Boston/Salem
Still raining this morning, and the buildings across the Charles that we'd seen so clearly the morning we checked in were now obscured by fog. Undaunted, we donned our raingear and took the train north to Salem.
Four hundred years since a group of hysterical teenaged girls got some people killed, and they're still talking about it.
It rained, not so much a downpour as an incessant drizzle, the entire time we were there. We investigated an army disposal store called the Army Barracks, looking at their wet weather gear and laughing at their hand-lettered signage: "This container good for storing dead bodies. On an entirely unrelated note, please don't steal from our store."
The Salem Witch Museum provided a summary of the infamous witch trials, with an ominous voiceover and a slant to the story which implicated Mrs Putnam far more than the version Arthur Miller made me familiar with. It also brought vividly to life Giles Corey's "More weight", a man crushed to death for his silence.
We walked the town in the rain, seeing the graveyard, a statue, and the fog-shrouded harbour. I felt sorry for the trolley bus guides, standing valiantly out with their umbrellas waiting for tourists to pass by.
Ben and Jerry's ice cream finished our Salem experience, and we escaped back to Boston without any witchy t-shirt purchases to speak of.
The afternoon was dedicated to slouching around our hotel room, watching our wet clothes dry and lamenting the rain-delayed US Open.
Four hundred years since a group of hysterical teenaged girls got some people killed, and they're still talking about it.
It rained, not so much a downpour as an incessant drizzle, the entire time we were there. We investigated an army disposal store called the Army Barracks, looking at their wet weather gear and laughing at their hand-lettered signage: "This container good for storing dead bodies. On an entirely unrelated note, please don't steal from our store."
The Salem Witch Museum provided a summary of the infamous witch trials, with an ominous voiceover and a slant to the story which implicated Mrs Putnam far more than the version Arthur Miller made me familiar with. It also brought vividly to life Giles Corey's "More weight", a man crushed to death for his silence.
We walked the town in the rain, seeing the graveyard, a statue, and the fog-shrouded harbour. I felt sorry for the trolley bus guides, standing valiantly out with their umbrellas waiting for tourists to pass by.
Ben and Jerry's ice cream finished our Salem experience, and we escaped back to Boston without any witchy t-shirt purchases to speak of.
The afternoon was dedicated to slouching around our hotel room, watching our wet clothes dry and lamenting the rain-delayed US Open.