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Published: November 6th 2009
Rural Pennsylvania
Curious cows grazing beside an old gas station as we stopped for gas off of I-81.My brother, who is a Master of Arms in the Navy, had been on leave for nearly two weeks, and Kristen and I offer to drive him back down to his base, NAS Oceana, in Virginia Beach, VA. We decide to leave a few days before he is due back and make a short vacation out of the drive. We first drive to the western side of Virginia, in Stuarts Draft, near the Blue Ridge Mountains, to stay the night with our grandfather.
The next morning we drive to Williamsburg. Jamie and I had been to this area years ago for a family vacation, and we had all agreed that it was a rather underwhelming experience. Deciding to give it another shot, we check into our hotel and begin wandering the streets. We forgo the admission ticket, which would have allowed us into certain buildings, and instead explore the recreated colonial streets for free, checking out the livestock and period architecture. Just as when we were children, there are very few actors walking the streets (in contrast to the multitude they show on television commercials), and the feeling of being transported into another era is continually lost in the throngs
of tourist families.
We reserve a table at one of the town’s more upscale restaurants, where period-costumed waiters and waitresses serve colonial cuisine. The meal is expensive, but the quality and atmosphere, we feel, is worth the splurge.
At dark we join a ghost tour. As touristy as they can be, Kristen and I have found that they are great ways to find the back alleys in cities that make it easier to get around. They range in quality, from the genuinely creepy (Charleston, SC) to the terribly hokey (Gettysburg, PA). This one is closer to the latter, especially considering that many of the buildings are not original and were built by John D. Rockefeller. However, it is at least entertaining when Jamie is picked out by the guide for a story demonstration, perhaps due to his conspicuous band tee-shirt which reads: “I Killed the Prom Queen.”
The following day we drive to Busch Gardens Europe amusement park, adjacent to the Anheuser beer factory. The rides and shows are organized to reflect popular European destinations: England, Scotland, Ireland, Italy, and Germany, and include things like Alpine-themed log flumes and a beer garden with dancers in lederhosen. As
I have said in the past, I am not a thrill ride lover, and the shows often leave something to be desired. Had this been our first visit, we probably would have been more impressed. Nevertheless, we have a good time, and Kristen and Jamie ride roller coasters throughout most of the day. For dinner, we settle for delivered pizza in the hotel room.
On our last full day we drive to Virginia Beach, and Jamie is able to show us around the base. We watch as jet fighters landed and take off from the runway with deafening roars. We also take a ride to Norfolk to view the battle ships in the harbor. Having been on three naval bases thus far, I am struck by how architecturally dull and unassuming the buildings are, many of which date back to the 1960s and 1970s, and look it. I would assume that this would make them less-likely targets, and the uniformity would serve the likelihood that a bomber would not know which buildings housed the most crucial material.
Virginia Beach, once known as a “Redneck Riviera,” has undergone dramatic facelifts in past years. Unfortunately, views of the ocean are
Colonial Williamsburg
Sheep that were butting heads caught our attention. almost completely obscured by high-rise resorts. Being accustomed to the endless activities available in Myrtle Beach, a place that I grew to know quite well over many years, Virginia Beach is largely uninteresting. Bars and hotels, mostly, and when a family becomes sick of the sand there are not many other options from which to choose.
We visit the Virginia Aquarium and Marine Science Center. Half of the building is under construction and the other half is, I hate to say, largely uninteresting. We see the entire complex in less than an hour, including the outdoor aviary. While I am an ardent supporter of wildlife learning centers, this one needs more to keep the tourists and money coming.
To get home, I take Kristen across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. For over 17 miles the bridge carries us over the water, seeing the ocean everywhere we look, and then dips us into tunnels to allow boats to pass above. I cannot help but notice scores of dead seagulls along the bridge, seemingly struck by passing vehicles.
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