Boston--What a cute idea!
I got up at eight and made it to the gorgeous Philadelphia train station. I boarded the train on which I had hoped to see some eastern scenery. I saw some. Mostly I saw trees planted along the tracks to block the sound of the train. New London looked adorable. Mostly, however, I was entertained by Steve, who runs a technology business out of his basement and performs card tricks for strangers on trains.
I arrived in Boston at three and set up housekeeping a smoking room at the Milner hotel just down the way from Boston Common. Boston Common is an adorable little park with a little pond, and a little bridge, and bits of grass here and there, which you're not allowed to walk on. Delightful.
There's also a little church in nearby Copney square. Since it was open until six, I decided to take the self-guided tour. I took the stairs down to the beautifully appointed gift shop and waited in line to pay my five dollars for the self-guided tour. I received my little booklet and walked right back up the stairs, where some perky young ladies opened the doors of the sanctuary, where my tour would begin.
Picture a stainglass window. Well, there were some of those. After pondering over the beauty of these, I felt ready to continue to the next room.
There was no next room. "Self-guided tour" means "we'll let you into the Sanctary, which, frankly, is not Notre Dame." I recalled my neighbours, who took their toddler son to Europe. Upon his return, he remarked that there must not be any God in America, since there were obviously no churches. Amen, brother.
There are, however, libraries, and the Boston Library is a fine example of what we call the "American building that REALLY wants to be a Greek temple," which is certainly MY favorite kind of architecture. I had lost my copy of a book I had hoped to teach from, so I traversed a lovely coutyard with a fountain to the Young Adult library, where I photocopied what I needed. In the middle of the Young Adult library, wearing baggy jeans, backwards baseball caps and scarves, were several 250 pound black males, loudly engaged in what appeared to be Magic: the Gathering, the fantasy card game of nerds.
After a quick dinner, I walked down to a Southern restaurant that had live music. The music was not very good, so I asked the musicians where they would rather be. They gave me the name of a jazz club in Cambride. I asked if I could walk there and they gave me that look and said "no! it'll take an hour."
I walked to the club. On the way there, I realized that Boston is well-fitted for pedestrian use and just TOO charming. I walked across the Bridge to Cambride. It was dusk and there were sailboats cavorting in the Charles river. People on skateboards passed me with polite "excuse mes." I wanted to put the town up and put it in my pocket.
It took an hour to walk to the jazz club, but it was well worth it. The music was phenomenal. Naturally, they were all from Berkeley--three students and a professor. The guitarist was about five feet tall, long haired, enthusiastic, and brilliant. It was better than the Philadelphia Symphony, better than the singer at Zanzibar, far better than Eric Lindell. And I got pecan pie.
I arrived in Boston at three and set up housekeeping a smoking room at the Milner hotel just down the way from Boston Common. Boston Common is an adorable little park with a little pond, and a little bridge, and bits of grass here and there, which you're not allowed to walk on. Delightful.
There's also a little church in nearby Copney square. Since it was open until six, I decided to take the self-guided tour. I took the stairs down to the beautifully appointed gift shop and waited in line to pay my five dollars for the self-guided tour. I received my little booklet and walked right back up the stairs, where some perky young ladies opened the doors of the sanctuary, where my tour would begin.
Picture a stainglass window. Well, there were some of those. After pondering over the beauty of these, I felt ready to continue to the next room.
There was no next room. "Self-guided tour" means "we'll let you into the Sanctary, which, frankly, is not Notre Dame." I recalled my neighbours, who took their toddler son to Europe. Upon his return, he remarked that there must not be any God in America, since there were obviously no churches. Amen, brother.
There are, however, libraries, and the Boston Library is a fine example of what we call the "American building that REALLY wants to be a Greek temple," which is certainly MY favorite kind of architecture. I had lost my copy of a book I had hoped to teach from, so I traversed a lovely coutyard with a fountain to the Young Adult library, where I photocopied what I needed. In the middle of the Young Adult library, wearing baggy jeans, backwards baseball caps and scarves, were several 250 pound black males, loudly engaged in what appeared to be Magic: the Gathering, the fantasy card game of nerds.
After a quick dinner, I walked down to a Southern restaurant that had live music. The music was not very good, so I asked the musicians where they would rather be. They gave me the name of a jazz club in Cambride. I asked if I could walk there and they gave me that look and said "no! it'll take an hour."
I walked to the club. On the way there, I realized that Boston is well-fitted for pedestrian use and just TOO charming. I walked across the Bridge to Cambride. It was dusk and there were sailboats cavorting in the Charles river. People on skateboards passed me with polite "excuse mes." I wanted to put the town up and put it in my pocket.
It took an hour to walk to the jazz club, but it was well worth it. The music was phenomenal. Naturally, they were all from Berkeley--three students and a professor. The guitarist was about five feet tall, long haired, enthusiastic, and brilliant. It was better than the Philadelphia Symphony, better than the singer at Zanzibar, far better than Eric Lindell. And I got pecan pie.