Baltimore, part II (or is it part III?)

I left off with our first day in Baltimore, so I'd better get back to this before I forget what we did.

Sunday morning, we had some time to kill before L's conference began at 2:00 PM, so we walked from our Marriott Waterfront hotel to the Walters Art Museum, about 1.5 miles. One never knows quite what to expect on a long walk in a city they've never been to, and Baltimore's reputation isn't that great, but the walk was just fine. (And as it turns out, our time in Baltimore was quite pleasant. I try hard not to allow the reputation of a city color the way I approach it as a visitor. Baltimore and St. Louis, two cities that are perceived as "dangerous," have actually become two of my favorite places).

The Walters Art Museum has, as of our visit (and this writing), a fascinating temporary exhibition on ancient Egyptian animal mummies. Little did I know that Egyptians wrapped such animals as tilapia and crocodiles into mummies. The mummies are elaborately wrapped and quite artful.

Allow me to digress and praise the Walters Art Museum for being free of charge. In this time of turmoil in the U.S., when the arts and sciences are under attack from the Trump regime, it's a relief to see museums like the Walters that serve the public. I also appreciate that the pro-slavery, Confederacy-supporting past of the Walters family is addressed by the museum. 

We spent at least two hours in the museum--maybe closer to three hours--and then walked back the hotel. When L finished with her afternoon sessions, we headed over to a Mexican restaurant called La Calle in Fells Point, where I had my first-ever margarita with mezcal instead of tequila. I decided that I prefer tequila, so I switched over to that with my second and final margarita.

We then went wandering down Thames Street again and, after my "reconnaissance mission" of the night before, stopped back into Sound Garden and bought two cheap used CDs (All Change by the band Cast and Bruce Springsteen's The Ghost of Tom Joad). We returned to the hotel and decompressed by watching the Netflix show Black Rabbit, which is actually quite intense and perhaps not the best show to "decompress" to). 

On Monday, with L's conference in full swing, I had the entire morning and afternoon to kill. Being a sports fan--though not as intense a sports fan as I was in my younger days--I always like to see the ballparks and stadiums of whatever city I am in. Fueled by Starbucks coffee and a breakfast sandwich, I walked the two-ish miles from our hotel to the Baltimore Orioles' stadium (Oriole Park at Camden Yards) and the Baltimore Ravens' football stadium (M&T Bank Stadium). My conclusion is that Oriole Park at Camden Yards is much more attractive than the institutional, brutalist-lite M&T Bank Stadium. The corporate name is also a turnoff. I pray that Oriole Park never becomes [Corporate Name] Park at Camden Yards.

After sauntering around the stadiums and taking multiple photos on my phone, I still had an hour until the Orioles' merchandise shop opened at 11:00 AM. I didn't know that the shop's hours change during the offseason, as my phone still has the opening time listed as 10 o'clock.

I walked the couple blocks from Camden Yards to Babe Ruth's birthplace on Emory Street. It's a late 19th century rowhouse, similar to so many other rowhouses in Baltimore. I pictured a very young George Ruth (well before he became known as "Babe") getting into mischief on the narrow streets around this house. (Then I learned that Ruth and his family moved shortly after he was born to another rowhouse in a different Baltimore neighborhood. As it turns out, based on pictures I've seen of THAT house, it's similar to where Babe was born, so the fantasy can remain the same).

Unfortunately, the museum inside the Babe Ruth rowhouse was closed on Monday, so I decided to walk up to Edgar Allan Poe's gravesite at Westminster Hall and Burying Ground. It is an appropriately gothic and spooky little plot next to this old church (which is now surrounded by modern office buildings and the campus of the University of Maryland-Baltimore). I should note that not only is E.A. Poe buried here, but so is his wife Virginia Clemm Poe. She died at the tender age of 24 from tuberculosis. Edgar was left distraught and he died in Baltimore just two years later, under extremely mysterious circumstances. I paid my respects by leaving a penny on Edgar and Virginia's memorial and thought that I really should dust off that volume of Poe short stories I have had for decades and read at least some of it. I have not read any Poe in a long time. 

So then I traipsed back down Greene Street towards Camden Yards and the Orioles shop. I tend to become attached to the sports team representing whatever city I am in. So, when I was in Seattle, I bought a Seahawks hat, in Denver it was a Broncos hat, in New York--a Yankees hat (catching hell from a lot of my friends for opting for the "Evil Empire" over the underdog Mets. I probably deserved that ribbing. Also, a Mets hat wouldn't have made me stand out so obviously as a tourist. But what can I say, I wasn't feeling the Mets at that particular time). I wandered around the shop for darned near an hour trying to decide which O's hat to buy, finally deciding on an all-black one with the "cartoon Oriole" logo. (I'm sure all of this is incredibly exciting to hear). The shop was playing incredibly cool music over their sound system. At one point, Aretha Franklin's version of "Respect" came on and two or three middle-aged Black women in the store sang along with gusto. I kinda sang the song under my breath. When it was over, I said to one of the women, "That song STILL holds up!" She replied,, "Mm-hmm" in agreement. I hope I didn't come across as some idiot middle-aged white dude trying to make some "connection." I was being 100 percent honest. That song not only holds up, but kicks ass and takes names, I have to imagine it hits harder and much differently for a Black woman than it does for a white guy.

With that, I shall conclude Part II.