Has anyone seen my humbugs?
Trip Start
Mar 26, 2009
1
5
26
Trip End
Jun 30, 2010
Boston, Massachusetts, United States
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
the Dominican Republican honey (which has now been changed to Boston's finest Sam Adams as i had to abandon the blog last night due to taking half an hour to write a sentence, must have been carols fancy keyboard), something that i was lead to believe that it would be like finding the holy grail over in the states, where back in the drid its as easy as buying milk, so i have took full advantage.
so travel if that is what you are after, well we left the concentration camp early Sunday morning and kissing goodbye to Ives as he hung a new sign about limiting breathing between the hours of 10 and 11 as its when the ozone is at it weakest, we kicked off the car journey to Boston a mere 350 miles away. Briefly stopping at the border for some "poutin" (a Canadian speciality of chips, gravy and cheese... a great combination of the french and English cuisine) in what can only be described as a french speaking truckers cafe, they always have the best grub we braced ourselves for the usual interrogation at the American border.
Now i seem to have one of those faces that requires a proper drilling at the American border and that coupled with the fact that they get right on my tits as well, things do not always go swimmingly, this all started from when i first came over to see murf in Boston in 2004 and didn't realise that you have to put an address on the visa to get in the country, when i was informed by the usual power ego at the border i just told him that my mate was waiting for me outside and i didn't have a clue and anyways what would happen if i had just come over and was gonna get a hotel when i arrived, i mean i could just put Micky mouse avenue and that would do... big mistake, 2 hours later they let me through giving me a proper lecture in drill instructor style with a lot of finger pointing. Since then i have had my bag searched several times, been told that my name did not sound "Spanish enough" when i flew in from Madrid and had a guy tell that i was a "half wit" because i didn't put the right finger on the little scanner so i was prepared for the worst. But no, it seems that i have finally had the experience that i have been waiting for, he upheld everything that was displayed in the poster behind him in bold red, white and blue letters about professionalism and integrity and even threw in a little gag (which was awful but i gave it a hearty laugh, thats what he would have wanted) and then we were free to go, back in the old US of A.
So to celebrate our entry into the land of the free refills, i decided to crack open the bag of mint humbugs (Thornton's no less, pride of derby) and enjoy English sweets at their best. Small problemo, cant seem to find my little back pack that i had took into the customs office with me as it has all the valuables of the trip in it, cameras, laptop, passports and the divine bugs of hum, but the bad-boy can not be found anywhere. It then dawns on me that i have left it in the customs office and my heart begins to race as that has to be the last place that you want to leave a unattended bag right next to 5 American custom officials! A quick U turn later after i had broke the news that i have once again excelled myself with my attention to detail and you can cut the tension in the air with a knife, i am well pissed of with myself as i have now managed to lose every important thing that we need on the trip (well i would have got over the cameras and that but if some customs dude in leather gloves gets his paws on them bugs it would have a travesty), murf is putting a brave face on but knows i have got us into a right mess as this could mean that we have to enter Canada again to get back into the states to reclaim the booty, carol makes phone-calls at lightening speed to get the appropriate numbers... Elena stays quiet (probably questioning herself why she has just throw in her job to be with such a catch!) but i am sure i heard a cheeky Spanish "me cago en la puta" slip out under her breath. After a frantic and very quite 5 mile ride we arrive again at the border, carol has now managed to speak to the officials on the border and they have told her that the bag has been found and that we should pull up at the loading bay entrance and enter through the side door to get the bag back. I enter the building thinking that my bag is gonna be handed back over by a very pissed off bomb squad and that wet ink on my newly stamped visa will soon mean jack as they revoke all my rights and give me a semena on the "American way" of crossing a border. However nothing of the sort occurs, as i sheepishly enter the office, the gag master hands over my bag, i apologize profusely, and we are again on our way, even thought about throwing him a bug but you don't get these treats so easily.
We arrive in Framingham, MA at murf and carols house, which seems to get better every time i see it, its one of those house that you want to live in, really cool decor, very spacious, set in quite little street and with every mac gadget that you can think of we really are being spoiled, although carol informs me that its actually a 2 hour limit to enter the house after a having fag in her place! After a quick freshen up we head out into town to go and see Morrisey, which that have brought us tickets for my birthday (top friends), which is a great night, morrisey is showing his years not quite the skinny strutster that we was (i mean he is not quite Robert smith but he has filled out in his latter years) but his voice is impeccable, hitting all the notes and still with enough stage presence to let him deserve his ego and a real tight set (thats music talk for on form kieran) from his backing band make the smiths classics a real treat to hear live, there is a questionable part when he rips on his many shirt changes off and throws it into the crowd at the finale of one of his songs to which is met to complete silence as his portly frame is exposed under the spotlight, that much i almost expected it to be throw back at him demanding that he cover up but he soon makes a sharp exit returning with a fresh one probably vowing to drop that section from the next gig. He did also provide me with possible the best quote from crown interaction that i have ever heard, that of when playing some of his lesser known solo material that is just met with a few foot taps from the crowd he asks over the guitar solo is a way that only he could "has anyone one heard this one...? does anyone like it...? do i?!"... genius.
Next day into Boston, we get the train well early doors with all the commuters showing about as much energy as you can expect from a Monday morning, the ticket inspector does however provide the laughs, a real Bostonian with razor sharp wit who Gav's me as good as i give as he repronounced everything i say regards train stations, apparently Boston, should be said as "buuuoston" and east natick as "east nayyyytick", ill try and remember that for next time... lets hope he never comes over to the midlands where treats such as derby and Leicester await him. We get to Boston and i immediately excited as i have been there 2 times already and have always had a great time and also because its one of Elena's favorite destinations on the trip so i am keen to show her the places that i know. We decide to follow the Freedom Trail (although the name nearly puts me off) which takes us from the main state house all the way over to the bunker hill monument on the other side of the river passing by a pletora of points of interest on the way. The whether at this point had already looked a bit iffy with it being very overcast and windy but as we reach the start of the route it starts to rain, but being as though we enthusiastic to see the city and that carol has given me her umbrella (which could be a golf umbrella in england but over here its just a regular) we start the route. Plenty of things to see, the graveyard of the unarmed from the Boston massacre and the Holocaust monument are particularly inter sting and again like in Montreal seeing the clash of the old buildings dwarfed by their skyscraper counterparts keeps me taking photos for the most of the route only stopping for some soup in the Irish quarter as the rain and the weight of the umbrella are starting to break the spirit. Now i suppose any normal person would have turned it in at this point taking a humble defeat from the whether and waited until another day to finish the route off, but i dint really like to throw the towel in and i insist that we push on following the route to the letter to make it across the river and see the bunker hill monument and the old ironside British ship of which i had not yet seen in Boston. I must admit my enthusiasm is not that shared with Elena who gives me some colourful Spanish language as in some of the route you really have to search for the point of interest in-between an apartment block and a factory but i feel as though we could be missing something but i give her jumper to at least cut out the complaints of "que frio" and she is back on board. When crossing over the river the wind really steps it up notch and we are pelted with blasts of wind and rain that keep us huddled together like two refugees for warmth and also extra weight as the sheer mass of the umbrella is getting some proper gusts in it and needs to be anchored to stop us being taken Mary Poppins style over the side of the bridge and into the Charles river... as we reach the other i side i have to forfeit old ironside.
The monument are museum provide a warm shelter for a while and some back history on Boston, although you do have to swallow your pride a little if you are English as they lay in on real American super sized about the British losers and the how the bravery of so few defeated the great empire, but at the end of the day some of these "eye witness" accounts could be just a tad biased and we are on their turf so weŽll give them that.
So after scaling the 279 steps of the monument with great over looking views of boston but an even bigger grey cloud looming in the distance we decided to cut our losses and head back to Framingham, as the freedom trail had now been completed and with Elena's shoes getting wetter by the second and my manly facade breaking with the lack of my undercoat that i had given to her lying that i was almost too warm as complained about forgotten hers, the cold was really kicking in and would have put of even the most uber tourist as myself. So after we eventually made it back to downtown, this time opting to get the bus instead of braving the wind-trap of the bridge and also witnessing a bizarre fire drill (where it appeared almost all of Bostons fire service appeared from nowhere bringing a very animated traffic cop) from the comfort of a dunking donuts complete with an overweight cop getting his creamy puff, we were happy to be back in the comfort of murf and carols home for some delicious home cooking washed down with sam adams and brugal.
The following day again used her curious power of being able to completely baffle the whether system and we were treated to a glorious cloud free day in Boston. We headed down in to the Cambridge area of Boston to walk around the leafy Harvard and also embark on a 3 mile hike along the river into town after making a few questionable map reading chooses. But in the end i was glad that my non existent orientation had taken us this schlep as the views and the contrasts of the city and the ivy league neighborhood did not get one complaint from my Spanish counterpart. Later on we caught with an Irish friend of mine whom by chance had phoned me that morning after seeing my face book and passing me on his number telling me to call him. So after walking down the very desirable Newbury street, looking in awe at the red brick town houses we met up with Dan next to the John Hancock tower right next to where he worked and we went to the an all American restaurant over the road where the waiters wore stars and stripes on their ties and introduced themselves as if it was an audition for pop idol and traded a few stories over a larger than life bacon/cheese/ burger and chunky home fries. Dan was always a good laugh when i met him over in Madrid, a squash professional who travels the world teaching and competing and still at the tender age of 24 makes me sick at his ability to drink like a sailor but yet still retain the focus and drive to keep his where he is... git, and still retains that charm so was a pleasant surprise to be able to meet up. After leaving and having a stroll through the park where the army of squirrels waited to attack me when i did not provide them with a bag of brazils we caught a lift back with carol as she was downtown and we wanted to head down to the supermarket to get ingredients to make an early start on the Spanish dinner that we had arranged to cook for our hosts.
This is really where America shines head and shoulders over Europe is the ability to all of the hassle out of the deminial tasks that we all have to do, i mean how many times have you been to a drive through cash point or been given a tv to watch in a taxi with included gps to follow your route over in England or Spain, well what i know, never. But they really take it up a level in the supermarkets, i mean you get the best bags, pimped trolleys, wide aisles offering literally everything you can think about (2 aisles for only sauces... heaven) but above all that your very out hand held scanner (not like those crappy calculators that you get in Salisbury's but a proper scanner gun) that gives you a running tally and also prints, yes prints out coupons for discounts that you can claim on the store. The only things i could not get my head round were why we were given prices also for the most bizarre weights, i mean do you really need to know how much a gallon of olive oil would be... just in case! Also the different names that we use in England and the states for veg, i spent 10 minutes looking for zucinni on the weighing scales for the cougette (i did my homework) only to find out it was called a green squash... who makes these names up!
With almost no waiting, compared to the 10 year borathon in Spain to pay, we were home in no time and Elena worked her magic on a paella which seemed to have mucho success and again some fine wine and good conversation/banter it was another memorable evening. That coupled murf and carol disappearing to produce a 30th birthday cake, with candles and everything the night was ended a little tipsy and with a lot of excitement to roll the party wagon down to New York City... start spreading the news.
