We had high hopes for our visit to Boston today, we really did. We had selected our current camp in Littleton, Massachusetts, because they advertised that they could help us coordinate our trip to Boston. As it turned out, we probably expected too much of them. Yes, the camp did have all the requisite maps and brochures to help us find the nearest rail junction that offered RV parking, but we didn't quite realize that it would take just under an hour for us to drive to said rail center. Then it took another forty-five minutes to ride the train into the city. Some of this time the train was so packed that we had other passengers discussing intimate aspects of their lives while standing twelve inches from our unwilling ears.
By the time we finally arrived at the downtown Boston subway station, it was nearly noon and we literally hadn't gone anywhere significant nor had we seen anything. Fortunately, we knew from past experience that we needed to find the nearest "hop on, hop off" trolley stop and get aboard. After taking the tour we were pretty sure we'd be able to best decide what attractions to visit and how to spend our time.
The subway station had brought us to the Boston Commons, which seemed fairly fortuitous as it seemed most of Boston was already there and there would be plenty of residents to ask if we had questions. After scanning the streets that surrounded the commons, we immediately saw that the trolleys we sought were just a short walk uphill from where we were standing. Moments later we had arrived at the Trolley stand, and the very next trolley to arrive took us aboard with a promise that we could buy our tickets just a couple of stops away.
Our trolley had only two seats left, as it turned out, but that was enough for Concetta and I. We took our seats in the very rear, and spent the next few minutes listening to the young black man who was driving as he did a mobile stand-up comedy routine as he drove. We wish we could have stayed on his trolley, but when we reached stop number one we had to get off and buy tickets, which meant our driver had to move on without us.
No matter, we didn't stay on the next trolley long enough to get to know that driver. We had only gone a couple of stops when she pulled up to the "Old Ironsides" dry dock and museum. Well, neither Concetta nor I had seen the flagship of the U.S. Navy, the Constitution, since we were youngsters. We just had to go see it, and so jumped back off the trolley and set out on foot.
I was a little disappointed to see Old Iron Sides in her present state, as a major renovation was in progress and the boat looked just a tad "dismantled." Gone were the upper extensions on the masts, as well as almost everything on the upper deck. On the lower deck the cannons had been removed and placed on the quay. Still, it felt good to walk the decks again after so many years.
At one point I asked one of the military attendants why the ship's lines (ropes) were so poorly maintained. The young woman with three green stripes on her Navy uniform responded that the lines belonged to the construction crew, and had not been maintained by the ship's crew. We had a nice chat, she and I, since I too started my military career as a green-striper, the mark of the Naval Air Corp. I told her about my time in the airborne Navy, and then I congratulated her on her choice of careers. She was beaming when we left.
After visiting the U. S. Constitution, we went next door and visited the visitor center and museum, which really was nicely done. Our nicest chat there took place with a resident specialist in the construction of tiny ships in bottles. The guy, named Tony Colton, turned out to be extremely interested in the fact that we were from Nevada and were traveling the country. We talked to him for a good quarter hour and had just the best time.
Our next objective, after leaving the Old Ironsides Museum, was to find some lunch. We jumped back on the trolley again, then jumped back off when the tour reached the restaurant area of North Boston. The driver told us that if we just walked back to the intersection we'd just passed, we'd find lots of restaurants. That didn't exactly turn out to be true, though we hoofed it around several blocks looking. As it turned out, we made our way back to the very first place that we'd seen, but were hoping for a couple of others to compare.
It was an Italian restaurant, and when we entered there didn't seem to be anyone around, even though the posted menu said they served lunch. Then I spied a young man sitting in the gloom of the darkened bar, and went over to ask him about lunch. He looked at me blankly, fidgeted a lot, then tried to communicate with broken English and hand signals that he didn't speak anything but Spanish.
I said, "La Comida," and made hand signals of my own to indicate the act of eating. Then I said, "Aqui," for the Spanish word for "here."
He got the point then, and wandered off to the kitchen to find someone to help us. Moments later a very vivacious older Italian woman hurried out and showed us to a nice table by the front window. Apparently they weren't expecting much business, for the woman appeared to be the only wait staff in the place. Still, moments later she hustled out with fresh bread, water, and a couple of glasses of wine, and took our order. I ordered the "Melanzane Forno," and Concetta decided on the Gnocci.
When the dishes arrived we could tell that the chef really knew what he was doing. My Melanzane (eggplant) was just wonderful, sliced very, very thin, and just covered with pasta and cheese. Concetta's Gnocci was good, too, but not as yummy as the eggplant I thought. For desert we had real spumoni and espresso, which was just heavenly.
Before we left the waitress (who was probably also the owner) kissed us both, took our photo, and wished as well in our travels. You just don't get that sort of treatment many places this side of Italy.
By this point in the day we had used up all our energy, and were feeling a bit sleepy from all the good Italian food, so we grabbed the next "hop on, hop off" trolley that went by, and spent the next hour thoroughly covering the city from border to border. Personally, I don't know how anyone could do justice to Boston in a single day. It's just too big. In fact, our driver told us that the original Boston of 250 years ago was just 1.2 square miles. After the city fathers decided to fill in the swampy area known as the "Back Bay," plus subsequent land additions, the city now covers 48 square miles. No wonder mere mortals can't cover it all.
But we got a pretty good perspective from the trolley ride and the amazingly knowledgeable driver. I'll never be able to remember everything we both heard and saw, but I feel that it gave us a very good perspective were we to read anything about Boston in the future.
Once our trolley driver had delivered us back to the Boston Commons, we threw ourselves into trying to figure out just how to find our subway train so we could return to the RV before nightfall. This we did, with some difficulty and asking of questions of handy subway employees. But fortunately, we were able to get on the right train finally and by 5:00 p.m. we had reached the end of the rail line and were hoofing it to where we'd left the RV in a largely empty parking lot.
Too bad it wasn't empty when we got back to it. On the contrary, people had parked on all sides of the rig, boxing it in for the most part, and I could see immediately it might just prove impossible to extricate it without someone moving several of the vehicles. I walked all the way around, noting that maybe only 18 inches of clearance existed on all sides except the front, which faced the tiny lane between the rows of cars.
In order to leave the parking lot I had to turn sharply to the left or right to clear the cars in the next row, but when you do that the tail end of the rig makes a huge, wide sweep since it's at least ten feet between the rear wheels and the rear bumper. There was just no way that we could allow that sweep to take place as it would immediately contact the car on that side.
But Concetta observed that there was one car missing in the row across the lane from us. If we could nose the rig partially into that open space, maybe we could aid the turn in some way. I was skeptical that it would work, but in the end it actually did. Yet again we had to do our famous technique of making a dozen tiny movements backward and forward, turning the wheel a fraction each time, and gradually turning the rig in an arc.
At times we were so close to the cars on both sides that I couldn't see any air between us when I looked in the mirror. I had to get out and look at the process in person. I really don't know even now how we cleared that parking space. It should not have been possible, but somehow we did it.
Once back on Interstate 95 North, we watched for Route 2, then headed back toward our camp in Littleton. Along the way we were able to gas up the rig, buy some groceries, and then get back into camp in enough time to set up while it was still light. Though we only got around 8500 steps today, we arrived in camp completely worn out. But tomorrow we'll be ready to go again. This time we're headed west, as much as possible, as we make our way toward Ohio and a visit with relatives. So stay tuned, we'll try and come up with more adventures along the way. Until then, we wish you Happy Travels!
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