Season: cold! Especially cold!
Things to do: History
You gotta respect an airline or any service that puts it’s hands up and admits it was wrong.
My day was set… A seven hour flight to Boston. My last seven hour journey was a train to Plymouth; Where, when it was reoccurring, I always hoped for a smiling blonde to be seated next to me, we strike up great conversation… This has never happened… Yet.
Spending 7 hours next to a smelly, large typical travelling partner. With the uncut nails, gritty bearded, worn eyes. I shouldn’t judge. He could be anyone a man coming back from a funeral… A man on a quest for inner peace, a code writer… I lose myself.
So when I literally got into Montreal at 7 in the evening 10/11pm U.K. time where I’ve just departed from. Where I was greeted by a mob of angry mixed Americans, Canadians and Europeans.
It turns out that they overbooked the connecting flight… By a lot… I was desperate for sleep… And I think I either had started myself to become stale either that or my travelling companion of my previous journey had rubbed his scent on to me… I just wanted to get my head down.
I heard the word volunteer… So agreed to volunteer. The next thing I knew I was being escorted to customer service where I was being informed that my bags were being removed from flight “say what”
And that I volunteered to give up my well in advanced booked seat…
In all honesty I wanted to take it back. “I take it back” “put them back on the plane” “I want to go to Boston” when the catch kicked in
“We will pay for your hotel for the night inclusive of all food and drink”
I paused… “Free food and drink you say”
“Yep” was the response! I was sold!
“And we will also go you 800 dollars”
“Because your flight has been delayed by over 6 hours”
Certainly not going to argue. So what, I never made it to boston. But I made money… On my first day,. Never a bad thing.
So now sitting on a shaky loud flight from Montreal to Boston which makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to cash the 800 dollars. Need to survive this ride first.
When arriving in Boston first thing I did was see how the American Revolution started which took me down to the scene of the Boston Tea party… So ok. Being British and on that boat was a little weird. More so when they found out with all their hazar-ing, made me personally throw all the tea chests off the boat and shout stuff against the king I forget the wording exactly. But wow! I knew us British weren’t the greatest of bunch back in the day. But really! What can I say. The Brits love their taxes 😉 and tea quite clearly.
So that was that. History was made.
History has a way of making fools of us all.
Onwards I sought out the Boston Aquarium somewhere I desperately wanted to visit many years ago when I came to Boston pre drinking age. And it was everything I wanted. Inner child thanked me! There’s not much I can say about an aquarium except there was lots of fish. Turtles galore. I could of spent more time taking in information, breeds, but instead i just stood around in awe for a while.
I even found myself home sick… No… Home-Hungry
So… Only two days away and craving a taste of home. You may think that may be something British… But no. Half Thai, Half Irish.
Born from oblivion and raised. It has though led to culinary delights! We even have rice with our roast dinners. And chillies… Let’s not forget the chillies!
So I found myself in a little Thai restaurant, on the corner of a dark street in Boston’s city centre. The place is buzzing. A good atmosphere must mean something. I mean you never enter an empty restaurant do you? Before I’m in the door… I’ve ordered… So now waiting… Waiting on my first American/Thai curry…
It’s not gonna beat the mothers home cooked speciality though… I can tell you that.
The next few days were spent round Newbury street enjoying coffee and books and the occasional note taking a recommendation from my Brother back in the United Kingdom. For once again I had no need to rush I did still manage to lose myself in the city next to this wonder.
I managed to find my way, by taking an excursion to the Prudential Center to locate my way with a Birdseye view. It easy to get lost up here. But finding a point of reference usually helps.
Even though my time was brief, and I didn’t meet anyone except the undercover cop attempting to sell me drugs then arrest me, and I’m now sitting in a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, Boston will always be dear in my heart. Maybe it’s the Irish roots. Maybe it’s just Boston.
But alas like life we only move forward. New York so far has been intimidating. But time like many. To make it my own.