I’d like to think that all of us have a list of places in the world we’d like to visit. This definitely rings true for me, and I don’t even cast my net that wide. There are plenty of other places in the United States alone that I want to visit.
One of those places on my list is Boston, and I only recently (is three years ago considered recent?) added it to the list. At the time, I was making small talk with a client of a company I worked for back then, who was in town from Boston. He described Boston as a “big city with a small town feel,” and said that if you look closely enough, you could come across little markers in the city of where historical moments in United States history took place (in retrospect, he was probably talking about The Freedom Trail). I’m no big history buff, but that was enough to intrigue me.
The opportunity to visit Boston presented itself when a friend of mine offered to send me there for a day, since they were going there for work. I hesitated, but figured I had the time, why not live a little right? So I packed a light bag and got on the plane. Six straight hours later, I found myself touching down at Boston Logan International Airport.
Holy crap I’m in Boston. And man, that humidity. I found the nearest restroom and took my sweet time changing out of my jeans and shirt into a skirt and tank top, and freshening up. No way was I going to explore Boston with my clothes sticking to me before I even left the airport.
With my friend busy with work, I was essentially on my own for about 6 hours. My solo travel skills were rusty, so my first item of business was to orient myself. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past few years of volunteering to help travelers at San Francisco International Airport, it’s that traveling by plane, regardless of your destination and flight duration, messes up your bearings. Think about it. You’ve taken on the kinetic energy of a plane going 500mph, and when you land, it takes a while for that energy to be transferred. No wonder we’re all drained! (By the way, that is also one of the only few things I ever remembered from my 11th grade physics class. Sorry Mr. Henning.)
If Boston Logan is anything like SFO, I thought, they’ve got to have information booths. I made my way through the departure level and down to arrivals, where an information booth was prominently located in front of one of the exits. I needed to find out how to get into Boston proper, what my transportation options would be, where would be the best place to grab a bite to eat, see some sights, feel the vibe.
Of course, in the world we live in, I had to check my phone. Needed to make sure it was charged as much as possible, that my loved ones back home knew I landed safely, and if need be, power up my GPS. Or Uber app.
Now, at SFO, it’s pretty easy to connect to the free WiFi. You open up anything that needs an internet connection and it prompts you to connect to the network. Easy peasy. Perhaps I was doing it wrong, but I didn’t get that same ease with BOS’ Wifi. I waited for similar prompts, but then I was given options of download speeds and what not, some I needed to pay for – what the heck?
I didn’t have time to mess with this, and I’m pretty sure it was eating up my battery life. So I thought, let’s get to asking the info booth staff. I approached the desk and had a pleasant conversation with the two gentlemen on shift that day.
“Hi…this is my first time in Boston – “
They smiled. “Welcome to Boston!” One of them even added, “We are the face of Boston! What can we do for you?”
That greeting made me laugh. “Well, I’m only here for the day so I just want to see whatever I can. How do I do that?”
“That’s kind of a tough question to answer, it depends on what you want to do.”
I expected that response. I can’t tell you how many times I get asked a similar question in San Francisco. I told them I pretty much do the same thing back home as they do, which somehow created this unspoken understanding and camaraderie. They seemed to understand that I meant “Look, I know what you got here, no need for fluff, just break the short version down for me.”
One of them handed me a city guide and map, and recommended I take the #33 (free) shuttle bus from the airport, to the Blue Line Airport Station, where I would catch the subway a couple of stops to walk around, get a bite to eat and maybe do some shopping. What I really wanted to do was take a ferry first and see Boston from the water, like I did when I was in New York, and then go to Skywalk Observatory (I checked before I left, it was sold out for the day, I think. You have to plan that in advance.) for a bird’s eye view. But I preferred cost and speed above all else; sunset was in a couple of hours at that point and I would’ve been royally pissed if by the time I got into the city, I would barely see the skyline.
“That’s more connections than I would like,” I said. “This is really the quickest and cheapest way?”
“There’s no possible way you could screw this up. If you do – and you won’t – just come back here.”
“Oh my God so much pressure!” I joked. “Alright, let’s do this, here I come Beantown! Is it ok to call it that?”
“If you say ‘Beantown,’ people will know that you’re not from here.”
NOTED! I was grateful for the tips and reassurance. I’m not that bad with directions but again, I came off a six-hour flight, I wasn’t 100% oriented, and I was going to be by myself. My confidence was a tad bit shaky. The two info guys wished me well and I made my way out of the airport, where low and behold, the #33 bus was there waiting.
I hopped on and was relieved to feel the AC on blast. I hushed my internal fuss and made my way to the back of the bus, which was pretty empty. Before I knew it, I was at the Airport station, where an MBTA employee was nice enough to help me figure out which ticket to purchase at the kiosk ($2.75), and how to get through the turnstiles. I didn’t get a chance to take a picture of the turnstiles but I absolutely appreciate that the turnstiles were not the kind that anyone could just skip paying the fare and hop over (I’m looking at you, BART, get it together). They were like actual doors – insert your ticket into the reader, it spits it back out, and opens the doors for you. When you exit the station, you just stand in front of the turnstiles and a sensor opens them for you – no need to insert the ticket again (again, looking at you BART).
I figured out which platform I needed to be on (inbound towards Bowdoin) and waited for the subway. I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it’s called, but it didn’t look like a subway, more like a streetcar. Inside was pretty narrow, typical seats facing each other on either side. I liked that the automated voice not only announced which stop it was approaching, but also which side the doors were going to open. The car I was in thankfully was also not very crowded and after a quick ride, I reached my stop: Aquarium.
When I surfaced, I couldn’t decide which direction to start walking. There were people everywhere, but not too much to where I felt claustrophobic. Clearly I was in a touristy area, with kiosks to catch tour buses and buy maps and souvenirs. I walked along State Street and just followed the flow of people, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was a complete fish out of water. I checked my watch. It was about 6:30 in the evening and there were still plenty of people out and about as if it was only midday: families, couples young and old, groups of friends, singles. To my left, people laid out on the grass or played frisbee near Rings Fountain. To my right I saw people waiting to ride the Greenway Carousel. The variety of people put me at ease, and I allowed myself to wander.
I realized the information booth guy sent me to Faneuil Hall. More people around me were walking towards it than away, and when I kept looking straight I saw The Gap and Banana Republic. Ok, I thought, at least it’s not super high end stores like he initially suggested, this is probably like an outdoor mall. Good, because I was hungry.
I wanted to see exactly how much of the area I was going to need/want to explore, so I went upstairs to the second floor and looked out over the railing. There were a lot of shops and kiosks, but I was surveying for food. I noticed people walking out of the Quincy Market building with food in their hands, so I headed there.
Man. Quincy Market is a lot like San Francisco’s Ferry Building, Napa’s Oxbow, and New York’s Chelsea Market. FOOD. LEFT. AND. RIGHT. I felt like Princess Jasmine in Aladdin when she’s in her disguise, walking in the marketplace for the first time. I’m pretty sure they had almost every type of cuisine represented. I won’t try to name them because I don’t want to make you hungry. I tried to think, what is a Boston staple that I need to try? Clam chowder? The weather was way too hot for any kind of chowder. Lobster roll? I don’t care if it’s a sandwich, lobster was out of my budget. I saw the sign for Philadelphia Steak & Hoagie. It had been a while since I had one of those, so I amused myself in the irony of eating something popular from Philadelphia while I was in Boston. I waited patiently by the counter to order, but the workers were in the back cleaning. It was too loud for me to yell for them, and I didn’t want to be rude. By the time they came out, a herd of teenagers with yellow backpacks cut in front of me and I couldn’t wait anymore. I could have easily schooled them but did I really want to make a scene in a crowded marketplace? Was I that petty? I just rolled my eyes, shaking my head at the fraction of the youth of our country that just poorly represented themselves to me, and kept walking. I decided to settle on getting a slice of pizza and a Snapple from North End Bakery (it wasn’t bad, but I now know I should have tried Regina Pizzeria just a little further down the hall). My total came to $7. It was probably best that I didn’t get a cheesesteak because I would’ve gotten it with fries and a drink, and would’ve been too full to do anything else. Time was of the essence.
I got my grub and found a spot to eat at a high table in the Rotunda. I was still sweating from the humidity so I’m glad the pizza wasn’t too piping hot. I still couldn’t believe I was actually IN Boston. My mind was so overwhelmed and pleasantly unprepared that after I finished my food, I still didn’t know exactly what to do except people-watch. Hmm, more yellow-backpacked teens. Must be some summer program or something. My eyes scanned the rest of the Rotunda and I saw a sign for Wicked Good Cupcakes. How can anyone turn down a cupcake? I gathered up my stuff and made a beeline for the counter, but noticed that it didn’t look like a typical cupcake stand. Where were the display cases? From a distance it looked like maybe they were only selling the ingredients to make cupcakes? I looked closer and found out that the cupcakes were in jars. Shouldn’t they be called jarcakes then? And why on earth did they cost $7.25?!
Immediate turn off. I’m sorry, I’m sure they were wicked good, but I’m not even a huge fan of paying over $3 for a cupcake back at home. Plus, I’m a sucker for containers and I would’ve wanted to keep the jar. The logistics of trying to pack an empty jar on my return flight was…forget it.
Perhaps I needed to get away from Faneuil Hall. I knew for sure I wanted to stay away from shopping. Even if I was to buy a keychain or a magnet, that could set off a chain reaction and I didn’t bring a suitcase to lug any more souvenirs back home. Experience and pictures would have to do as my mementos. I went out and walked along South Market Street towards the actual Faneuil Hall building, passing by Cheers where I’m pretty sure no one would’ve known my name, and stopped at a bench to finish my Snapple.
There were a number of street performers around the area. Near this particular bench was a local radio station entertaining a large crowd. I felt a sense of calmness amid all that buzz. If I had done the same thing with the same atmosphere back home, I would’ve felt annoyed and headed home ASAP. But here…I was happy to feel like a nobody. I was happy that no one there knew my name. Happy that as much as I cherished my home, I wasn’t there, I was on the other side of the country. Happy that after months of work-related, relationship-related, life-related stress, I actually GOT AWAY, even if just for a day. I was happy that I ignored any hesitation and was actually spontaneous for a change. And I was happy that I had a friend who recognized that was what I needed, and gave me a chance to seize the day.
I got up to throw my empty bottle away and noticed a sign. I was on part of The Freedom Trail. Holy crap! I knew I didn’t have enough time (or energy) to walk the whole thing but I smiled at how fitting this moment was. I FELT FREE. I didn’t have to be the me that deals with the pressures of adult life and I could just soak everything in. I got a second wind and kept walking.
After meandering through part of downtown and being way too close to the evening commuter cars, enjoying the AC in a Crocs store and avoiding buying any shoes, and getting a hint of New Orleans by eating some beignets while listening to a young street performer playing jazz music, I saw that I had a couple of hours left until it was time to meet with my friend. I headed back towards the water. I still wanted to try and snap a picture of whatever Boston’s skyline looked like, so I kept walking. And walking. And walking. Thankfully there weren’t any hills to trek, but the humidity was still alive and well. I stopped to sit for a bit at Boston Harbor Island Welcome Center, and by then it was dusk. Maybe I could try and catch a ferry? I checked my phone – which I had been using to tweet the whole time – and saw I my battery life was in the red. Oh great. So began my search for a power outlet. I decided to try one of the hotels nearby, so I stayed along the water.
While walking through Columbus Waterfront Park, I saw a sign for free Wifi. FOR REALS?! Ok Boston, this is most appreciated. As someone who hails from the Bay Area, where it’s teeming with startups and the tech industry and where it should be safe to assume there is free WiFi in most if not all public spaces, and IT’S NOT, I applaud this. And I wished I had known sooner, because that probably would’ve saved my battery life a little longer. I have no evidence to back that that is true but it’s what I like to believe.
Now, I try not to be the type of person who just can’t put their phone down, and I remember very vividly what life was like when we didn’t rely on smartphones so much. But aww hell, I needed my phone to be alive because at the very least, I needed to be able to get in touch with my friend. I connected to the WiFi and continued through the park, ending up at Long Wharf right next to the Marriott Hotel, where a ferry boat would leave every so often to take passengers to I don’t know where.
The ticketing booth for the ferries was already closed, so I couldn’t ask for information. My phone was at 17%, and I couldn’t see exactly where I could enter the hotel. I decided to conserve my battery life and sat in a lounge chair along the wharf. My skin was sticky with sweat. The humidity wasn’t that bad at that point, but it was official: I was gross. And tired. It was already getting dark and I thought, ok, I’m done. I’ll just wait here until it’s time to meet. Although there were still tons of people outside of the Marriott and at the park, there weren’t too many on the wharf with me.
Except this one guy. He was sitting, looking at his phone, on what I thought was a weird looking bench a few yards from me. I hadn’t thought twice about that bench until I noticed there was a cord from the guy’s phone to the bench. I walked closer to discover this was a solar powered charging station. I was sitting next to this thing the whole time?! I whipped out my phone charger and plugged it into the USB port, connecting it to my phone. This must be what doctors and first responders and anyone CPR-certified feels like when they’ve resuscitated someone. My phone had new life! Huzzah!
I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down. The guy looked up, smiled, and said “These things are awesome, right?” I whole-heartedly agreed and said to my knowledge, we didn’t have these back home. We got into a small conversation about San Francisco and relying on smartphones, and he told me that there was a lamppost – in the direction I had come from – that had cords/ports for different types of phones. I was highly impressed.
Our conversation ended up lasting over an hour and a half. This native Bostonian (yes, that means the accent was present in all its glory), Ryan, is one of the nicest people I have ever met. He asked if “his city” was treating me well and when I responded with a yes, he said he was happy that I was getting a good experience. It was really pleasant to hear someone speak about their hometown without making you feel like they would never shut up about it, and hear them appreciate things about other cities they have visited; in Ryan’s case, those were New York and San Francisco, respectively.
He talked about his love for Boston, describing the different neighborhoods and that “small town feel” that lured me there in the first place. We talked about different cities in America, I asked what it was like to live here, what the rent was like, what historical sites were literally around us (we weren’t too far from the harbor where the tea was dumped). I probably could’ve talked to him for much longer, but it was time for me to meet up with my friend, and Ryan’s friends arrived to celebrate his birthday with him. Yes, it happened to be his birthday. I thanked them for being great strangers to meet and made my way back to the hotel to meet my friend. It was about 9:45pm, plenty of people still out and about, but I was ready for some rest.
The day was coming to a close. I was able to take a longer shower than usual (good to be in a state that’s not in a drought) and my friend and I decided to skip dinner since it was so late.
As I waited to drift off to sleep, I thought of this entire experience. On the surface, Boston appeared to be a city bustling with so much to see and do, and all the means to do it. From the conveniences of free Wifi and charging stations, what seemed to be easy-to-use, accessible public transportation, to attracting people from all walks of life, I could see why the locals love it so much.
On a personal level, Boston was a nice break from the norm, walking within the confines of a city rich with not only its own history but America’s history, and not coming across one single, rude, unwelcoming person. It restored my hope in the human spirit, and life in general. Despite being a short, turnaround trip, I felt it was well worth it.
We flew back to San Francisco the following morning, but I want to come back and see the rest. I need to come back. I will come back. Someday, I am going to go back.
Thank you Boston.