Alan Ilagan

Departing the Floating World ~ From 2003

I am at a party. The voices of the guests have merged into one monotonous roar. Not one stands out from the rest and Andy is nowhere to be seen. Someone pours me another drink. I smile and laugh. I think I laugh. And suddenly everything turns dark and slow. It feels like I am falling – or maybe floating, because it seems too hard to stand up and yet I do not crash down. I finish the drink. I taste nothing – no sharpness of alcohol, no sting of proof – just liquid pouring down my numb throat.

The question surfaces in the faces of my friends, in the flirtation of other men. Is he the one? How can I be sure? A part of me thinks there will always be a doubt, that we can never fully know and be completely certain. And so I drink more. Someone invites me outside for a smoke. I take one deep drag and hold it inside my lungs before missing Andy and stumbling back inside.

I fall into forgetfulness. I drown myself and float – floating and sinking at the same time. I can barely walk. I see laughing faces, grotesquely distorted. Demons of seductive depravity… is this fun or danger? I cannot tell and I continue onward in my search.

Do not drop the glass…

There are arms grabbing my arms. Hands and fingers crossed before my face. I fight to find something, someone. Will I always wonder? Half of my drink spills onto someone’s shirt. I quickly swallow the rest and then the world shuts down. Everything is darkness – all is oblivion. I don’t know who I am. I literally cannot remember who I am.

There is no past or future, only this present moment and I feel scared. I pretend I am all right. Focusing on how to walk, I let someone lead me into another room. How to explain that I don’t know who I am or where I came from? How to even begin? I know nothing but fear.

A terrifying thought, followed quickly by a strange resignation. What if this is what my life will be like? What if I never find who I am, who I was, who I was meant to be? Then I realize that no one else seems to know something is wrong, no one notices that I am lost. For one harrowing moment everything shuts down. I am aware of neither light nor space nor time – hovering in suspension – asleep and afloat in a void. Then into this nether region a hand – tender and caring and strong – pulls me slowly out of nothingness.

I am coming to… coming to the surface. Through my tears and sobs, through my drunken haze, through my moment of doubt and worry, I see him. I am fighting my way back from oblivion, tearing through years of masks, layers of drink and drug… There is my past pulling me back, but I am fighting even harder because I have to make my way back to him. And there it is. The answer for which I had been forever searching. The one thing that makes living in such a world worthwhile. Love. It seems so simple, so easy and cliched, but how hard it is to realize it, and how we fight against it – mistrusting such goodness in our cynical coolness. It has always been for Love. And Love to me meant only one person – Andy.

I am reaching out for him, pulling myself out of the floating world, kicking free from my mind-altering shackles, and seeing things clearly for perhaps the first time. I am awake now. The Floating World has dissolved into dim memory, dissipating into thin air.

We are outside. I don’t remember leaving the party, but there we are on the sidewalk. Tears stain my face, cool in the night air.

“Andy… is it… is it really you?” I stammer between sobs. I never thought I would find him. On-lookers pause and pass us. I feel his arms around me and I see his confused smile.

Such happy recognition I have never known until now.

I am safe. I am loved. I am free.

{For visuals from The Talented Trickster Tour 2003: Reflections of a Floating World, please visit The Projects page.}

Yet another establishment I’ve passed a million times but never tried is Aquitaine in the South End. En route to Rocca for dinner, we took time for a cocktail.

Any place that uses a microplaner to garner its zest is fine by me.

Here it was in service of the St. Cloud – a delightfully simple, and deceptively potent, concoction of vodka, grapefruit and rosemary essence, along with the aforementioned lime zest. The gentleman next to us was having the same, and recommending it strongly. After two of them, he was chatty, and recounting the film history of Guy Madison – the most beautiful man in the world at one point, according to him.

Andy was slightly more enthralled than me, but the gentleman was nice, and full of historical details regarding film and Emily Dickinson.

To be honest, I was more interested in the bathroom, and as soon as politely possible I excused myself to check it out. I was not disappointed. The walls were covered in wine labels (I like that) and it made strategic use of its mirrors, unconventionally angled to add the illusion of space – a rare instance when it really worked. Best of all, the hand soap: almond. Mmmmm… perfection.

We walked along the charming side streets to Rocca, where we sat down at the bar and ordered a Persephone. (I should have ordered it straight up, but the bartenders didn’t seem to be amenable to changes, so I didn’t bother.)

We moved to a couch by the window, and about ten minutes past our reservation time (tsk, tsk) we were seated. But hey, as long as there’s a decent cocktail in my hand I’m happy. (Oh, the only reason I mention the tardiness is because once we were seated I noticed that there were only about two other tables seated in the entire restaurant, so there was no overt reason for the delay.)

I’m easily appeased, however, as seen in this soon-to-be-devoured bunch of
Fries with Eyes. I had thought they were simply french fries speckled with black pepper, but it turns out the eyes were literal. Upon asking what they were, we were told they were goldenfish from Chinatown, fried up and served with some basil leaves. I loved them. In fact, I left wishing all my fries had eyes.

Andy had his usual cranberry with club, while I switched to water. After the St. Cloud and the Persephone, I wanted to be able to partially recollect the meal.

And that was a good decision, because this lobster gnochetti was to-die-for. Check out the tiny edible flower blossoms on it! Glorious and delicious.

It was another grand meal, and our first time in SoWa, so it looks like we’ll be returning to the area soon. (I have been shamefully remiss on checking out the SoWa Sunday market, but it will be rectified on my next trip in the Fall.)

Next: A Surreal Walk Home

Back in the sunlight, we walked along the wharf, passing the throngs of people waiting to board their boats for whale watches, or to take the fast ferry to Provincetown.

I think this is where a quick scene in The Departed was filmed. Personally, I was more interested in the seagulls, and finding a serviceable place for fish and chips, which we found just around the corner.

Following lunch, we passed this carousel. You gotta love a merry-go-round ploppped right in the middle of the city, bold colors against a brilliant blue sky.

Another bright spot on this sunny day was the fire-engine-red of this well, fire engine.

Andy headed back to the condo for a pre-dinner siesta, while I turned toward Downtown Crossing to get a little retail therapy. But first we walked past City Hall.

It may not be all that much to look at, but they issued a very important certificate to us a few months ago, so here’s to all the good work that goes on there.

Around the corner, the past and the present collide, as modern skyscrapers frame historical buildings.

And one of Boston’s most notorious sights, the parking ticket. (I’ve only seen one or two of these on my own vehicle, which is pretty good for coming here for over fifteen years).

I soon found myself in greater danger, however, as the end-of-summer sales were in full swing, and my plan to save some money was put in serious jeopardy. A pair of Mark Nason boots was marked drastically down to $120, with an additional 50% off. That is insane, and normally I would buy them just for the principle of the savings, but I refused. (Only one in about fifty of Mr. Nason’s styles really appeals to me, and this was not one of them, so the refusal was less about will-power than simple preference.)

It was more difficult to say no to the Tallia items on sale at Macy’s. Jackets and suits were an additional 65% percent off the end-of-the-season sale prices, and I had my eye on a linen jacket that would have been a nice, albeit unnecessary, addition to the wardrobe. Still, I stayed strong, making my way through Downtown Xing relatively unscathed.

Back closer to home, the shops at the Prudential Center were my final hurdle, but after being so good earlier, I rewarded myself with one bottle of cologne, the new Artisan fragrance from John Varvatos.

In all the years of passing through the Pru (it has provided a sheltered walkway on many a rainy/snowy day), I never got around to checking out the gardens in the middle of the courtyards. Today I paused and walked outside, where no one else was bothering to look either.

In the shade of the buildings on all sides, dark-loving plants grew happily, including this anemone. Ferns and hosta offered a cool, green backdrop, and there was even an expanse of emerald lawn.

Hidden gems of not-so-secret gardens like this are what makes exploring Boston so fun. Sometimes they’re right in front of you – all it takes is a moment to stop what you’re doing and look around. Anyone who thinks you can’t find peace and quiet in a city just isn’t trying.

Taking the back way home, I pass this pungently-scented tree on Follen. I’m not sure what it is, but the pink plumes caught my eye in the afternoon sun. There is time for a shower before dinner, and after cologne-shopping a shower is a welcome necessity.

Next: Dinner at Rocca.

We arrived in Boston mid-day on Thursday. The weather was set to be good for the entire weekend, and it was actually on the warm side by later afternoon. After settling into the condo, we headed to the Four Seasons’ Bristol Lounge for a pre-dinner drink, because there’s no finer way to kick-off a long weekend than with a smart cocktail.

On the menu was “A Perfect Pearing” – a pear martini that was slightly on the sweet side for my dry-favoring palette – but I gave in mostly due to the cute moniker. (I’m a sucker for a silly cocktail name.) The sun slanted down on the Public Garden across Boylston where only a few months earlier we were married. Now the summer was drawing to its close.

Inside the Bristol Lounge it is calm. Andy sinks into a chair that looks cozily like it’s been upholstered in someone’s winter suit jacket, and claims it is one of the most comfortable chairs in which he’s ever sat. I lean into the velvet-backed couch and the afternoon passes perfectly. A perfect pairing indeed.

Across the street the wind blows through the willows and Andy recounts how he used to swing on their long branches as a kid, just like Tarzan.

Before we leave, I scoot to the bathroom to see what kind of soap they have. Yes, I judge establishments by the soap in their restrooms. In this case it is orange blossom – the sweet fragrance that will always remind me of summer in Boston.

We have reservations in the North End, so we make our way to the Green Line and ride the few quick stops to Haymarket.

When I lived in Boston, I didn’t make it into the North End as much as I should have. (I’ve been a South End boy from the beginning.) But Boston’s own Little Italy has charms all its own, and some of my most special dinners have taken place around Hanover Street.

Tonight dinner is at Mamma Maria – one of the original contenders for our wedding weekend. It is said to be one of the culinary bastions of the North End, and we couldn’t wait to try it out.

As on so many other Boston trips, I had not planned ahead to see what events were taking place this weekend (I have an unfortunate history of scheduling every Spring trip during the Boston marathon), and this weekend the city was in the midst of their latest restaurant week.

Usually I avoid this sort of thing – not wanting to battle with crowds or sub-par service – and I would rather try the menu as it was intended by the chef. However, I was happily surprised that in all our restaurant experiences this weekend the special deals afforded us an ample sample of dinners, at about half what we would usually pay.

I’d had my cocktail earlier, but I was very much impressed with the fact that they offered a Negroni – made with Hendrick’s gin – enough so that I took this photo. Even so, I opted for a white wine.

Our table was on the second floor, overlooking an Italian-like scene below.

I love any restaurant that begins with olives. A rustic bit of bread provided a suitably rough canvass for the accompanying bowl of pesto.

In all my years of trying anything and everything put in front of me, this was my first time sampling the traditional melon wrapped in prosciutto – and I’m glad it was Mamma Maria who broke my ham-&-cantaloupe cherry. This was amazing.

Almost as good as the pasta-wrapped lobster for my main meal.

It was all so good, I lost track of the rest of the meal, except for Andy’s dessert. (Someone ate mine before I could get a decent picture of it.) Here’s Andy’s:

[Bathroom soap: Camay-like traditional soapiness.]

First night in Boston to be continued…

Andy wanted me to post this poster promoting the New England Aquarium because he thinks this Lillico Diva penguin is strikingly similar to someone he married. Further Boston fish-tales/tails coming shortly…