Woodstock was everything it was supposed to be– a quaint little (very touristy) town full of tie-died flags, kids playing drums on the street, and scores of stores selling ohm pendants and peace sign earrings and smelling of pachouli and nag champa. My main goal was lunch, and for whatever reason I thought falafel would be appropriate. It was really good falafel, though I know I’m not just being paranoid when I say this– the waitresses were definitely looking at me funny. I’ve never been a waitress, but I’m going to have to make it a point to ask my ex-waitress friends if there is something shady about a woman eating a falefal alone in a resturant. I’m alone in a resraurant writing this, and the people here have not yet treated me like a leper (though writing this on my iPhone necessitates a t-shirt that reads ‘no I am not ‘texting’, because I feel kind of like a jerk, and my waiter called me on it). But back to Woodstock…where was I? Oh yes… It was exactly what I was hoping for. Totally worth getting off the highway, and I stayed even longer than I’d planned. I was kind of taken aback when I returned to the first shop I’d visited to buy a necklace I loved (but didn’t buy because it was the first shop I visited) only to find it was closed and locked, with a sign stating ‘closed on tuesdays’. I checked three times and it was, in fact, the very same store I and several other people had been shopping in not two hors earlier. But what would a trip to Woodstock be without a little wierdness? Ok a lot of wierdness– there was the homeless looking guy walking up and down the street with what appeared to be an old fashioned plow made out of branches and covered in a tarp. And the overly happy guy who gave me a bright yellow pamphlet from The Banner of Love Living Word Chapel.
I’m in Bennington now, though I arrived shortly before sunset and didn’t get a chance to explore anything yet. I have big plans to get up early tomorrow and sightsee, but I just opened a bottle of wine, so I might just be kidding myself,