Black Sunshine

Last weekend I was joined by a fellow UK Fulbrighter, Matt, who is spending the year at an elementary school in Washington DC. Matt flew in to Boston Logan Friday evening, so collecting him from the airport was my biggest driving challenge to date. I managed to get there without any problems and even persuaded the surly police man to let me stop at arrivals for, "two minutes" (how one is meant to collect anyone from the collection point if they're not allowed to stop is beyond me). Fortunately, Matt was able to get to the car within the allocated time slot. The journey back was slightly more eventful, as the SatNav I was using (yes, *me*, using a SatNav!) took us into central Boston, instead of out to the Mass Pike. This was rather daunting, to say the least, but I kept telling myself if I could drive central London at rush hour (which I have done, albeit many moons ago now) then I would be just fine. And I was. Just.

Saturday started with a drama, but thankfully not a crisis. We'd decided to get the train to Boston from a nearby station but alas, on a Saturday, we had a choice between 9.38am and sometime between two and three in the afternoon. Neither of us are natural early risers, so the former didn't appeal, but the latter wouldn't have afforded us enough time. We made it to the station, or rather, platform (as passengers must buy their tickets on the train) with only minutes to spare. Expecting to have to place a parking ticket inside my windscreen, I left the driver's door of the car open whilst we went to pay. The system for payment, however, was so strange to us both that I decided it warranted a photo (see above). Basically, there was a metal plate containing lots of teeny tiny metal slots. To pay, we had to insert $4 (either in coins or notes) into the teeny tiny hole that corresponded to the number of the parking space we'd parked in. A metal implement on a wire was provided to help jam everything in. To take said photo, I placed my purse and bag on a top of a handy bin. I then dashed to lock the car and we headed to the platform. We quickly realised (by the fact everyone else was facing us) that we were actually on the wrong side of the platform and legged it across the bridge, making it on to the correct side just as the train drew to a halt. Relieved, we boarded.

Saturday was a beautiful day; unadulterated azure skies and pleasantly warm. We settled back in our seats and chatted away happily. That is, until the ticket collector arrived and I discovered my purse wasn't actually in my bag, or anywhere else about my person. I imagine I must have looked just about as distressed as I felt as the ticket collector told me to take some time to decide what I wanted to do, talked me through my options and left us to mull it over. He'd mentioned calling Grafton police and it was at that moment I realised that I didn't have a clue how to do that, or even how to find their number. I decided to call Christina, who's been a good friend to me since my arrival and who is a colleague at my school. She lives fairly close to the station too. She was fantastic, immediately leaving to see if it was still at the station. Waiting for her call seemed to take forever though - I felt sick, scared and very, very stupid. Luckily for me, the purse was where I'd left it - on top of the bin - complete with all its contents. As Matt didn't want to miss out on the full Boston experience, Christina agreed to hold on to my purse so that we could continue our journey.

Rather ironically, I was to be Matt's tour guide in Boston. Luckily for me, I have been there several times now with Michelle and Michele, both of whom have told me about the various sections we've been walking around and we've also taken a guided tour of part of the Freedom Trail. We began our day at Boston Common and then followed the Freedom Trail to its end. As we walked, all the snippets of information and history I'd gleaned began to slot together and I was able to tell him a fair amount, I think. We also ventured onto parts of the Trail which were new to me too: we climed all 294 steps of the Bunker Hill monument and boarded the USS Constitution, which at almost 212, is the oldest commissioned battle ship in the world (HMS Victory is older but she's permanently docked).

The afternoon was entirely pleasant: we talked, we laughed and we ate ice cream. We'd decided to take the eight thirty train home but I'd somehow not read the train timetable properly and we discovered that train only went part of the way back. We therefore had a further four hours to kill before our train home (which also happened to be the last train home). Matt suggested the cinema, so we navigated our way to a rather lovely one near the Common. Alas, our film choices were limited to three films which fell within our time slot and the best of these appeared to be the latest Matt Damon offering, The Informant. If you were thinking of going to see this, don't bother. Seriously. Experiencing a cinema in America was, however, interesting as it made a cultural difference apparent that never would have occured to me: the audience react far more to the events unfolding in front of them. The film was peppered by loud, hearty laughter from a fair proportion of the audience and several people even shouted out comments to the screen! Despite the film not being to our taste, it passed the time (and I discovered a fab white cherry slush drink) and we made the final train without further incident.

Sunday mainly consisted of a leisurely brunch - blueberry pancakes for me, cheese and ham omlette for him - and then a return to Logan. And yes, I *did* end up in central Boston on the way home. Again. I really need to figure that one out by the time Ry arrives! Despite the dramas, I thoroughly enjoyed both Matt's company and the weekend. Good times!