The night man at the front desk of the
Robert Treat Hotel told us to go to
Ferry Street, and that's what we did. The recommendation was spot on. Ferry Street boasts a great deal of Iberian character, and seated in a Portuguese bakery with sweets and coffee, surrounded by regulars speaking the language of Lisbon (and Sao Paulo), it was easy to imagine being elsewhere. This feeling always is part of the romance of travel for me, anyway. The photos do it scant justice, but when in Newark, check out Ferry Street. Next time, perhaps an evening meal will provide the opportunity to pair imported Sagres with tripe stew. Or, we may just go to Portugal and cut out Frankie Valli (see preceding).
Damned one-way streets. At least in Newark, people double park in them.
Walking back toward the hotel, there was a farmers market, yet again without permanent infrastructure to support it. How is it possible?
In early afternoon, the shuttle deposited us at Newark Liberty Airport. It was September 11, and I couldn't help recalling earlier transfers at Newark. Once was before 9-11, and the other after it. First the twin towers, and then a hole in the ground. Seeing the new tower on the horizon felt puzzling in a way. Still, there was a plane to catch. Following a meal of sushi and Sam Adams, we caught it.
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