There I was. On the T again. I wanted to go into Boston today. That's about all I knew. And then I was getting off the T. And then I got back on the T because it seemed to early. But only for one more stop because the next one seemed right.
I walked around and found the Granary Burying Ground. Here, three signers of the Declaration are buried–Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Robert Treat Paine. I too would include my middle name if it were Treat as well. Paul Revere, Peter Faneuil, Ben Franklin's parents, and victims of the Boston Massacre are also buried. There was a loud Bostonian man talking about last night's game on the phone. The ref's handed the game to LA, they won't be able to do it next year, and the whole city was dead today because of the loss. Dead? That's not what I found. In fact, I got a rather attractive Aussie to take my picture with all those graves. He took two. It was love at first fright. Speaking of, what do you call a cow after an earthquake? A milkshake. But seriously, that Aussie was hott.
"May the youth of today, when they visit this old house, be inspired with the patriotism of Paul Revere."
I pulled out my handy DK New England tour book my Pompom gave me, to try and plan where to go next. Massachusetts State House–tours ended at 3:30 but I got some pictures of it anyway. It seems rather Russian with the gold dome. There were people camped out on the steps with anti-immigration laws signs. If that makes sense. Either way the signs said things like, "We're all immigrants," and the man across the street asked, "What if you're an Indian?" Smarty. "Latina Power!" as they said.
Next The Boston Common and Public Garden! It's mostly just a really big park. The Common is 48 acres and the Garden, 24. There's a small section of graves for those who died at the Battle of Bunker Hill, statues, a pond and bridge, street performers, and a man that wanted me to give him money because his girlfriend took all of his stuff. I told him to get a new girlfriend. Not really. But he should.
In the gardens I met my next set of friends. Two girls, one from Sweden, the other Austria. They're both here for a language exchange program for 6 weeks. They knew their way around and had just gone on a shopping spree, bags in hand. I offered to take their picture, that's how we got talking, and then they took mine.
I sat on a bench for a bit and used the maps in the book give me direction. By now, I'd given up on looking like a local. I looked like a full on tourist. Book under my arm with my camera in hand–I'll have to get this out of my system before Londyy.
I crossed the street and headed towards what was a black dot on the map. Black dot number 14–Downtown Crossing and the shopping district. There were tents set up for a market there and I browsed up and down it. Then I saw H and M and SALE. I think everyone in the whole city saw the SALE because the place was a zoo. The dressing room was 10 people deep and the check out lines were each 5 people deep. But I got a five dollar scarf, and a hat that'll make me look like I live at Alpine Village, even waited in line for 15 minutes to purchase it.
I walked around the block and thought the time was right to head to Chinatown. It's the third largest Chinatown but it seemed rather mellow compared to bustling New York and San Fran. There were hanging ducks in the windows of one store and I'd planed to eat there. Not at the roasting duck place, but the cleanest and most crowded place I could find. It was named something like, The New Shanghai Restaurant, and it fulfilled my cultural experience need because I left feeling like a dumb American. Sorry, I paid for my meal before I ate it. And no I didn't want take out. I sat by the fish to eat. They did have tasty Bubble Tea, which is like a smoothy with tapioca balls that are chewy floating around the bottom. I met another friend who I asked for a suggestion of what I should order. Number 92 or "that one" as I called it. It was a sweet pork thing and that's what she always suggests. We chatted. She asked if I work out and what I was doing in Boston. She was born in Laos and the dumb feeling again, where's Laos? But she gave me her contact info and I wrote it down on the menu that go snatched away from me after telling the server I didn't want take-out, but I wanted to dine in. The "that one" dish was good and I ate rather quickly.
Then there I was, in America again. Saw a couple more churches, and while stopped on a side street to find my way on the map, a man told me, "you're not from here." I was over that ages ago.
Back on the T and home.
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