We all traverse physical distances as we travel. But most of the pleasure of travel is traversing experience—the cultural, culinary, linguistic, adventures of a new place. Or of watching schooners tacking on a bay.
While growing up in New York, my Merchant Mariner father sought to teach me how to survive either ashore and afloat. Here are his rules:
Vendetta, my father told me, was an art invented by the Catalans. Hot, cold, mild, or spiced, Catalan's mastered it. That was where I left it until I moved to Maine. There I learned it was a bit more complicated.
The cunners lurked below. They swam near the rock recesses and around the pilings of the wharf where we were eating lunch.
As an adult, some of my "research" grew bolder. Friends in Boston took me out for seafood and drinks the night before I shipped out for the first time. The ship sailed directly into heavy weather, and I spent the midwatch worshipping the throne. I deny that I was seasick. It had been the clams.
Manhattan, by and large, is a grid. Except for some of the areas in the south of the island, navigation is by right and left turns. Street navigation then breaks down into east or west of Broadway. Or into what area you are going to; Meat Packer's district, Mid-town, the Garment District. The turns then followed by passages of long blocks. On moving to coastal Maine, I discovered that adequate roads and bridges were modern phenomena.
My father once told me that it was a pilot biscuit that he'd give me when I was teething, to my mother's dismay. Mom was afraid I choke on them.
The stem boards of the Cora F Cressy raised questions about a company I had once been familiar with.
Market research needs to be more than the Brain Trust sitting around proclaiming that this is a great idea.