We walked and walked and walked on Sunday. Beautiful weather again, we headed into Boston again for historic sightseeing, shopping and eating. We started off with a stop in Cambridge to visit America’s oldest university, Harvard. I had hoped to feel smarter just by walking around, but it didn’t work. We then headed over to the Head of the Charles Regatta to watch the lean rowers zip through the water.
Harvard Library....
Head of the Charles Regatta....
Then into Boston where we walked through Boston Common and Boston Public Garden before reaching the beginning of the Freedom Trail, an interpretive trail that highlights the historic points of Boston. For about $30, you can have a guy in a three-cornered hat, coattails and buckle shoes guide you (and 40 of your closest friends) while he plays his tin whistle and yells “Oy-yay, oy-yay, oy-yay!” We skipped that but we saw Nathaniel Hall, Boston’s Civil War Memorial, Paul Revere’s house, Old South Church (where Benjamin Franklin was baptized. We also saw the Old North Church (say it with me—one if by land, and two if by sea…). There are statues of dead patriots everywhere you turn, as well as two graveyards full of the dead patriots themselves. On our way to dinner, we passed the harbor, site of the Boston Tea Party.
The famous steeple of the Old North Church....
Karen and I (with a pair of swans) at Boston Public Garden...
When we weren’t walking, we were eating. Crepes for breakfast, tea and scones around noon, tapas to die for around three, and dinner at a fabulous Italian restaurant in North End at six. We dined with Karen’s boyfriend Mike, who is a fanatical and superstitious Red Sox fan (this is not an exceptional distinction in Boston, mind you), and who insisted on getting back to his apartment to watch the game from a certain spot on the couch, while wearing the same clothes he wore the previous day, which included a specific sock that bore red magic marker meant to emulate Curt Schilling’s blood. To quote Crash Davis in Bull Durham, you never fuck with a winning streak.
sangria and tapas for lunch!
I checked into my flight online about 23 hours and 57 minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart. Printed my boarding pass and considered myself good to go.
Next morning, Eric drove me to the airport and I checked my bag. The woman at the ticket counter gave me a new boarding pass, but it was so darn early, I didn’t think anything of it except to check the gate number. Passed through security, found coffee, found a bagel, and parked it on a bench at the gate. I was waiting patiently to board the plane – after the super-elite-platinum-jewel-encrusted-frequent-fliers – and to double check my assigned coach-class row (which I thought was either 12 or 17), only to look – really look – at my newly issued boarding pass and to find that it read “Seat 1C”. Wait. Isn’t that first class?
Perplexed, I walked over to the podium, pointed at my seat assignment and mumbled something about having a new boarding pass, and the gate attendant said "oh! you're in first class -- right this way!". Once seated, I hesitated to buckle my seatbelt, convinced that there had been a mistake and that a man in a grey suit with greying temples was going to approach me and inform me that I was sitting in his seat. When they closed the door, I knew I was stuck. I had a choice of breakfast entrées (I had the Quiche Lorraine), and a flight attendant asking me she could get me a beverage upon takeoff. I blinked at her and quietly said “orange juice?” Seated in the very first row, I had a good view of the galley, and all of the alcohol that was served to the other first class folks – good lord, those people drank a lot, given that it was 9am!
The plane taxied out to the tarmac, and sat for a bit before the captain came over the PA system and informed us that a light had come on in the cockpit that shouldn’t be on, and that they had to get it checked out before we could take off. The passengers groaned collectively while I wondered why they couldn’t just put a piece of electrical tape over the light like the rest of us do in our cars. In the end, we left Seattle over an hour late, but arrived in Boston only 20 minutes behind schedule.
As if I didn’t have enough crafts getting geared up now that the sun spends less and less time in the sky (and more and more behind the clouds), I intend to use Socktoberfest to start my very first knitted sock! Enough with the scarves, washcloths, and hats…. it’s time to attempt… A SOCK! (insert triumphant fanfare here).
Fortunately for me, Knitmoka has agreed to help me get started (and hopefully around the dreaded heel). She's set me off with a shopping list and a pattern is en route. Wish me luck!
