Imagine being encircled by a herd of rough motorcyclists all revving up their engines to flaunt the horsepower of their Harley Davidsons. Imagine walking through a cloud of dried and fermented tobacco cigar smoke that can only be experienced on tobacco farms in Cuba. Imagine being welcomed by the victimization of a male duck who felt as though you were intruding on his territory and had the intention of stealing his mate. This is the environment I encountered when I first stepped foot in the bustling town of New Hope, Pennsylvania.
Before my travel partner, Grace, and I even reached our first destination, we encountered an evidently very hormonal drake. He was waddling along the bank of the stream surrounded by three female ducks of whom he was very possessive. I wanted to get a closer look so I slowly stepped in his direction only to be greeted with a snarl-like facial expression from the 20-25 pound bird. Grace told me how when she was younger, her brother and she would feed the ducks stale bread when they came to New Hope on the weekends. Was I the only one that felt terrorized by an animal of which I was about five times the size? Adding to my confusion was the roar of the crowds and crowds of motorcycles making their over the bridge and down Main Street. After making peace with the ducks and dodging the little children who also wanted a closer look at this entourage of birds, Grace and I were finally able to make our way to the infamous Bucks County Playhouse. Being the furthest from a theater-goer, I was very apprehensive about facing the numerous people anxiously waiting in the line that extended way out the theater and into the blazing sun of that April day. But with Grace’s tug on the arm, and a voice in my head telling me this would help me to be more “cultured,” we made our way up the steps. The hustle and bustle we encountered in the lobby of the theater ensured me that I wasn’t the least bit crazy when I declared that I may be claustrophobic. The performance of 42nd Street had attracted it seemed like every elderly person in New Hope as well as from the surrounding towns. Of course, we were not permitted to enter the actual theater due to our lack of tickets but we were offered playbills that listed the actors and actresses in the play as well as a short summary of the plot. But soon enough, I felt as though I was entirely cultured and enough was enough, I had to head outside.
From one rambunctious crowd of people to another, Grace and I began to make our way down the backbone of New Hope, Main Street. This Main Street was like any other Main Street I have encountered but with a clearly flamboyant side. One of our many stops was the Type B Tie Dye Studio, one of the only true tie dye establishments in the United States. Parked outside was a yellow Honda with rainbow-inspired racing stripes painted along the sides. Leaning against the car was a rough-looking man with mangled carpenter jeans decorated with various rainbow and peace sign patches. He had a beard full of scraggly grey hair complemented with a rainbow bandana tied around his head to protect his balding scalp from the sun’s harmful rays. My instinct was to be intimidated by this man because he resembled the cycler who tears up the streets on his Harley Davidson yet it was ironic to see him so proud of his yellow and rainbow-inspired mode of transportation. Upon entering the studio, I was overwhelmed with the hand-dyed patterns I only associate with my childhood. Greeting us was a large-boned woman who at first glance I knew had to be Mother Nature in a green tie-dyed shirt. Melissa Bayer’s dark lipstick and lip liner was a stark contrast against the welcoming presence she gave me when I first stepped foot into her store. Grace and I made ourselves comfortable at a dark wooden table surrounded by fuzzy red chairs all positioned in a spot from which we could look out onto the bustling street. We were so fascinated by the man and his canary yellow car in front of the store that the second we sat down Grace pulled out her camera and peered through the window panes to capture this man who we decided was the essence of New Hope. As we began to make conversation with the wannabe Mother Nature, Grace and my only reactions were “wow” and “that’s so cool.” Never had we known that the technique of tying clothing and then dying them was a method brought over by the Korean and Vietnam veterans after the war. Unfortunately, the majority of tie-dying in America is now done by machine or through the use of computer programs, which is not a surprise given the fast moving advances in technology these days. Then when discussing what is made in the shop, the woman told us that it costs “$15 to dye” which, out of context, may have sounded a tad bit odd. Eager to discover the many other secrets we knew New Hope had to hold, we left the woman with her sink of dye and washing machine and set off to our next destination. The store adjacent to the studio, A Taste of Cuba, struck me as some type of extravagant culinary experience I could not pass up. Upon entering, I was confronted with a faceful of cigar smoke. Why had I not made sense of the six foot wooden statue of a Native American Indian, feathery head piece and all, smoking a cigar outside the shop? Indeed, I had had my taste of Cuba and my taste buds had had enough.
Another one of our many stops along Main Street was a small store nestled on a busy corner, The Shop of India. I did not even have to enter to experience what it would be like to dress as though I lived in India as I had to first make my way through racks and racks of skirts, dresses, tops, and scarves. Finally making my way to the entrance, I was thrown right into a crazy assortment of various clothing items and accessories or different pattern, colors, and materials. Covering the walls were saris, blouses, scarves and dresses of intricately designed colorful patterns that would stand out in any society. Imagine living in a society that conformity was not the norm and you could wear any pattern you desired and not be faced with the puzzled looks you receive from other girls who were wondering as to where you found something like that. A sign on the wall advertised that the store was “NOW CARRYING PLUS SIZES.” Wow, go you, America. In the glass cases enclosing the cash registrar, I found a wide array of elaborately and meticulously-designed religious figurines made of various materials from wood to stone. Also in these cases were rings for almost any part of the body someone would desire to pierce from earrings to belly-button rings to those that can be used to decorate one’s eyebrow. This store was a perfect example of the blending of cultures in this area of Pennsylvania. I don’t know how many people in India really have their eyebrow pierced or need plus sizes but you also don’t often see Americans walking around in traditional Indian clothing. The Shop of India showed that cultures can combine to create an entirely new culture that takes bits and pieces from both ends of the spectrum. Upon leaving this shop, my stomach realized it was about noon and needed to find food. Conveniently, a short way down the sidewalk was found Gerenser’s Exotic Ice Cream shop. Inside, a large board had been set up advertising the many flavors Gerenser had to offer from Caribbean Spicy Tree Bark to Puerto Rican Banana Brandy as well as the usual Chocolate or Cookie Dough. Who knew you could put tree bark in ice cream?
Coming into New Hope eager to experience new things and meet people I wouldn’t encounter in my small town of Cranbury, New Jersey, I left with a both cultured and new outlook on life. New Hope touched on many aspects of life as I realized the clear culture clash in my everyday life as well as ways of life I would not have been able to experience otherwise. Though it was intimidating at times with the roar of motorcycles and fear of panicking from claustrophobia, meeting my own Mother Nature and tasting Cuba was truly worth every minute spent traveling down Main Street.
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