Beantown Tours

For me, Boston is a city filled with memories. There are quite a few places that I frequented or happened upon during my four year residence here. For the past two days I have been reliving these memories and their backdrop. Wherever I go I get the eerie sense that everything is the same and everything is different all at once.

I started out this morning in the North End. My friend Damien and I went to see if the Big Dig construction had been finished. It wasn't, but at least the quaint Italian neighborhoods are no longer obstructed by enormous elevated highways. We stopped in at Old North Church where we both learned, to our surprise, that Paul Revere himself did not climb that steeple and light those lanterns. No, he delegated that duty to the steward of the Church, Robert Newman, who was arrested for his small, but important, part in the Revolutionary War. I couldn't help taking a picture of the pews which were built with high walls, presumably to keep in the heat during cold winters. I believe these pews could be considered the forerunners of the cubicle.

After consuming the most decadent chocolate brownie I have ever eaten, courtesy of Mike's Pastry, we strolled down to the waterfront, admiring Boston Harbor on a foggy morning. Fog is something I feel like I don't experience in Japan very often. Somehow the contours of the land around Kyoto only allow for the intake of humidity. But fog in Boston covers the unslightly construction and transports the city back a few centuries to when there were no skyscrapers or shiny glass buildings. In the midst of white vapor, Boston once again becomes a colonial town.

Wandering around downtown, I began to feel one of the major differences between social interaction in Japan and the United States. In Japan, when I pass someone on the street I immediately avert my eyes and stare at the space directly next to them, and they do the same. It is very rare to meet anyone's eyes. Here, I am disconcerted as one after another people look me over and meet my eyes as I walk passed them. I don't know whether I should be looking back or looking away.

As the day wore down, I turned back toward Chrystina's apartment in the Fens. I admired the brownstones I love so much and took a picture of an intersting colored one. Maybe someday I'll come back to Boston and live in a restored brownstone. Who knows?