Wilson House Bed And Breakfast
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TripAdvisor Reviews Wilson House Bed And Breakfast Baltimore
Travel Blogs from Baltimore
... 31st and it was now April 2nd at midnight. So Naturally we had a few night caps and caught up till 4 am. The next day tired and hungover Phillip went to his lab and I went exiting the frigid streets of downtown Baltimore. It is a beautiful downtown core with a Semi clean waterfront and interesting heritage buildings. I climbed a hill and had a great view of the city. I was struck by the homelessness, in SE Asia there is a lot of poverty and homelessness, but no one expects a hand ...
... Duckpin is like regular bowling except the balls and the pins are smaller. I top scored with 109, which (apparently) is equivalent to a 250+ in regular bowling!!! (I don't quite believe this, but the guy had no reason to lie...). At the same place we had awesome ribs (can never get enough of good ribs!) and then went back home.
We were sad to leave our friends but we had to get back on the road and see more of America. Next stop, Philly!
... But Tennessee and Arizona had been so harsh and unforgiving; bleak and menacing. Now that my trip was winding down I could start to look at the experiences from hindsight, and I realized that a million years HAD passed since then. The years were metaphorical. The struggle of driving had been a mixture of many different factors, and the difficulty wasn't necessarily the drive itself, but what the length of the drive represented. I was leaving everything behind, traveling far, far ...
... sup>th Century copies of the earliest baseball tomes, and old photos of the great Yankees teams, each player’s photo signed by one of the greats of the 40’s and 50’s…. DiMaggio, Gehrig, Mantle, Berra, Whitey Ford. For each signature Bob has a story… about a quest to find a player or a manager (even a bat boy) for a signature on an old team photo, or about a conversation over several rounds rounds of beers Bob had shared with one ...
... created a catch-22. The tighter I tried to hold on, the weaker my grip became. The rope that I used to hold us firmly together was the same rope that strangled us both. The prison I built for Miranda had two cells. Of course there are endless bad metaphors that I could use to describe how I destroyed the connection we had, but what good would that do? I had lost the ability to see Miranda as a person. Instead, I saw her as a ...