Leaving Portland, Maine a few weeks ago, Kevin & I tried to anticipate when we'd be ready for dinner. Based on growling stomachs around Rye, NY on the trip up, we estimated somewhere around Hartford, CT. I went to college in Western MA so I'm well aware that 95 in Connecticut is somewhat of a mess. In fact, CT into NY is sort of a buckle-up-and-plow-through stretch. We asked our friends & Portland hosts if they had any ideas about scoring a decent meal in Hartford. A few texts later we learned there was a well reviewed falafel joint!
After detouring to Emerson's house & Walden Pond, we were indeed hungry entering CT. Thankfully, Tangiers is not far off the highway. They were in the process of moving when we visited, but their current incarnation was a Middle Eastern market with a diner-style counter. It was impeccably clean! Neatly dressed brothers made every order in front of you. Grab a cool drink from the refrigerator, shoot, go grocery shopping while you wait!
Kevin & I ordered an assortment of treats from the menu. Our counter neighbor turned out to have an El Salvadoran husband. We swapped travel stories & exchanged information.
Sated, returning to the car, Kevin spied a sign advertising Mark Twain's house.
Lord.
It was still kind of his Birthday weekend.
So, bellies full, we drove a bit down the same road to the well-labeled and expansive Twain estate. It was after hours and closed, but the grounds were easily accessible.
I'm sure a tour guide would help to understand the history of the place. With Kevin, I think the probability is high that experience is in our future. You can sort of see that the building looks a bit like a Mississippi steamer. Or does it? Are we projecting "Huckleberry Finn" onto Twain's digs?
Regardless, lovely hill for a roll.
I promise to no longer be snarky about Connecticut. Connecticut has Twain, Stowe, and falafel. You can stay.
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