How I Spent My Summer Vacation--Hitting Boston

July 15 -- Boston

South Station.  I am treating myself to a taxi, now that I am days away from being 61.  I did agonize over it a bit; if I took the T it would be much cheaper, but I have wrestled with luggage and believe me, it's not worth it anymore.  But if I got off at Back Bay instead, I would save half the taxi fare.  Alas, I would have to lug the luggage on and off Amtrak if I do it that way.

So I splurged.  As the taxi driver put my luggage in the trunk, he asked something I did not quite understand.  Assuming he wanted the address of the hotel, I searched desperately in my bags, but by the time he had repeated it twice more in his heavy Greek accent, I realized he just wanted me to confirm that the Fenway Howard Johnson was the hotel, or, the "yauthel".

Fenway Howard Johnson Yauthel

We had a pleasant ride.  He asked where I was from, and then proceeded to tell me just how hot it has been in Boston, hot as in Charleston, I agreed.  When it was time to pay the man, I got to play with the credit card machine I had heard about from my son, who claimed they were now "in all the taxis."

It was now 8:15 a.m., so I anticipated dropping my luggage off and walking around for many hours before check-in, but the grouchy woman at the counter assured me that she would check me in now, just have a seat.

Free of my luggage, I decided to postpone a shower in the interest of a quick walk to coffee and breakfast.  Unfortunately, the restaurant that was supposed to have the best breakfast near Fenway, conveniently located across the street from the hotel, was not open:

Special Breakfast -- Eggs Over Hard

Undeterred, however, I headed in the opposite direction of anyplace that would have had breakfast.  Let me tell you, I am determined to be able to follow a map, and someday I will get the hang of it.  It seems that however I try to orient myself -- turn it upside down, fold it into the tiniest relevant square, even pre-mark important locations -- I end up going in the wrong direction.  After about half an hour, I ended up going back toward the hotel, and found a Panera's and had an adequate breakfast.

More important, though, headed back to the hotel I fell right smack into Fenway Park.  Which is, of course, hard to miss.

You really can't miss it.

I was having great fun, but dressed for the air-conditioned train and not for the 80-plus degree day it was turning out to be.  So after taking lots of great pictures:

Far out, indeed.

I located myself on the map, realized I was a minute away from the hotel, and took a left on a side street.

Which was, of course, the wrong way.  I ended up going around in circles, in a very nice neighborhood, filled with places like the Berklee College of Music and the Boston Conservatory, but not anywhere near where I should be.  And with no idea why my map wasn't telling me what I was doing wrong.

The houses were gorgeous, though quirky...

Early on in my adventure, enjoying whatever area I was in, I was walking past three Boston police officers, who were apparently taking a break in front of the Berklee College of Music, I heard the following:

"The guy puts 2 bullets in his back, turns 'im over, puts 2 bullets in his head, kicks 'im, and then takes a pitcha."

Ah, good to be back in New England.

Eventually, after going around the block a couple of times, I even figured out the odd outdoor furniture in front of the brownstone:

Fraternity Living

And if that weren't proof enough of being in a college town (upscale though it was):

I was thrilled that I had had this adventure, but the blisters on my feet were telling me I really, really needed to be back at the hotel.  Of course, the first few students I asked had no idea where Fenway Park was, but I eventually stopped a fan, who pointed out the obvious.  I had in fact been going the wrong way, and would have continued to do so, because the directions he gave did not look at all right.  But they were, and in fact I was minutes away, and past another not-to-be-missed sight:

Back Bay Fens

And, finally, another not-to-be-missed sight: