Beantown…

My trip to Boston yesterday was made before I ever got there.  A very nice young worker at the MBTA station had to tell me at which station the GPS had deposited me.  I was clueless at that point.  I had tried for Braintree but the lot was full, so I had asked for another one, and, for once, the GPS cooperated.  Not only did this nice young man tell me what station to come back to, he also helped me buy my ticket and pay for parking.  That was a huge relief. Many years ago my friend Kathy and I drove to Boston every school day for two years.  We didn’t ride the subway much, and we headed home after classes and didn’t get to enjoy the Boston experience that college students might have preferred.  When we did get to go exploring I do remember catching glimpses of wonderful old architecture at every turn.  But that was many years ago.  Today’s Boston seemed smaller, the glimpses tinier, the hustle and bustle more intense.  After seeing the traffic in the old narrow streets I’m very happy that I rode the hop-on-and-off tour bus in order to get those glimpses, but I hoped they would be more historic.  Nope, just plain old glimpses were all I saw.  And then I had to find my way back to the mystery T stop, and drive myself home.  And now I’m feeling every one of the 51 years since my college student days, but it was nice day.I got off the T at the Park Street station and walked Boston Common for a bit.  The tour bus stop was in front of the State House with it’s golden dome.  Then most of these were from the bus, a perfect day for an open air ride and nice for photography.  I thought it was ironic that this last picture is statues in honor of the Irish immigrants who came to Boston to escape the potato famine.  Ironic because it provides a place for people to sit and eat amid the various restaurants in the vicinity.  The sidewalks were teaming with people, and the streets were mostly in gridlock, full of cars like something you’d see in a movie.  That they were managing to get where they were going without a single accident that I saw was a miracle.  The bus drivers drove and talked and pointed up little alleys at sites of very historic events at every turn.  Next time I’ll take a walking tour, guided by a character in costume and representing a figure from the era.  And I’ll try to remember not to wear flip flops on the cobblestone walkways.