By Naomi Fisher
Though long, this is the condensed report. It was an amazingly busy 5 days, and we barely dipped below the surface of what's available. I'm an absurdly joyful tourist, so this isn't a professional travelogue. It's just to give a sense of what a happy, inquisitive visitor can see and do during a few summer days in the Boston area. Admittedly, fireworks are seasonal, but August has street festivals in the Italian North End!
Wednesday, July 4, 2001 – clear, bright and 80 degrees. Glistening white sailboats skim the glowing blues and greens of Boston Harbor as our flight approaches Logan Airport. It's lovely to watch, distracting from the worrisome, normal-for-Logan feeling that the pilot intends to land in the water. Seeing grass and asphalt appear below us, seemingly at the last possible second, is always a relief. We meet with our hosts, Deb Geisler and Mike Benveniste, drop off luggage, and head back into the city.
Boston has been taken over by a holiday spirit, and cheerful crowds, for the Fourth of July. There are concerts in the squares and buskers galore. Flags sprout among bright flowers cascading from planters and hanging baskets. We follow the Freedom Trail to the Harbor, stopping in King's Chapel to enjoy the peace and stillness of this still-active church. Across the street is the Granary Burying Ground, final resting place of Samuel Adams, John Hancock and Paul Revere. History seems much closer here.
At the waterfront,
we watch 747s taking off framed by sails and boat masts, and idly discuss
a
possible dinner cruise or Harbor tour later that week. As we amble
by the New England Aquarium (worth a full day in itself), harbor seals
play in the large glass outdoor tanks. They seem as entertained by people,
especially the wide-eyed toddlers, as we are by them. Dinner sounded good,
though choosing among dozens of restaurants in Faneuil Hall Marketplace
is difficult. Finally picked Todd
English's KingFish Hall restaurant (foodies will recognize
his name from the Olives and Figs restaurants and cookbooks).
The quiet brownstone exterior was belied inside by extravagant, quirky
décor – fun in a bizarre "this is Boston?!" sort of way.
Our meal certainly lived up to my high expectations. Just reading the extensive,
imaginative and playful daily menu made me ravenous. I waffled between
appetizers like watermelon salad with baby greens, pine nuts, feta cheese
and champagne vinaigrette, and tempura-fried softshelled spider maki crab
with wasabi, but settled on a subtle lobster corn chowder and a Bowl O'
Steamers with herbed garlic butter. We had the bonus of upstairs window
seats overlooking another concert. Lovely food, great company, fine people-watching
– bliss!
The four of us head for the Charles River Esplanade, along with 470,000 other people. Innocent and foolish as baby ducks, we had asked if we could actually go to the Boston Pops concert and fireworks show. Pat and I had watched Boston's 4th of July extravaganza on TV for years, and it looks so organized and orderly. TV lies. Three times the population of Huntsville floods down to, and onto, the river for the 4th! Deb and Mike, being insanely kind and gracious hosts, agreed instead of rightly laughing in our faces. I'm now scared to ask if they regret not laughing.
Upon arriving, they herded us through the crowds, kept our little group together, and found a clear space with a barely obstructed view into the Hatch Memorial Bandshell and of the fireworks. This qualifies as a miracle. I'd never ask anyone to do that again, but it's grand. Peter Jennings did the voice-over, singers (including Cyndi Lauper and Arlo Guthrie) performed in addition to the Pops, and I don't care if The 1812 Overture is a cliché. It's still wonderful music for fireworks, as are Souza marches, though I heard quite a few people singing "Be kind to your web-footed friends" to The Stars and Stripes Forever. Some of the other musical selections were odd (Unchained Melody and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun don't synchronize well to pretty explosions), but it was a marvelous evening.
On Thursday, Deb took us up the coast through Salem (left quickly, as tourist kitsch commemorating Torture in America makes me queasy) to the gorgeous town of Marblehead. We drove past Cape Cod-style mansions that look just like my childhood concept of what New England should be, playing "When I win the Lottery" while exclaiming over particularly stunning properties. Stops are made to photograph sights rare and weird – a sign reading "Carrion Painting" causes speculation that Yankees have really classy roadkill. We end at a tiny park overlooking the bay. Drifting banks of beach roses, tide pools, rocks to climb, sweeping views inland and out to sea, and water so clear I spot a lobster scuttling 30 feet down. We can now attest that it does get warm enough to sunbathe and swim here. I'd laughed at locals complaining of the "heat wave" when it was in the high 80s (living in Alabama, we pray for summer temperatures below 95!), but I wished I'd brought a swimsuit as we watched people, young and old, playing on the beach.
Downtown Marblehead and food now beckoned. A café called Truffles looked promising, but en route we saw Much Ado Books, a large Used/Antiquarian bookstore, with a calico cat sleeping in the window next to a copy of "Why Cats Paint". Too perfect to pass by. I found British edition Terry Pratchett novels, with Josh Kirby covers, and several old Heinleins. My purchase was lagniapped by three bottles of "Shakesbeer Ginger Beer", bottled especially for the store, which the friendly, knowledgeable clerk recommended mixing with rum. It was definitely time to run for it, before our budgets took fatal hits! Escaping to the cafe, we found it bedecked with many statues and drawings of pigs, the original truffle hunters. It also had a spectacular pastry case, and an array of large chocolate truffles. I dutifully had protein and veggies, in an excellent chicken satay sandwich, sugar pea salad, and a mushroom-onion tart, before bounding back to pick out a chocolate cake layered with bittersweet chocolate and raspberry mousses, topped with raspberry puree. Pat and Deb also had lovely, ornate sweets, but I was busy taking pictures of the white chocolate carnations topping the petit fours. Artistry is a marvelous thing, especially with dessert!
Friday morning we headed downtown early to buy tickets for a Sunday DUKW tour. The "Ducks" are WWII-era amphibious vehicles, restored to operating condition, and now used for tours through the streets of Boston and onto the Charles River. These are very silly, lots of fun, and very popular – either show up early, two or more hours before the booth opens, or buy tickets two days in advance. They don't do one-day advance sales – don't ask me why. We returned triumphant, tickets in hand, and met Gay Ellen Dennett for lunch. Deb, pitying my limited seafood options in land-locked Huntsville, had bought me a lobster. She'd also provided melted butter, claw-crackers and bath towels for bibs, but hadn't known how long it takes me to properly consume an entire crustacean. My philosophy is "Don't leave enough to interest a seagull". She seemed to find it amusing that an hour later, I was only halfway through. I put the remaining half away, and we set out for an afternoon whale-watching cruise.
The last time we'd looked at taking such a trip, it was early in spring, foggy, cold, and the ocean was rough. This day was perfect. We departed from Gloucester on Cape Ann, where The Perfect Storm was filmed, and where the boat used in the movie now moors. Gloucester's life still revolves around the sea, with a somber memorial to lost fishermen reminding of the occasional price for that life. We passed wharves and packing plants for Gorton's and Legal Seafoods as we headed out to Stellwagen Bank, a favorite feeding ground of great whales.
The Stellwagen Bank is an immense, 19 mile-long sandbank that extends across the floor of Massachusetts Bay, submerged 65-100 feet below the surface. The upwelling waters above it produce rich feeding for Minke, Fin, Humpback and Right whales. The humpbacks, especially, stay there, feeding from April to November, storing up for the winter. They then travel south to the Caribbean to calve, where the waters are warm and clear, but much less food is available. They go months without eating once migration starts, so nutrition is serious business to them. Their fondness for this section of coast combined with their unusually long pectoral fins to earn them the lyrical scientific name of Megaptera novaeangliae – "great-winged New Englander".
Most companies doing whale watching cruises guarantee sightings, and give a voucher for a future trip should none appear. It's a pretty good bet for them, as whales stake out general ranges and stay within them. This habit is wonderful, now that the reasons for locating them are so benign, but it once lead to near-extinction for all the large species. They were too easy to find, too easy to kill, and close enough to shore to be easily processed for oil. Times have changed, thankfully, and whaling towns have become whale watching towns. After lobbying by environmental groups and local residents (many of whose livelihood now depends on keeping the whales alive, healthy and present!), over 800 square miles of the waters surrounding Stellwagen were made a National Marine Sanctuary in 1993
We could see Boston's skyline on the horizon throughout our trip, and
many outfits operate from the Harbor itself. This is one of the world's
most accessible and popular places for whale watching, and with so many
companies in the business, competition is keen. Naturalists are aboard
most boats, combining guide duties with
their own research observations, and they make the trips educational as
well as entertaining. They chat with familiarity and fondness for their
enormous subjects, identifying specific whales by the markings, individual
as fingerprints, on the underside of their tail flukes. There's much recounting
of stories about their favorites and cheerful gossip over new calves and
what social groupings are forming. Each year, the researchers hold a "naming
party", to christen newcomers after their markings or behavior. Many whales
return to the area, year after year, and are greeted by name as old and
welcome friends.
The ocean was pond-like, with hardly any swell, and you could see every ripple for miles. Though it was bright and clear, we were glad to have brought jackets. It was soon obvious we wouldn't get any "no show" vouchers as we passed another boat slowly following two humpbacks at a respectful distance. There was much excitement and photo taking, but we went onwards, rather than risk crowding or disturbing the whales. 10 minutes later, another two humpbacks were seen nearby, and we ooohed and aaahed unabashedly as they surfaced next to us to breathe and dive. They moved with sedate and fluid grace, gliding effortlessly beside us, then sounding again to feed. I'd seen gray whales before, off the Oregon coast, but it's spectacular to see living creatures, fully the size of your boat, that close! We followed those two for some time, then watched two more pairs of humpbacks and a fin whale (the latter far off, moving swiftly away) before heading back to shore. It was an unforgettable day, even if I hadn't used 6 rolls of film!
Saturday we met with a dozen MCFI members in Chinatown for a dim sum feast at Chau Chow City. The food was delicious and our stacks of empty little plates grew to unsteady heights. Even those familiar with dim sum were occasionally reduced to requesting "more transparent lobster thingies". My background in Japanese foods got us into trouble with something that looked just like yokan (sweet bean jelly). We never figured out what it was, or if it was even food – it had black and white stripes, no discernible flavor, and jiggled alarmingly. The waitstaff's limited English, and our even more limited Cantonese, didn't help. They laughed rather wildly among themselves, said something about "sesame", and laughed some more. Amazingly, after our marvelous, huge meal, during which we'd literally eaten multiple tables full of food, the bill came to only about $12 per person, including tax and tip. I suspect MCFI will make this a regular event.
Afterwards, we
split up to go shopping around the city. Pat and I had only skirted Chinatown
before, and I kept wandering off to gawk. The traditional lacquerware,
porcelain, and silks filled shop windows, but it was oddities of daily
life that drew me. It's surreal to be able to "pick your own turkey" and
have it butchered, dressed and presented to you, within the shadow of Colonial
architecture and mirrored skyscrapers. It was also the first time I'd seen
durian fruit (smells awful, tastes wonderful, looks like it's from another
planet) for sale at a U.S. convenience store. Boston constantly presents
strange new aspects. We followed Chinatown with a quick trip to the U.S.S.
Constitution, "Old Ironsides", launched October 21, 1797, and the
oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world. She now resides at the
Charlestown Naval Yard, tenderly cared for by the Navy and the National
Park Service. Maybe she shouldn't take on modern naval vessels, but she's
beautiful, I love her, and we visit whenever we can. We then went by Beacon
Hill, checked out upscale antique stores on Charles Street (immortalized
in Make Way for Ducklings), then headed back to Deb and Mike's for
an MCFI party.
Sunday found us taking our own "Duck Tour". These, as said, are very
silly indeed. I didn't think an armored amphibious vehicle could look so
undignified till I'd seen it painted flamingo pink and bedecked with plastic
lawn ornaments. Our DUKW was mercifully plain black, but our driver/captain/tour
guide was "Sven the
Viking", complete with full beard and mustache, and wearing synthetic furry
vest, horned helmet, and furry pants. The last were cutoffs, in concession
to "the heat wave". He gave the required safety briefing, pointed out the
life vests and emergency exits (the windows), instructed us to yell "Quack
Quack" on his cue, which we all did, and we were off!
This is a fine tour if you're willing to leave your dignity behind. I had a great time, and I think Pat, Deb and Mike did too. The ramble through the city was a weird combination of bizarre trivia, awful jokes and puns, and serious historical information and insight, punctuated by us shrieking "Quack Quack!" at passersby that Sven deemed needful. Most Bostonians took this in stride, quacking back at us, and some delighted in egging us on. The best part, though, was when we drove through a construction lot, down a boatramp, and plunged into the Charles River. We traveled upriver, and as we came out into the Basin, Sven asked if anyone wanted to "drive" the boat for awhile. He then asked if any little kids wanted to drive, but when they finished, I got a turn, and I got to wear the helmet! Deb remarked I was probably the first Japanese-American Viking to have ever set out to pillage Cambridge.
Back on land, I especially enjoyed our edging out a Humvee in Back Bay traffic, while Sven snorted "He thinks he's driving an All Terrain Vehicle...!" After debarking, we had lunch in adjacent Prudential Mall at Legal Seafoods, where I had the justly famous chowder and a lovely lobster roll. The Mall connects to the Sheraton hotel and the Hynes Convention Center – part of our bid facilities, which we toured briefly. We soon had to head back, though, as we were going to the town of Natick that evening for their fireworks display.
Natick's celebration promised, and proved, to be more extravagant than
usual this year, as it was coupled with the town's 350th anniversary. The
annual parade and fireworks show are funded by public donations, and the
fireworks are launched from their mall's parking lot. The best place to
watch is from the top floor of the mall
parking
structure. We parked nearby at Bonnie and Ted Atwood's house, the walls
of which are nearly covered with terrific SF art, and walked to the site.
Several other MCFI members joined us, and we wandered about, enjoying the
festivities. Small kiosks sold hot dogs, Polish sausages, ice cream and
sodas, vendors had silly hats and glow sticks, kids goofed around with
skateboards and rollerblades, teenagers clustered together and displayed
for each other. I really liked the feeling of a gigantic neighborhood block
party. And the fireworks were spectacular! I've seen a lot of shows, in
quite a few countries, and this was
outstanding both for beauty and duration. After 35+ minutes of the show
there was a pause of several minutes, during which many people started
to drive home. The display then resumed, in full force. We happily speculated
on our walk back that maybe the "encore" was due to a large last minute
donation. My dreams that night were of cascading multicolored stars.
The next morning, five days after arriving in Boston, we board the plane
to leave. I'm blissfully saturated with wonderful things seen and experienced,
stuffed with marvelous food, nearly dead with exhaustion, and still feeling
we've barely started to explore. I whimper a bit, "But we didn't get to...".
Pat doesn't mind, being sound asleep before takeoff.
