Daytrips for that reading week wanderlust

By Darby Saxbe

As Vermont's license plates proclaim, "Live free or die." Or, in the words of Solzhenitsyn's unlikely dog, "I don't want your bones; just give me my freedom." Freedom: whether you're talking about the wherewithal to roam or the purveyance of things that don't cost anything, you must concede the term's appeal. There's freedom of both sorts to be had in New Haven, if you know how to look for it.

The Co-op Trolley emboldened a few timorous Yalies to brave the Chapel Square Mall by offering nothing more than the allure of a free ride. Yale's own transportation systems are sadly underused, but deliriously pro bono. If you want to escape the confines of campus altogether--and keep your nickels in your pocket--try the ultimate vacation: a trip to the West Haven Veteran's Hospital, no money down.

If you've got an hour to kill at lunch, do my bidding and walk over to the Medical School. Get a plateful of noodles at one of the vending carts encircling the complex, which serve everything from sushi to penne pomodoro at rock-bottom prices. When a blue minivan pulls up in front of the Sterling Hall of Medicine, grab a seat. No fare, no fee--just you, a handful of schizophrenics, and the open road.

Yale's admissions propaganda loves to extol the student body's diversity, but you've never seen a crowd as varied as the one that clambers into the shuttle bus along with you. White-coated medical school professors and their eager scrub-clad students ride alongside long-haired Vietnam vets with sleeveless T-shirts, strung-out drug addicts, secretaries in flowery dresses trading office gossip, and mental patients who clutch the leavings of their lunch and mutter at the driver. Old and young, rich and poor, sane and insane--they all jockey for seatbelts and listen to the R&B music unfailingly emanating from the bus's radio.

As Barry White croons about his penile prowess, the shuttle pulls away from the medical school and turns onto Columbus Avenue, where the crumbling storefronts and boarded-up houses of an impoverished neighborhood contrast with colorful, hand-painted murals and restaurants like Sandra's Place, famous across town for its extraordinarily tasty soul food. As the houses get farther apart and the road gets wider, the bus moves out of residential New Haven and into a no-man's-land of fast food chains and auto-repair shops. A large community graveyard marks the entrance into West Haven, the site of the tall, white behemoth that is the Veteran's Hospital.

Once inside the VA Hospital, there's not much to do--ride the roomy elevators, peruse the gift shop, get an iced coffee at the newly installed cappuccino bar. I sometimes like to linger in the crowded lobby, where hobbling World War II veterans rub shoulders with Gulf War enlistees trying to banish their post-traumatic stress, and look up at the inscription carved above the entrance: "The price of freedom is apparent here." I'm not sure if that's true, but I do know that the Veteran's Hospital offers a glimpse of the real world that is easy to forget about amid the easy abstractions of academia. I advise anyone looking for a little perspective during Reading Week to ride down Columbus Avenue and stroll down the halls of the hospital. After all, it looks like it'll be a long wait for the comeback of the Co-op Trolley.

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