took him very long to realize that were were both pretty hardcore and it was gonna take a helluva lot more to freak us out!

Granted my Army of Darkness t-shirt was a bit of a tell, but it's still kinda funny how people can establish an instant rapport when they have something in common.  James and I prattled on endlessly about our favorite characters, the state of the genre and plans to expand the museum.  Honestly, if my not-nearly-as-obsessive-better-half hadn't physically dragged me out of the place, I gladly would have become a permanent resident!

When spooky musician and horror film director Rob Zombie visited the museum back in September 2011 he was quick to Tweet: "When in Salem, MA check out Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery.  Fun for the whole family.  Good times."  

I couldn't have said it better myself, Rob.

Coming up on the Emblogification Capture Device:

• Traverse secret passages in a famous literary house come to life!
• Enter the 17'th century home of witchcraft Judge Jonathan Corwin and come down with a serious case of the wiggins.
• See more photographic evidence that I may indeed have a drinking problem.  
• Heat prostration is fun!  
• Visit a graveyard that's plenty spooky, even in broad daylight!
• A Salem Night Ghost turns out to be so awesome, I regret not doing it first!  

EPIC   Count Orlok's owner James Lurgio wishes you bad tidings...

FAIL  'Nuff said...