When my American friends invited us to stay with them in New Jersey, my 13-year-old daughter was thrilled. She’d never been to the States before, and she couldn’t wait to see Manhattan. I had to break the news to her that there were no skyscrapers where we’d be staying. Plainfield, New Jersey, is an easy commute from New York City, but it feels like a world away. Clapboard houses with star spangled banners: this is the real America. You’d never know Penn Station was just an hour away by train.
I took my daughter into NYC, and we did all the touristy things proper travel writers look down on: we went up the Empire State Building; we went for a walk in Central Park. My daughter had a great time and so did I, but our best memories were back in New Jersey. Big cities are much alike — the same coffee shops, the same chain stores. It’s in small towns like Plainfield that you feel you’re really exploring somewhere new.
Plainfield was founded by Quakers way back in the 17th century, but its glory days were 100 years ago when it became a summer retreat for rich New Yorkers. They built their houses in these woods, but wealth adulterates what it covets and Plainfield soon became too suburban. The rich moved on to somewhere smarter and the ‘bridge and tunnel people’ moved in. It’s a snobby phrase for people who work in Manhattan but can’t afford to live there, but it’s no–nonsense folk like these who make places such as Plainfield so friendly. There’s a big pot of coffee in the local convenience store. Just help yourself — no charge.
My friend Brian took us to church, a pretty Lutheran chapel with an amazing preacher.
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