This morning started with a moment of silence. Today is September 11th. It’s been 4 years sine the attacks on the twin towers. Tears were shed by my fellow travelers. Ironic that I am flying into Logan airport today.
It’s anything but silent now. I am surrounded by the sounds of a bustling city that is winding down and enjoying the late day sunshine on a Sunday afternoon.
Sweet. The smell of sugar cones wafts over to me from the ice cream parlor on the corner. I can still faintly hear the swing music being played on the church steps. I was asked to dance, and obliged excitedly. I tried to learn a few steps, but instead laughed my way through the songs. My instructor was patient, and provided me with a fantastic welcome to the city. I moved onto Newbury Street. Down one street and up another. Café, shop, café, café, café, bookstore, shop, café. A plethora of sites and sounds. Every shade of youth you can imagine. The Bostonian accent makes me giggle. Sadly, the cabbie is the only place I’ve heard it thus far. I can’t help smiling. There is something so vibrant and wonderful and European about this city. Brick streets scattered with remnants of dripping ice cream cones and cigarettes smoked on an afternoon stroll. Old buildings with new faces, new cars with aging scratches.
A moment spent on a stoop as the sun begins to set. The pace has slowed, the glances of longing grow longer. The weekend, and the summer for that matter, are drawing near the end. Not many children are here. They are probably at home in their back yards clinging to the last rays of sunshine. Onward I go, new sites to see.
“Excuse me, would you like to join me and my friends for a glass of champagne?” Delighted at my good fortune and the friendliness of a stranger, I accept. I follow the man to the table. 7 people await his return. The 5 drunk males at the table are happy to see me and quickly offer me a seat and a glass of bubbly. The
cougars are not as pleased. They sit with their arms folded and snakily look me up and down. I am obviously not the first girl this group has attempted to lure in with the promise of free champagne. I quickly decide they are too drunk and obnoxious, even for me, this early in the evening. I politely decline the drink, and the offer to make out with one of them, and exit the restaurant. I continue my self guided tour of Newberry, then Boylston street, and head to my hotel to freshen up.
New friends, who knew it could be so easy? It’s dark. I just
finished dinner with my old friend and her new husband. She is pregnant, and glowing, of course. Boston clam chowder in Boston – delicious! I walk them back to their car. The streets are busy and I am dressed up. I don’t want to go back to the hotel. Not yet. I walk in search of the perfect spot for
tini-time. I come upon Sonsie, a fabulous little restaurant / bar with a European feel. Dark and crowded, I decided to be brave and go in. There are no seats at the bar, no open tables. I was so proud of myself for being such a big girl and venturing out, and now it seems to be in vein.
No, I am not going to give up. Just look like you know what you are doing. Keep your chin up.
“Can I use this chair?”
“Sure…who are you hear with?” A tall blonde replies.
“Myself.”
Wow, that sounded a lot more confident than I feel. Sarah and Megan make room for me. We get to chatting and instantly bond. Sarah is gorgeous and obviously keen on Boston society. Megan is smoldering and in perfect contrast, a grade school teacher. We share liquid desserts, Chai martinis. I have found perfection. Vodka and Chai tea in the same glass – glorious. We drink until 2am, and they kindly offer to show me around the city over the next few days. I stumble back to my hotel and fall into bed. I conveniently forgot that I was here on business.
I somehow manage to make it through the morning. I get my booth set up at the show, stand back and admire my creation. Not bad, not bad at all. We meet for coffee. Megan has to return to Arizona to school. She will be joining Sarah here in Boston in the spring, but must complete school first. Sarah and I make plans for the evening. I return to my hotel, make sure that all my colleagues have arrived safely and are happy with the booth.
Sarah calls and we make plans to possibly go out on their boat in the harbor. I am thrilled. I piece together the best
sailing outfit I can find. A little dressy, but we’re in a high class town right? Sarah picks me up – change of plans. We are having a bar-b-que at her house. Hmm, really overdressed now, but too late to change. Fantastic house. Old and stylish, full of character. She lives with male roommates, but has tried to add some feminine touches to the house. The pink flower painting over the mantle with the matching pink fuzzy blanket on the couch aren’t exactly going over well, but I think it’s cute. Her roommates are dolls. And finally – Boston accents! Although apparently, that is an insult. But I still love them! We drink mandarin vodka and sprite. The boys cook up a feast. Two drinks in and I am too tipsy for food. So Sarah and I have a liquid dinner. Laughter and flirting fill the air. The night becomes fuzzy. Sarah’s crush arrives. I think I over eagerly introduced myself which lead him to realize that I must have heard about him. Oops.
I awake staring at a crack in my ceiling. Wait – I don’t have a crack in my ceiling. Oh, I am in
Boston. Wait – this doesn’t look like a hotel room. Oh, I am on Sarah's couch. Damn that sneaky vodka! She call a cab for me. I have 45 minutes until my first interview with the Senior Editor of a huge publishing company. This is bad. I get in the cab? “Do you take cards?” Of course not!
I run back into the house. Does anyone have cash? Nope! I run back out and collect my things. “No more cabs for you!” The angry cabbie snaps at me. Sorry Sarah – you have been black listed by the
Taxi Nazi. She takes me back to the hotel. Room service – get here quick! I chug 3 cups of coffee, have a stern chat with myself in the mirror and convince myself I am not half drunk.
The interviews went well. My tipsy blabbing may have worked to my advantage. The day grows long. We take our Russian distributors out to dinner. “Wodka! Wodka!” Ugh – alright – in the name of good company socializing, I man up. Dang those Russians know how to drink vodka! I call Sarah and we are both tired from the night before, so we just hang out to watch movies. Her roommate comes home in a designer t-shirt. I like to pretend that I know a little bit about fashion. I read the magazines, watch E! and love to shop. But I apparently know nothing. Patrick rattles of designers I have never heard of. (And I am sure I can’t afford!) He is opening a restaurant in a month. The names of the people involved are unknown to me. Patrick does his best to not look surprised that I have never heard of any of these people or the places they have designed and opened. I guess I am more of a Colorado girl than I thought.
Ah, room service. You know what? It’s not fair that a lot of people never get the chance to enjoy room service. It’s absolutely fantastic. To be able to make one little phone call and have cart filled with delicious savory food delivered to you while you lounge in a fluffy robe is just brilliant! I could definitely get used to breakfast in bed every morning. Maybe I need to add that to my list (Husband: must have burning desire to bring me breakfast in bed at least twice a week, accompanying roses optional, but strongly encouraged.)
The show is great, another round of great interviews. I am getting good at spewing off computer jargon. The show is long, the tear down is even longer. I am exhausted by the time I return to the room. My mid-day shopping spree probably didn’t help.
Thursday arrives. I meet Joany in Copley Square. We dine at Au Bon Pain. Delicious! The North End is adorable. Little Italy really feels like Italy. We stop and sit at little cafés along the way. Touring with a pregnant woman is quite nice. We sit and drink and visit the bathroom often. Quite perfect actually. We walk to the water and stop for a tea at Tia’s on the harbor. We wander to Mike’s pastry shop for a piece of Boston Cream Pie. The cobblestone streets are adorable. The flowers are still in bloom and red path of the Freedom Trail ensures that I pick up a bit of education along the way. I see where Samuel Adams was buried, where the Boston Massacre took place, and a tea pot that has been brewing for 200 years.
Then it’s off to Fenway to see the world famous Boston Red Sox. I was able to get two tickets from my friend George, God Bless him for his generosity! I am waiting to hear from Sarah or Patrick to take them to the game. I have not been able to get a hold of them all day, and am starting to get a little nervous about Sarah. I start walking to Fenway by myself. Two friendly gents ask if they are headed in the right direction for a Sox game. They are in town for business as well. Nice fellows from San Diego. We discuss surf and sports. They think it’s cute that I am going to the game by myself. I think it’s pathetic, but I’ll go with their cute assessment. We have time before the game starts, so the gents invite me to grab a drink first at Tequila Rain. I order a beer and they order huge girlie mango margaritas.
They are in those huge plastic goofy shaped glasses. I feel like I’m in Vegas. Ah, beer and some Southy boys next to us…I am getting excited for the game. We enter the park. Perfection. I have never been to an old ball park. It’s wonderful, the sights and sounds are exactly what I expected. Everyone is plastered with Sox gear. Hats, shirts, face paint. There is so much heart in Boston. People are proud to be from here, proud of their team, proud of their ball park. Things you never feel at Coors Field. Time for hotdogs! The gents get regular size dogs, I find a vendor with foot longs. Yummm! Funny though – the dog is longer, but the bun is regular size. Ah well, still scrumptious. We take pictures of the field and pose with a police officer. The park usher tells us that we just posed with a local celebrity. He is the head of the police force and has been on television a lot. Who knew? Time for the game to start, I bid Eric and Jason adieu. I find my seat. I hear from Sarah, her
mother is ill and she is in Vermont with her family. I am glad to hear from her, and hope that her mom gets better. Well, it looks like I’ll be watching the game by myself…Or not. A group of twenty something die hard sox fans notice that I am sitting alone, and take pity on me. We share some laughs over beers. They gush about their city. Their love for Boston is contagious, and my affinity for Beantown continues to grow stronger. The game starts out badly for the Sox, and continues to get worse. But the fans stay strong. The A’s pretty much secure their win in the top of the 8th. My new group of friends invite me join them after the game at a local sports bar. But it’s late and I should get back to Joany’s house. On the way to the T, I walk in a drunken happy haze.
Friday is another day of wandering around the city. We see Harvard and MIT. We wander along cobblestone streets and I ache to own one of the adorable brownstones.
I decide there is room for me on the Sox bandwagon, and proceed to add some Boston garb to my wardrobe. Nighttime has arrived, and Joany’s Columbian husband teaches me how to cook Plantains. We watch
Maria Full of Grace, a Columbian movie about drug trafficking. Crazy shit. It’s neat to watch the movie Javier; he points out cultural nuances. The next morning we rise and go to the
Hay Market. Gorgeous fruit, fresh fish and bundles of flowers line the streets. We stop for lunch to have fish and chips. The seafood here is superb. Alas, my trip has come to an end. Javi, Joany and her belly bid me farewell.
On the plane I realize that this was a one of the best trips I have ever had.
This is the first trip I have ever taken on my own. The first time I have stayed in a hotel room by myself. The first time I have completely gone out of my comfort zone and risked embarrassment at the chance of making a friend. I made myself vulnerable, and it worked. I didn’t stop smiling from the moment I landed at Logan airport. I was so happy the whole time I was there, because I decided to be happy. I smiled at people, so they smiled back. I chatted with people, so they chatted back. It’s so simple, and yet I never realized how easy it is.
I understand that all trips won’t be like this. Sometimes people might not be so nice. But sometimes they will, and I need to put myself out there more often. When I am at home, I settle into my routine and go out with my friends. The only strangers I meet are the occasion boy in a bar.
This is one of my favorite trips, not because it was the most fun I’ve ever had, but because I learned so much about myself and the complete control I have over my own outlook on life. I return to Denver with a renewed spirit and a deep love for The City on A Hill.
Sweet. The smell of sugar cones wafts over to me from the ice cream parlor on the corner. I can still faintly hear the swing music being played on the church steps. I was asked to dance, and obliged excitedly. I tried to learn a few steps, but instead laughed my way through the songs. My instructor was patient, and provided me with a fantastic welcome to the city. I moved onto Newbury Street. Down one street and up another. Café, shop, café, café, café, bookstore, shop, café. A plethora of sites and sounds. Every shade of youth you can imagine. The Bostonian accent makes me giggle. Sadly, the cabbie is the only place I’ve heard it thus far. I can’t help smiling. There is something so vibrant and wonderful and European about this city. Brick streets scattered with remnants of dripping ice cream cones and cigarettes smoked on an afternoon stroll. Old buildings with new faces, new cars with aging scratches.
finished dinner with my old friend and her new husband. She is pregnant, and glowing, of course. Boston clam chowder in Boston – delicious! I walk them back to their car. The streets are busy and I am dressed up. I don’t want to go back to the hotel. Not yet. I walk in search of the perfect spot for tini-time. I come upon Sonsie, a fabulous little restaurant / bar with a European feel. Dark and crowded, I decided to be brave and go in. There are no seats at the bar, no open tables. I was so proud of myself for being such a big girl and venturing out, and now it seems to be in vein. 
No, I am not going to give up. Just look like you know what you are doing. Keep your chin up.
Boston. Wait – this doesn’t look like a hotel room. Oh, I am on Sarah's couch. Damn that sneaky vodka! She call a cab for me. I have 45 minutes until my first interview with the Senior Editor of a huge publishing company. This is bad. I get in the cab? “Do you take cards?” Of course not!
Thursday arrives. I meet Joany in Copley Square. We dine at Au Bon Pain. Delicious! The North End is adorable. Little Italy really feels like Italy. We stop and sit at little cafés along the way. Touring with a pregnant woman is quite nice. We sit and drink and visit the bathroom often. Quite perfect actually. We walk to the water and stop for a tea at Tia’s on the harbor. We wander to Mike’s pastry shop for a piece of Boston Cream Pie. The cobblestone streets are adorable. The flowers are still in bloom and red path of the Freedom Trail ensures that I pick up a bit of education along the way. I see where Samuel Adams was buried, where the Boston Massacre took place, and a tea pot that has been brewing for 200 years.
They are in those huge plastic goofy shaped glasses. I feel like I’m in Vegas. Ah, beer and some Southy boys next to us…I am getting excited for the game. We enter the park. Perfection. I have never been to an old ball park. It’s wonderful, the sights and sounds are exactly what I expected. Everyone is plastered with Sox gear. Hats, shirts, face paint. There is so much heart in Boston. People are proud to be from here, proud of their team, proud of their ball park. Things you never feel at Coors Field. Time for hotdogs! The gents get regular size dogs, I find a vendor with foot longs. Yummm! Funny though – the dog is longer, but the bun is regular size. Ah well, still scrumptious. We take pictures of the field and pose with a police officer. The park usher tells us that we just posed with a local celebrity. He is the head of the police force and has been on television a lot. Who knew? Time for the game to start, I bid Eric and Jason adieu. I find my seat. I hear from Sarah, her 
mother is ill and she is in Vermont with her family. I am glad to hear from her, and hope that her mom gets better. Well, it looks like I’ll be watching the game by myself…Or not. A group of twenty something die hard sox fans notice that I am sitting alone, and take pity on me. We share some laughs over beers. They gush about their city. Their love for Boston is contagious, and my affinity for Beantown continues to grow stronger. The game starts out badly for the Sox, and continues to get worse. But the fans stay strong. The A’s pretty much secure their win in the top of the 8th. My new group of friends invite me join them after the game at a local sports bar. But it’s late and I should get back to Joany’s house. On the way to the T, I walk in a drunken happy haze.
I decide there is room for me on the Sox bandwagon, and proceed to add some Boston garb to my wardrobe. Nighttime has arrived, and Joany’s Columbian husband teaches me how to cook Plantains. We watch Maria Full of Grace, a Columbian movie about drug trafficking. Crazy shit. It’s neat to watch the movie Javier; he points out cultural nuances. The next morning we rise and go to the 
Hay Market. Gorgeous fruit, fresh fish and bundles of flowers line the streets. We stop for lunch to have fish and chips. The seafood here is superb. Alas, my trip has come to an end. Javi, Joany and her belly bid me farewell.
