First night in Boston
Amazingly, it is a week since my last working day, and time is already flying through my fingers. Our fingers.
But time had come for us to bid New York goodbye, back our things and head north to Beantown, Boston, for a few days.
We laid in bed for a while, me coughing loudly from time to time, then Jools announcing she has now caught the cold. Or a cold. Might not be mine.
Anyway, we have to pack, get all the clothes we have brought back into the case ready for the trip. We had hours to get it done, so we take hours, and had decided to have breakfast at Penn Station rather than go to our usual haunt.
At ten we are done, so go down to check out, and for the bellhop to call a cab. We had the most reasonable man in New York driving us, who spoke with knowledge of global events and current affairs, and of Brexit and Trump.
He made the journey to the station seem so effortless, it was a shame when we arrived. Outside the station, or stations, more of that in a minute, it was mad. Two drunks, so out of it they could hardly stand, panhandled us for change, the woman incapable of speech in fact. We dashed over the road to the wonderful building on the other side only to find there are two Penn Stations, and this grand one is the New Jersey railway, the other, more Euston-like, was back on the other side of the road.
We cross back over and begin the hunt for breakfast, which we thought would be civilised. But all there was were a series of fast food places, and people everywhere. We d find a table at a deli and I get food. And it still cost thirty backs or so, no cheapness even there. But we needed to eat.
Then began the wait for the train, sitting in the waiting room for the train to be called, then wait some more to find which platform it was coming in on. When it was announced platform 9, there was a mad rush and we were at the back, but a member of staff opened another stairway down onto the platform, so we go on really quick, found two spare seats in business, still trying to work out what was business or different from the cattle class tickets, just as cramped and hard seats, but at least the seats lined up with the windows, unlike back home.
And off we go into a tunnel under east Manhattan, under the East River and out into the Bronx. We get fine views over the rooftops with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop, until the train dips and dives through the New York suburbs, and in half an hour, into the countryside.
I like a good train journey,
especially one I have not been on before, so I am enthralled as the train passes through many towns with identical names as some back home, most look the same, but after a while we are beside the sea, and whizz through a series of resorts and fishing villages until we pass into Connecticut.
All the towns blur into one, Stamford, New Haven, Yale University all pass by. We stop a couple of times, drop passengers off, pick up only a handful. Into Rhode Island, a state I have been to before, but we are in and out of it pretty quick, and then into Boston.
Outside the station we flag the angriest man in Boston to take us to the hotel; he is on the horn all the while, not indicating, and angry at everyone. We tip him at the hotel just glad to be out of his presence.
Out hotel is swish. Posh even, named after one in London, The Langham. The bellhop wears a bowler hat and carries our bags to check in, but we say we can carry our own cases thank you very much.
Upstairs we find we have a suite, and plenty of room to spread our rags and tattered clothes.
Lets go out to eat!
Boston has changed huge amounts since I was last here a decade and a half ago, I have no idea where we are or where to go. We walk up through the commercial district to a main shopping street, down that, but can see nowhere to eat.
I then spy a place, the Boston Chop, we go in. Also, very swish. A hundred bucks for a bog standard bottle of red, so we pass. But they do a good steak, which is good. And we have crème brulee to follow, and all is right with the world. Until the bill comes.
We walk back through the city centre until I find what I was looking for; the Freedom Trail, which we will follow tomorrow. I take shots of buildings, some old, some new, all interesting, until Jools says she is tired, so we try to find the hotel.
Back inside I have a shower, Jools watches some Breaking Bad, and another day has passed us by.
First night in Boston
Amazingly, it is a week since my last working day, and time is already flying through my fingers. Our fingers.
But time had come for us to bid New York goodbye, back our things and head north to Beantown, Boston, for a few days.
We laid in bed for a while, me coughing loudly from time to time, then Jools announcing she has now caught the cold. Or a cold. Might not be mine.
Anyway, we have to pack, get all the clothes we have brought back into the case ready for the trip. We had hours to get it done, so we take hours, and had decided to have breakfast at Penn Station rather than go to our usual haunt.
At ten we are done, so go down to check out, and for the bellhop to call a cab. We had the most reasonable man in New York driving us, who spoke with knowledge of global events and current affairs, and of Brexit and Trump.
He made the journey to the station seem so effortless, it was a shame when we arrived. Outside the station, or stations, more of that in a minute, it was mad. Two drunks, so out of it they could hardly stand, panhandled us for change, the woman incapable of speech in fact. We dashed over the road to the wonderful building on the other side only to find there are two Penn Stations, and this grand one is the New Jersey railway, the other, more Euston-like, was back on the other side of the road.
We cross back over and begin the hunt for breakfast, which we thought would be civilised. But all there was were a series of fast food places, and people everywhere. We d find a table at a deli and I get food. And it still cost thirty backs or so, no cheapness even there. But we needed to eat.
Then began the wait for the train, sitting in the waiting room for the train to be called, then wait some more to find which platform it was coming in on. When it was announced platform 9, there was a mad rush and we were at the back, but a member of staff opened another stairway down onto the platform, so we go on really quick, found two spare seats in business, still trying to work out what was business or different from the cattle class tickets, just as cramped and hard seats, but at least the seats lined up with the windows, unlike back home.
And off we go into a tunnel under east Manhattan, under the East River and out into the Bronx. We get fine views over the rooftops with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop, until the train dips and dives through the New York suburbs, and in half an hour, into the countryside.
I like a good train journey,
especially one I have not been on before, so I am enthralled as the train passes through many towns with identical names as some back home, most look the same, but after a while we are beside the sea, and whizz through a series of resorts and fishing villages until we pass into Connecticut.
All the towns blur into one, Stamford, New Haven, Yale University all pass by. We stop a couple of times, drop passengers off, pick up only a handful. Into Rhode Island, a state I have been to before, but we are in and out of it pretty quick, and then into Boston.
Outside the station we flag the angriest man in Boston to take us to the hotel; he is on the horn all the while, not indicating, and angry at everyone. We tip him at the hotel just glad to be out of his presence.
Out hotel is swish. Posh even, named after one in London, The Langham. The bellhop wears a bowler hat and carries our bags to check in, but we say we can carry our own cases thank you very much.
Upstairs we find we have a suite, and plenty of room to spread our rags and tattered clothes.
Lets go out to eat!
Boston has changed huge amounts since I was last here a decade and a half ago, I have no idea where we are or where to go. We walk up through the commercial district to a main shopping street, down that, but can see nowhere to eat.
I then spy a place, the Boston Chop, we go in. Also, very swish. A hundred bucks for a bog standard bottle of red, so we pass. But they do a good steak, which is good. And we have crème brulee to follow, and all is right with the world. Until the bill comes.
We walk back through the city centre until I find what I was looking for; the Freedom Trail, which we will follow tomorrow. I take shots of buildings, some old, some new, all interesting, until Jools says she is tired, so we try to find the hotel.
Back inside I have a shower, Jools watches some Breaking Bad, and another day has passed us by.