Bahston, the land of Clam Chowdah
I've been in Boston (or Bahston, as the natives pronounce it) since Monday evening, attending a training class at the elegant Wyndham Hotel, in what I'm told is the Financial district. One never knows about some of these classes, but this has turned out to be very good. The class has covered Information Architecture and Taxonomy (but why are they teaching you to stuff dead animals, as someone joked this morning). I may cover the topic on a separate blog; this one is just about my trip.
The weather in Boston is brisk; just above freezing. Tonight/tomorrow morning we are supposed to get 2 to 4 inches of snow. Whoopee. But it hasn't been awful. I've gone on several walking trips since arriving; the wind is bracing, not freezing. I get back to the hotel rosy-cheeked.
Yesterday went to Faneuil Hall, wandered about and bought t-shirts for the boy-os. This evening I hiked over to Boston Commons and went for a walk until just after dark. Being in a really old city (well compared to where I live) is fascinating. The faces you see come from a very different ethnic mix. America may be a melting pot, but the pot doesn't always get completely stirred.
Lots historic architecture, laid out on what must be cow trails that got somehow paved, and kept getting progressively wider. Walked by Old City Hall, King's Chapel, to mention just a couple.
My other walking trip, taken at lunch today, took me on a pilgrimage to the lobby of the office building that is home to the Atlantic Monthly, where my goal is to have something published before I escape from this life. It's in a rather old, nondescript building, surrounded by a great mix of humanity. Once I got there, I wasn't quite sure what to do; I never did find their offices. Just as well, since I had no plan to do anything other that be able to say I'd been there.
Alas, tomorrow I go home, assuming the predicted snow is no big deal tomorrow. I admit to not enjoying travel, but occasionally think it would be fun to live somewhere else for a year. I dare not tell Dorothy this. She would start packing.
Favorite random Boston memory: three attractive 20 something women standing outside Mr Dooley's Pub, shivering in the cold and smoking cigarettes, bitching about their boyfriends. They must have stood there for a hour. They said "Fack" a lot.
By the way, I heartily recommend Mr. Dooley's at 77 Broad Street, if you are in search of an establish to dine and have a drink.
The weather in Boston is brisk; just above freezing. Tonight/tomorrow morning we are supposed to get 2 to 4 inches of snow. Whoopee. But it hasn't been awful. I've gone on several walking trips since arriving; the wind is bracing, not freezing. I get back to the hotel rosy-cheeked.
Yesterday went to Faneuil Hall, wandered about and bought t-shirts for the boy-os. This evening I hiked over to Boston Commons and went for a walk until just after dark. Being in a really old city (well compared to where I live) is fascinating. The faces you see come from a very different ethnic mix. America may be a melting pot, but the pot doesn't always get completely stirred.
Lots historic architecture, laid out on what must be cow trails that got somehow paved, and kept getting progressively wider. Walked by Old City Hall, King's Chapel, to mention just a couple.
My other walking trip, taken at lunch today, took me on a pilgrimage to the lobby of the office building that is home to the Atlantic Monthly, where my goal is to have something published before I escape from this life. It's in a rather old, nondescript building, surrounded by a great mix of humanity. Once I got there, I wasn't quite sure what to do; I never did find their offices. Just as well, since I had no plan to do anything other that be able to say I'd been there.
Alas, tomorrow I go home, assuming the predicted snow is no big deal tomorrow. I admit to not enjoying travel, but occasionally think it would be fun to live somewhere else for a year. I dare not tell Dorothy this. She would start packing.
Favorite random Boston memory: three attractive 20 something women standing outside Mr Dooley's Pub, shivering in the cold and smoking cigarettes, bitching about their boyfriends. They must have stood there for a hour. They said "Fack" a lot.
By the way, I heartily recommend Mr. Dooley's at 77 Broad Street, if you are in search of an establish to dine and have a drink.
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