[NY Day 3] Heading upstate

Today’s the heading out of NYC to Saratoga Springs Day. Go north young man and all that. I didn’t necessarily feel so young dragging all my suitcases across the road to Penn Station, and through the crowds to where I had to board. When it comes to finding and boarding cross country trains, I think the UK does it better: their stations are better sign posted, and platforms are more easily found. I managed to walk past the right queue while I was looking for where I had to go, because a random queue next to an escalator going down doesn’t immediately say “this is where I board the train” to me.

But the right queue was found, and with that a train called the Airondiak express or something like that – Amtrak like to give their trains names. The trick with this one is to remember to get off at the right time or you end up in the part of Canadia where they speak their own crazy form of French. There’s little chance of that happening as the conductors seem to keep a very tight ship, no allocated seating (very un English) but they try to get all the folks going to the same places in close proximity in the carriages, so I was shuffled into the car with folks heading to Pohkipsee, Schnektadi, and Saratoga (names deliberately spelt in my own phonetic manner to cleverly hide that I have no chance in hell of actually spelling them right, mock me if you must).

In the car were also folks I knew, the far too talented Kathleen Jennings, and the smile, nod and shake hands vague acquaintance and Tor Books High Poohbah Patrick Neilsen Hayden. This meant I needed a quick costume change, as I was rather too sweaty from lugging huge cases to be in any way sociable. It was then I could casually shake hands with PNH.

With Kathleen was Kat Clay, Melbourne mover and shaker who recognised me as “Liz’s husband” (it’s good to know I can be identified based on my marriage, rather than achievements, he says with tongue firmly in cheek). After a brave visit to the dining car, where a rather dubious but quite edible muffin was purchased and consumed (wtf is it with these “sausages” US? Just call it a meat pattie and be done with it, and don’t get me started on that weird orange stuff you call cheese!) the trip was spent in a mix of interesting conversation and admiration of the countryside.

Write in request: if anyone knows the story of the crumbling castle on the Hudson somewhere north of Yonkers please tell the story. Did it get trashed in a war or was it just a good party?

I have no idea how big Saratoga Springs is, but there were only 2 taxis waiting for the train so I expect they did multiple trips to get everyone. I piled into the back of the minibus one with a bunch of bags and Kathleen’s artwork, which I was under firm instructions to coddle carefully or die in a fire, as Kathleen, Kat and possibly another Kat (US writer person who Kathleen knew) also hopped in.

Checked in okay, but despite ticking the box with Velocity 3 weeks ago my HHonors membership hasn’t been activated, so I didn’t get all the Gold trimmings of upgrade and stuff. I did get a nice friendly front desk manager who looked in the system and found nothing, so it looks like it’s a Velocity f*** up. Richard Branson, I’m coming after you when I get back home.

Regardless, the room is good, plenty of space, air con that works, a bathroom, and a big if slightly too soft bed. The view is of across the road, where they have some sort of pumpkin sculpture. Have I mentioned that NY has pumpkins everywhere right now? NY has pumpkins everywhere right now. Pumpkin flavoured coffee, beer, cake, everything except pumpkin scones. It’s a thing they do between Halloween and Thanksgiving. At some point if I do consume a pumpkin thing, I’ll let you know.

I settled in, caught up with Jonathan Strahan, then headed down for a lunch burger while Ellen Klages joined us. It was here that a food language misunderstanding occurred, where one of us ordered home made chips instead of fries, and what arrived were not big chunky slabs of potatoes but thinly sliced home made “crisps” (to use the UK term). And they weren’t peeled either, but IIRC the French fries may have been.

Registration for WFC was quick, and then it was time to set up the dealer table (proudly brought to you by a grant from the Western Australian Department of Culture and the Arts). For once this was also painless, all the books I had shipped arrived (and undamaged). I hope this is a good omen. Books all went into nice piles, and looked pretty, and I had time to head upstairs, unpack, freshen up, then hit the bar.

At the bar the conversation topics included the slightly narrow whisky selection (maybe a dozen malts including a couple of Irish ones), the wonderfully solid free pouring skills of Courtney, the only one behind the bar, and how badly swamped the bar will get when the convention actually starts if the hotel are as unprepared as they seem (in 2007 they took a little time to get their staffing levels right to cope with folks drinking from 11am right through to 2am or thereabouts, I’m told).

In the interests of occupational health and safety and accountability, I should state that any food or beverages I consume on this trip are not brought to you by a grant from the Western Australian Department of Culture and the Arts, which is a shame but a comment on the state of the world these days.

Tor were throwing a book party at a bookshop in town about 200 metres down the road (US readers, 200m is about 2+1/2 blocks). It was fairly crowded, and with fatigue hitting me I didn’t get to mingle much, but spent a chunk in conversation with a Chicago-based book dealer about Australian small presses over the last 30 or so years.

Dinner was on to Café? Boca (not sure if it was a café but Boca was in the title). Tapas offerings while Garth Nix (writer and suaveness extraordinaire) selected some wonderful semi-sweet white wines, including a NY Riesling that was quite up my alley. More conversations with people including lots of Locus people (I’d name people but don’t want to miss any).

Back at the hotel there was time for another at the bar (they closed the bar at 11.30pm, that’s not going to make the hotel any friends if it continues but I can understand poor Courtney being totally stuffed as the bar was still mostly full). Then a couple more whiskies where some forthcoming publishing news, contracts, buying rights, and author estates was discussed as well as some whisky talk. The talk included sampling a Boutiquey Whisky Springbank bottling, and whether peaty was actual or a frame of reference, and where did the smokiness come from, and whether railroad sleepers and freshly cut pine planks were attractive in describing whisky. Also a Balvenie bottling that was marvellous on the nose but didn’t quite open up the same on the palate – one of those whiskies I could happily stick my nose in all day without drinking, but it did open up over time.

Then it was bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.