We're shipping up to Boston!

Boston is exactly how you would expect Boston to be, just more so.

My only real expectations had come from movies starring Ben Affleck, and those expectations were met — and we even saw Ben Affleck (in his new movie). Some of the things that I did not expect, simply because they were so cliche, actually did happen. For instance, that Bostonian accent: we heard lots of it. I never thought it would be so pronounced, so cartoonishly obvious. Stranger walking his dog: “Dis dahg is like wicked chill and just really wicked smaht.” And Boston’s sports devotion, we saw that too, first around Fenway, Boston’s sacred sports chapel, then later in the weekend before a Bruins game, when the streets were filled with brutish young men draped in yellow and black. I knew we’d see sailboats, try clam chowder and experience the rich history, but Boston really is all the other things too.

After another abbreviated week at work, which mostly consisted of us rubbing our eyes and painfully trying to figure out what timezone our brains were in, we hit Boston with springs in our steps — apparently, despite the pains of traveling we were thrilled to be in another new place. My first observations all came from within Logan Airport’s C Terminal. First of all, it was really crowded and cramped. Second, airplane souvenirs were of the lobster/lighthouse/Red Sox variety compared to Sarasota (oranges/gators/palm trees), New York (Empire State Building/taxis/subways/Times Square/Yankees) and Phoenix (cactus/scorpions/rattlesnake/Southwest). And lastly, we had been mighty spoiled by Terminal 5 at JFK in New York, which was like a paradise for the weary traveler. T5 had tons of open spaces, lots of seating, dozens of shops and stores, ultra-modern design and probably the most comfortable restrooms outside of your own home’s. We realized how great JFK was as soon as we stepped into Logan, which was a maze of low-ceilinged corridors jammed with people. And the restroom’s were tiny; it was the only airport bathroom Sara walked right into without a line, while I had to join a dozen other men in an uncomfortable line for three urinals.

But once we hit the street, the airport was behind us and all of Boston in front of us. We hopped a shuttle bus that took us to the T — Boston’s subway; Sara called it the Charlie, its unofficial nickname — which took us south of Boston where we were picked up by Becca, Sara’s friend. She then drove us another 25 minutes south into Duxbury, where she was renting a room in an 18th Century colonial home. I hate to use this word to describe her apartment because it’s not a very manly word, but it’s the only word that seems to work: yes, it was cute. The little cottage-like apartment was up a set of stairs in the house’s attic, and it was wonderful with its open windows, vaulted ceilings and fun decorations. It was very New Englandy.

The next morning we ventured out to Plymouth, where the pilgrims landed and began this whole America thing. It was a quaint little hamlet, with lots of shops, historical statues and excellent seafood joints by the harbor. One interesting historical marker was about how Native Americans don’t celebrate Thanksgiving because the pilgrims had nothing to celebrate, unless you consider white people destroying your way of life worthy of a holiday. It takes cojones for the people of Plymouth to admit that publicly. We also did some touristy things: Sara had her picture taken inside a lobster cutout, we saw the Mayflower II (the sequel!!!) and we shopped at some of the little shops. Also: the Plymouth Freakin’ Rock! Yep, we saw it. And yes, it’s real. And yes, it’s a rock. I always thought the town of Plymouth just happened to be called Plymouth Rock. Nope. The pilgrims supposedly landed at Plymouth near one specific rock, which is now housed in a big marble thing with columns. Guess what it looked like? Yep, a rock.

The best part of Plymouth, though, was the food. I had a typical New England meal: fish and chips, and New England clam chowder, which they probably just call clam chowder (or just chowder) in New England. It was amazing. So amazing that we couldn’t find some better the entire rest of the trip. Sara was jealous of my meal.

From there we went back to Duxbury so Becca could go to work. Before that, though, she dropped us off at the T so we could venture into the city. We ended up spending two days in Boston, and we saw lots of stuff including several beautiful parks, Fenway, Boston’s Little Italy and Chinatown, the historic North End, the North End Church where Paul Revere hung his lanterns in 1775, and also a number of bakeries. Fenway was fun, and since there wasn’t a game it was real quiet around the ballpark. Unless you’re near left field and the Green Monster you really can’t tell that Fenway is baseball’s oldest stadium (1912!!!), or even a ballpark. For the most part it just looks like any other tall brick building in Boston until you circle around and start seeing banks of lights and all the Red Sox flags flying around the top, or the Ted Williams statue near a corner entrance. Paul Revere’s church was interesting, although there was a wedding taking place when we were there so we couldn’t go in. Little Italy looked very similar to Mulberry Street in Manhattan’s Little Italy except narrower and the waiters don’t come out and hassle you with their menus. Our second night in the city we ate at an Italian place there that was delicious — Sara had gnocchi for the first time.

Our first night in the city we ate at some chain restaurant/brewery, which means we broke our own rule to not eat anything we could eat in Arizona. But we couldn’t help it; we walked everywhere looking for a restaurant and couldn’t find anything, so we finally just gave up and took the first thing that wasn’t Dunkin Donuts. We had actually walked so long looking for grub that we had to dip into a Borders book store for a pee break. (In the men’s restroom, all the mirrors were hung with picture frame hangers — Haha! Boston ingenuity.) As for all the bakeries, they were awesome. In fact, they were so awesome I’m pretty sure all the weight I gained from our trips came from Boston. It all came down to one dessert: cannoli. Wow, Boston knows how to make them. We also had a more authentic, fresher sfogliatelle; it was better than the one from Florida, but still a little funky. We also went to Mike’s Pastry, which is super famous in Boston. The line was out the door and halfway down the block. And once we finally got in the doors, it was so crowded we couldn’t even see what was in the display cases. As crowded as it was, though, the Mama Corleones would wrap your order in this string that hangs from the ceiling, which was an interesting touch. In Arizona, they use tape, the same stuff you use to wrap up birthday gifts. Anyway, the pastries were amazing.

Later that night we wandered into what looked like a riot in the street. People were yelling in the street, tearing apart bags of stuff on the sidewalks and in the street, throwing big bins of stuff around, and just generally making a mess of the place. I called it a zombie apocalypse, because it looked pretty crazy. Once we got closer (and eventually walked through it) we realized it was the end of some kind of farmer’s market. Apparently at the end of the market, whatever the vendors don’t want anymore they just leave on the street, which then brings out homeless people and enterprising, non-particular foodies who come to rummage through the discarded fruits and veggies. We watched from a nearby restaurant as people savagely tore apart the stuff in the street. Suddenly, without much notice, a giant front-end loader comes screaming through running over all the stuff. It was surreal to see. He rolled over the stuff several time crushing stacks of garbage, splintering pallets, squishing all the fruits into a juicy citrus-smelling lubricant for the street. Once he pulverized it into a nice pulp he began scooping it up. It was hilarious.

Much later that night, after Becca picked us up, we went to Hartford to watch The Town, Ben Affleck’s new movie that was all shot on location in Boston. First off, it was an excellent movie. (I’m a professional movie reviewer, but I’m going to be brief and just leave it at excellent.) Secondly, it played like a recap of our trip in Boston. Ben Affleck and Jeremy Renner rob an armored car in the North End; we were in the North End that very afternoon. Ben’s main girl lives in the Back Bay; we had walked all through there the previous day. The robbers plan a heist in Fenway; what a coincidence, we had just walked their same route. It was all very cool.

Our last day we ventured out to the beach and romped around in the sand for a bit — Sara learned how to skip rocks. It was all very fun. I couldn’t help but think of the Kennedys while we were there: I knew why they made their compound in New England. The white houses, the boat shoes, the polo shirts, the sailing ... it was all so picturesque and peaceful. And then when we returned to Phoenix, everything was beige and brown and dirty — it really is a shock on the system. Here’s a funny thing about our return: at Sky Harbor we were waiting for our luggage and one of the bags jammed up the carousel system. Worst of all the bag that jammed was like the third bag down the chute, and it was like 11:30 p.m. — everyone just wanted to get home. So there we waited on this one bag. Finally a worker dislodged it and the carousel started back up again. Guess who’s bag had gummed up the works for 10 minutes. Yep, OURS! Ha!

At some point during the trip I asked Sara which city was her favorite: New York City or Boston. Her answer didn’t surprise me at all; she said Boston. She didn’t even have to ask me. NYC forever. But that’s me.