ethnic things

September 15, 2002

"All I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by." - John Masefield.

Today one might also ask for tropical depression Hannah to hold off for the tall ships and the ethnic heritage festival. The wind keeps those huge flags flying, snapping crisply in the gale. The sails are furled. The ships aren't sailing. The Ernestina out of New Bedford is nowhere to be seen, but the Providence (out of, naturally, Providence), and the Quinnipiak from Connecticut are both moored at India Point.

The clouds hang low, looking like they'll burst at any moment and drench everything in sight. Dust devils whirl on the pathways, and playgrounds. Infield dirt from the baseball diamond invades the soccer field where Mexican flags are flying in the same manic rhythm as Old Glory on the tall ships. The clang of rigging against masts at Community Boating mingles with the chirps of frighteningly manic starlings and good old American electric guitars ... brown-eyed girl ... i thought love was only true in fairy tales... hey, you're a rock star...

The flag on the Providence whips around in the changing gale and knocks my hat off. I catch it before it flies out over the harbor toward the tern barge and East Providence. Smells of Filipino, Japanese, Portuguese and Cape Verdean cooking swirl in with the wet salty harbor smell and the greasy all-American french fry smell. What's more American than french fries? I search in vain for a purveyor of malasadas though I see people walk by eating them. I buy us each a fried plantain at the Filipino subcommittee booth and a $1 tee shirt at the Maritme and Heritage Festival booth hoping my small spending spree will help build the Heritage Harbor Museum.

A box labeled serapes sits on the ground next to a box labeled risk assesment. Two swans fly by low over the water so pristinely white against the gray sky and grayer water that I swear there must be a spotlight on them. Swings keep moving in the wind long after the children have jumped off of them. And it finally starts to rain. Not a tropical deluge, more like a serious increase in humidity. The air just thickens with moisture and keeps on swirling around.

We're hungry and haven't found any malasadas yet. We retreat to Cafe Zog for sandwiches and Phylo iced tea - a locally produced beverage that is either tea flavored soda or carbonated tea. And the wind just keeps on blowing.

 

Today's Reading
Birds of Siberia by Henry Seebohm

This Year's Reading
2002 Book List

Pictures

Tall ships at India Point

The Providence

The Quinnipiak

Bumper stickers on a Wickenden Street shop door