Day five of my trip to New England was the last and greatest adventure, the biggest and grandest so far for the week: Boston. While we may enjoy small towns at periods in our lives, Madeleine and I are city girls at heart, and nothing beats the exhilarating rush of conquering a new city together. The minute we drove on the bridge over the harbor to enter the city, the brick buildings and slender red chimneys arose with their historic splendor on the skyline. I knew instantly the city would be just as magnificent now as it was to my twelve year old eyes so many years ago when I came with my family.
Boston did not let me down.
From
what I remembered, Boston was beautiful, had great food, great
shopping, and tons of fascinating history. When I got to see it all
again years later, this time with a well-traveled adult's perspective, I
learned that Boston is actually rich in eclectic culture from all over
the world, as well as an intriguing and integral location in our
country's history. And like any city, it has plenty of chaos and commotion. Madeleine and I encountered our first obstacle in
Boston when we tried to find parking. We had two options: pay $30 for
the day in a garage or park in a cheap meter where only two hour parking was
allowed. Naturally, we opted for the cheaper route, ensuring ourselves we'd be in a perpetual time crunch for the rest of the day. After running back to the car twice after our meter had been
several minutes over, we began to feel invincible to the giants of
Boston's parking nazis.
Whoops.
I
tried to remind Madeleine that Boston isn't quite like Maine where a person
can park wherever they want and not have to worry about the consequences,
but I'm not really sure she believed me. On our third and final time
racing against the clock to get back to our car in time, Madeleine
suggested taking a detour to enjoy the view of the harbor. Good thing I
talked her out of it, because upon our arrival ten minutes after our
meter expired, we found a bright orange piece of paper tucked onto our
windshield.
Guess third time's not always the charm?
We
didn't let it bother us too much because our evening had already been
filled with fun festivities, and it had only just begun. During our
walking tour of the city earlier in the afternoon, we learned that there was an Italian section
of Boston called the North End. As you can only imagine, we were
ecstatic. We hurried over to the area with great anticipation of what we
might find and squealed the moment we set foot in the Italian
environment. A friendly policeman informed us that there was a huge
Italian festival going on that evening called St. Anthony's Feast. It was guaranteed to have all sorts of Italian booths, food tables,
activities, and of course, plenty of handsome young Italian men.
We didn't even give the policeman a chance to finish explaining before we were off in a frenzy, whizzing through the maze of streets to locate things reminiscent of the people, country, and culture that we both love so much and that united us together in the first place.
I wish I could tell you how fantastic the festival was and how there were Italians running rampant throughout the streets and everyone was speaking Italian and there was authentic pasta and pizza everywhere.... but in reality it was quite different. All that existed to be sure, but most of what we found was only the American version of what Italians are, or more precisely, the Boston version of Italians. After trying a few samples of ravioli and hearing more Boston accents than Italian, Madeleine and I gave up and decided we could probably find more true Italians roaming the streets near the touristy sites than in the middle of this festival.
We navigated our way out of the festival and back into the North End, keeping an eye out for a good place to eat dinner (or more so trying to find a place we could afford since they all looked absolutely delicious!). We knew that if we were going to eat some incredible Italian pasta, we would also want some wine to go with it, but we weren't too keen on spending a lot of money on expensive glasses of wine at a restaurant. Instead, Madeleine and I decided to buy some Umbrian red wine at a cute little wine shop on the corner. Our dilemma then was to find a way to open the bottle, apparently not a very easy task in our country if you're not at home or in a restaurant. Asking around to others on the street proved unsuccessful, as did trying to borrow a wine key from a restaurant (definitely wouldn't suggest trying that one...). We both reminisced for a moment back to our days in Italy when Italians would sit out in the piazzas and share a bottle of wine with each other and how we wished things were the same in the U.S.
Ironically, as we were walking past the harbor (back to our car again for the millionth time), we spotted them: the Italians. It was all too obvious to us: 5 very European looking young people sitting casually in a circle right next to the water, talking, laughing, wearing skinny jeans, and enjoying whatever was in their small plastic cups. We knew we had struck gold. Madeleine nudged me to go up and talk to them since I'm apparently so good at striking up conversation with strangers. But I told her there are certain conversations that even I don't know how to breach without feeling awkward.
Needless to say, Madeleine was the hero of the story and casually walked up to the Italians (who ended up being from Florence!) and eventually asked to borrow their wine opener that we knew they had to have. Mission accomplished, and conversation starting to feel a little uncomfortable, we thanked them, wished them Buon Viaggio, and continued on with our next task of the evening: finding a restaurant.
Where we ended up was perfect. The man in the wine shop had suggested a restaurant to us and told us the Italian owner would "take care of us," which he did by allowing us to sit in a special upstairs patio room. We indulged in our favorite pasta dishes and let the world fade away as we ate dinner true Italian style - talking, laughing, lingering, crying, sharing, savoring. I almost forgot there was a room full of people around us until our waiter came up (we had specifically requested to talk with the one real Italian server there) and said in a melodic voice that made us both melt, "Tutto a posto?" And for a moment we didn't even know that the Colosseum wasn't right down the road and the streets weren't buzzing with the hum of scooters and crazy Italian drivers.
That dinner was one of the best parts of the trip. The dynamic conversation, the divine pasta, and the familiar and comfortable Italian atmosphere all contributed to the perfect last dinner of Sarah and Madeleine.
We headed home to change and get ready for an evening out on the town. Taking up a suggestion from our host in Boston, we concluded we would stay within walking distance of our apartment to make it easy to get back since we both had to be up early to travel the next morning. The nightlife reminded me a lot of Dallas and the scene was certainly hopping and crowded, but we managed to make our way into an Irish pub without too much of a delay. What came next will be of absolute no surprise to you: we found some Italians and of course immediately became friends. I can't even remember who started the conversation or how, but next thing I knew Madeleine and I were immersed in a full on Italian conversation in the middle of an Irish pub in the U.S.
Life is so great :)
Our efforts to go dancing failed as a result of too casual of clothing our group was wearing that night, but we didn't mind the midnight walk we took through the city, just wandering around, hanging out, and learning more about our Italian friends. It kind of felt like... well... Italy :)
And no other traditional Italian night can end any other way than with a late night piece of pizza and a long walk home.
Our Italian friends walked us home to make sure we arrived safely. I'm pretty sure the most dangerous thing on the streets were the cat sized rats that were running around in front of the apartment, but we managed to slip in without having a face to face encounter with one of those. By the time we got home, it was almost 5 am and Madeleine had to be leaving around 7. But when we finally sat down in bed, we couldn't even fall asleep. It felt like we had just walked out of a dream, and we couldn't believe all the great experiences from the previous day were actually real.
Without even leaving my own country, I felt like I had just stepped into a small piece of Italy, the country I love so much, and I got to do it and be there for just a few moments with one of my best friends. :)
I wish I could tell you how fantastic the festival was and how there were Italians running rampant throughout the streets and everyone was speaking Italian and there was authentic pasta and pizza everywhere.... but in reality it was quite different. All that existed to be sure, but most of what we found was only the American version of what Italians are, or more precisely, the Boston version of Italians. After trying a few samples of ravioli and hearing more Boston accents than Italian, Madeleine and I gave up and decided we could probably find more true Italians roaming the streets near the touristy sites than in the middle of this festival. 
We navigated our way out of the festival and back into the North End, keeping an eye out for a good place to eat dinner (or more so trying to find a place we could afford since they all looked absolutely delicious!). We knew that if we were going to eat some incredible Italian pasta, we would also want some wine to go with it, but we weren't too keen on spending a lot of money on expensive glasses of wine at a restaurant. Instead, Madeleine and I decided to buy some Umbrian red wine at a cute little wine shop on the corner. Our dilemma then was to find a way to open the bottle, apparently not a very easy task in our country if you're not at home or in a restaurant. Asking around to others on the street proved unsuccessful, as did trying to borrow a wine key from a restaurant (definitely wouldn't suggest trying that one...). We both reminisced for a moment back to our days in Italy when Italians would sit out in the piazzas and share a bottle of wine with each other and how we wished things were the same in the U.S.
Ironically, as we were walking past the harbor (back to our car again for the millionth time), we spotted them: the Italians. It was all too obvious to us: 5 very European looking young people sitting casually in a circle right next to the water, talking, laughing, wearing skinny jeans, and enjoying whatever was in their small plastic cups. We knew we had struck gold. Madeleine nudged me to go up and talk to them since I'm apparently so good at striking up conversation with strangers. But I told her there are certain conversations that even I don't know how to breach without feeling awkward.
Needless to say, Madeleine was the hero of the story and casually walked up to the Italians (who ended up being from Florence!) and eventually asked to borrow their wine opener that we knew they had to have. Mission accomplished, and conversation starting to feel a little uncomfortable, we thanked them, wished them Buon Viaggio, and continued on with our next task of the evening: finding a restaurant.
That dinner was one of the best parts of the trip. The dynamic conversation, the divine pasta, and the familiar and comfortable Italian atmosphere all contributed to the perfect last dinner of Sarah and Madeleine.
But the night didn't end there.
We headed home to change and get ready for an evening out on the town. Taking up a suggestion from our host in Boston, we concluded we would stay within walking distance of our apartment to make it easy to get back since we both had to be up early to travel the next morning. The nightlife reminded me a lot of Dallas and the scene was certainly hopping and crowded, but we managed to make our way into an Irish pub without too much of a delay. What came next will be of absolute no surprise to you: we found some Italians and of course immediately became friends. I can't even remember who started the conversation or how, but next thing I knew Madeleine and I were immersed in a full on Italian conversation in the middle of an Irish pub in the U.S. Life is so great :)
Our efforts to go dancing failed as a result of too casual of clothing our group was wearing that night, but we didn't mind the midnight walk we took through the city, just wandering around, hanging out, and learning more about our Italian friends. It kind of felt like... well... Italy :)
And no other traditional Italian night can end any other way than with a late night piece of pizza and a long walk home.
Our Italian friends walked us home to make sure we arrived safely. I'm pretty sure the most dangerous thing on the streets were the cat sized rats that were running around in front of the apartment, but we managed to slip in without having a face to face encounter with one of those. By the time we got home, it was almost 5 am and Madeleine had to be leaving around 7. But when we finally sat down in bed, we couldn't even fall asleep. It felt like we had just walked out of a dream, and we couldn't believe all the great experiences from the previous day were actually real.
Without even leaving my own country, I felt like I had just stepped into a small piece of Italy, the country I love so much, and I got to do it and be there for just a few moments with one of my best friends. :)
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| You could read the whole blog, but really all you need to know about our time in Boston is pretty much summed up in this one picture ;) |
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