Fells Point Harbor. Photo by Mr. Blue“God created man and, finding him not sufficiently alone, gave him a companion to make him feel his solitude more keenly.”
Paul Valery (1871 - 1945)
As the taxi drives away the sullen air has a promise of rain deadening the sound like a heavy grey cloak hanging from the rooftops. With each breath you can imagine your drowning in the copious summer humidity. The perseverance of rich organic decay reveals the closeness of the harbor. It is a scent that frees my inner child as I inhale the ripe pregnant air deep into my breast. There is a raw worn traveled feel to the century old granite cobblestones as I stumble on the irregularities as hundreds have done before me. The streets and buildings are strained with a thick patina of sweat, muscle and hard labor that clings to the every object.
The area is steeped in a rich history as noted by Jacquie Greff. “Baltimore’s original deep-water harbor, Fell's Point dates back to November 8, 1730 with the original land purchase by its founder William Fell. Fell's Point shipbuilders were so successful turning out their famed Baltimore Clippers that this “nest of pirates” became a major target of the British in the War if 1812. Its efforts helped turn the tide after many early British victories and the burning of Washington, D.C. itself.”
“Fell's Point is one of our country’s few intact historic working class communities. Many of its tiny houses, taverns and shops date back to the 1790’s and early 1800’s, after a series of plagues had driven out the wealthy, leaving sailors and immigrants and poor folks. One of its most famous resident, Frederick Douglass, was a slave in Fell's Point before he escaped and went on to lead the abolitionist movement that helped end slavery in the US.”
Climbing the steep flight of worn granite steps I enter the lobby of my hotel which includes a 1700th century ghost which is holding court during an afternoon tea with a mesmerized group of visitors. His accent is thick as he extols the language of a bygone era of sailors and shipbuilders. The property is on the National Register of Historic Hotels and is furnished with period antiques. The hotel I’m staying apparently has a long history of ghosts. My room overlooks the marketplace and the harbor through the wavy pitted glass panes of two symmetrical moss green windows. I stay in the room only long enough to drop my bags and grab my camera.
I will have ample opportunities to discover the hidden gems of the area in due time. Baltimore will become my second home for the next four years as we were fortunate to be selected for our first million dollar commission. It is what is called an indefinite delivery and indefinite quantity contract or IDIQ for short. Under this type of procurement one firm is selected from a public process and all work for the agency will be given to the firm during the term of the agreement. There is an option to extend the term contract for an additional two years if the agency desires. All we are required to do is exceed everyone’s expectation and they will continue to funnel work through the contract. The only negative comment during the selection process was “is this small firm really capable of executing the volume of work we are planning to run through this agreement”? There was one firm locally that started as a small seven person office and after six years of a NOAA IDIQ term contract, they no longer qualified since they had grown to 125 people.
The opportunities don’t end there. Maryland is unusual because of a particular law and the extreme complexity of the public procurement process. According to Maryland statute any public agency is allowed to “ride” a publicly procured contract without undertaking a procurement process itself. The theory is that since the fees and rates that are established by the procurement process are inherently competitive the second jurisdiction does not need to duplicate the process and can opt to amend their work to this original contract. In other words every public agency in the state can hire use without going through a public procurement process. We have already been contacted by three other public agencies that would like to ride the agreement. I have a very difficult time getting my arms around this opportunity. I decide to think about it later, it is Sunday and I’m on a mission to visit one of my favorite restaurants for a leisurely early dinner.
The Black Olive is a small Psarotaverna or Greek fish tavern hidden on South Bond that make a lot of their food from scratch using only organic produce and the freshest fish flown in from around the world. In a rare occurrence Zagats survey of 2000 listed the restaurant as one of the best Greek restaurants in America as well as one of the best Seafood restaurants in America. This exceptional gem has earned my respect in both categories for its simple purely organic and fresh daily menu.
A warm rain begins as I approach the door of the restaurant. Passing through the door the wonderful aroma of the grill fills the air with perfumed scents. I am seated on the open air patio under a canvas awning surrounded by flowering plants. I lament the fact that there will be no one to share this delightful indulgence with. What could be more perfect a warm sultry rain on a lazy Sunday afternoon with a glass of chilled wine and one of the nation’s most talented chef at your beckoned call. Being alone tends to diminish the experience as it becomes more of a selfish indulgence instead of a special gift to someone that could really appreciate the offering.
A long time ago I got past being uncomfortable while dining alone. I have to admit that it was one of the last obstacles to crossing over to life as a road warrior. Business travel on Sunday was another obstacle, but the conversion is complete as I once again dine alone on Sunday. In the past I was content to be hidden in the corner so that my loneliness would not be visible to the smiling couples and families as I quickly consumed my meal and scurried out the backdoor. Today no one’s opinion has any relevance to me. I have dismissed any concern for what I appear to be. I wish to be seated in the middle of the action where I can observe in detail the complex human drama that unfolds in public spaces. Not confined with entertaining or conversation, not required to observe rules of engagement, I’m free to do what and say whatever strikes my fancy. While everyone surrounding me is tethered by social etiquette either business or personal, I get to decipher the subtle patterns which are as mentally stimulating to me as the New York Times crossword puzzle. I have come to believe that the true human condition is one of isolation and solitude. Only seldom do we open ourselves up to allow some to penetrate the world of solitude, and then only briefly. The rest of the time we are rooted in the safe patterns of our existence, fearful what change might mean. It manifests itself in a hunger and restlessness, a yearning for what we do not know. Some people recognize it in themselves, others will forever wander confused and misguided, but I have never met an individual that did not reveal it to me if only for a moment.
The rain picks up as small rivulets run off the canvas awning onto the wanting flowers. The air is breathless and still as I grab the waiter by the cuff and order an obscenely expensive half bottle of French Riesling from the northern region of Alsace. This particular wine has a powerful and distinctive floral and apple-like aroma that frequently mixes in mineral elements from its vineyard source and is often described as "racy." It represents the perfect compliment to the delicate favors of grilled seafood.
As the waiter returns with the wine I order a medley of grilled seafood, sardines wrapped in grape leaves brushed with olive oil, anchovies, scallops, calamari stuffed with manouri and feta cheese. The featured fresh fish are barramundi and bronzini served with a spectacular aioli sauce. The tables begin to fill as the human drama begins and I have a front row seat to watch it all. Over the next two hours I sit alone watching the kitchen staff, the waiters, the lovers, the families while finishing my meal. As always the food was worth traveling half way across the nation to enjoy. Without anyone taking much notice I get up and leave.
Walking back to the hotel in the rain, I once again find comfort in my solitude and isolation as just another spirit walking the street of Fells Point. Tomorrow I will once again engage the business world as the confident self assured social engineer, but tonight I will be invisible, without form. Like the rising tide that cleanses fluxem from the bay the soul is temporarily cleansed of its burdens. The yearning and restlessness will subside as the safe patterns of our human existence once again fall into place.
“There are days when solitude, for someone my age, is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.”
Colette (1873 - 1954), 'Freedom,' 1908
