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Monday 15th Oct was supposed to be a tourism day in the Beacon Hill area of Boston followed by a walk along the Freedom Trail - where we are reminded how tyrannous and vile the British are/were. As we were feeling peckish by the time we got into Boston and we had been told how good the restaurants are in the North End, we headed for that area and a quick lunch turned into a three-course meal with a few drinks added in at a fantastic Italian place. The food was so cheap (Kirsty had a whole lobster on a huge bed of spaghetti in tomato and chilli sauce for £6.50!!!) and I can honestly say that this was one of the best meals I have ever had. Unfortunately the Peroni was so good that I can't remember the name of the restaurant, but it was on Salem Street (along with about 20 other Italian restaurants).
The North End is a predominantly Italian area with dozens of Italian restaurants, Italia football shirts in the windows of each bar and a handful of Catholic churches. It is a charming and authentic area but it's also apparent that there are powerful people running the place - the older men that sit in chairs outside shops and restaurants, not embarrassed to wear bolognese stained shirts and bright coloured spats, talking in hushed Italian. The stereotype is startling.
To add to the foreboding atmosphere - and I kid-ye-not, Kirsty will back me up on this - we were walking past two old guys chewing the fat and a $50 cigar each, when we heard (either from a stereo through a window or played in a restaurant by a clarinettist), the theme from The Godfather! Then we rounded a corner and were back into the world of Americana. Right in the middle of the biggest Italian district we'd ever seen outside of Italy, there is a large statue of a horse-mounted Paul Revere, revered (sorry!) for alerting the Patriots to the marching of British troops on Boston in 1775; the old church where lanterns were hung and bells were pealed to alert the townsfolk; and the oldest remaining house in Boston (formerly belonging to Paul Revere). At this point we realised we had stumbled onto the Freedom Trail that we had intended to tread before wandering into the North End.
Within twenty minutes we got sidetracked again as we saw the stadium where the Boston Celtics (basketball) and Boston Bruins (ice hockey) play and went hunting for tickets. Kirsty wants to see a game of each of the major sports played in America before we leave the US and Boston has a team for each of them. Unfortunately the basketball season doesn't start until November, by which time we will be heading for Carolina and meeting up with Mr Wiseman from Stockton for Thanksgiving (sorry Biff, we've been buying mementoes, so your suitcase might be heavier leaving the US than it was coming in.), but the Bruins are playing Thursday night so we have tickets for the ice hockey.
After that we wandered past the Massachusetts State house with its gold leaf dome and through Boston Common, which was its designer, Charles Bullfinch's, last work after designing most of Boston's buildings between 1790 and 1840 and Central Park in New York. By comparison with London's parks it is nothing special, but in a city that only has this park, it must be a haven for its inhabitants who otherwise only have bricks and glass to stare at. And, I have to admit that although most of Boston's architecture is awe-inspiring, it was very comforting to see grass, trees, bandstands and boating lakes again. The Public Garden, however, which to all intents and purposes, is part of the same park, despite being separated by Charles Street, is absolutely beautiful with aesthetic statues and statuettes and the world's smallest suspension bridge over a boating lake littered with huge willow trees.
Today, Tuesday 16th, was supposed to be a day at the New England Aquarium but a sleep-in and scarce parking at the subway station forced a rethink, and Plymouth Rock beckoned. The sun has not stopped shining in Boston since our first full day here and, despite there being an ominous chill in the air, we've not been able to believe our luck. Kirsty tells me (being colour-blind) that the red and green hues in the trees on the way to Plymouth are every bit as impressive as the legend of 'The Fall' in New England has it. The late BBC diarist Alistair Cooke calls it a modern wonder of the world and who are we to argue?
Plymouth is a beautiful place with bags of historic treasures such as the life-sized replica of the Mayflower which brought the Pilgrims to America from Plymouth, England (The pilgrims left England in outrage due to the consistent underperformance of Plymouth Argyle every season - a tradition carried on to this day), and Plymouth Rock which is a monument to the landing spot of the Pilgrims. While Americans come to England to see the quaintness of Stratford and the Lake District etc, they cannot compare with the quaint beauty of so much of New England - Plymouth and Cape Cod being prime examples. Due to recent acceptances of the wrongs done to the indigenous population of America, the people of Plymouth have erected statues and made public apologies for these wrongs - particularly showing great gratitude to the Wampanoag tribe whose friendship ensured the survival of the early settlers, and who in return for their kindness received syphilis, cholera, genocide and near extinction for their troubles.
Having gone half way towards Cape Cod by this point we decided to carry on in that direction. As instructed by the Lonely Planet Guide, we avoided the main route through Cape Cod and took the 30mph route. This was a VERY long journey but was well worth it. The houses are all like beautifully kept colonial mansions with acres of manicured land which anyone would give their right arm to buy (we didn't see an estate agent but, if we had, we might have been staying in the US longer and damn the VISAs). After miles (and miles and miles…) of beautiful wooden houses withpicket fences and 5 antique shops for each village, the soil gave way to sand and we found ourselves surrounded by dunes, lighthouses and gulls. There is nothing of any interest to see at the tip of Cape Cod except for the beaches themselves. But that is enough - it has soft golden sand and gentle waves with warm(ish) water. After dashing about in the city for the past few days we were quite happy to wait for the sun to set by engaging in a few simple pleasures not experienced since childhood. We skimmed stones, took photographs, found unusual stones and pebbles and watched the wildlife before the sun set in a burst of colour. Despite having driven the equivalent of from Leeds to London on 30-55mph roads, it was well worth it and incredibly relaxing. If I was a religious man I would say that this was a place that God had created for people to come and relax and enjoy the peaceful majesty of nature. And thank God people haven't spoilt the serenity of this place.
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