Thursday, July 5, 2012

Tea time in Boston

Oh Lordy, lordy. 
My friends. I just spent the 4th of July in the hotspot of revolutions, the metropolis where it all began: Boston. And oh my what a day it was. I experienced Quincy Market. Quincy Market, not to be confused with our beloved Quincy's Cafe back home. One of them peddles erotically delicious coffee and a borderline pretentious intelligentsia-esque atmosphere [can you tell I miss it?] and one of them is a bustling marketplace complete with borderline tourist-trappy aura and full of sumptuous (overpriced? maybe) food selections. 

Seafood. I could write a novella about the seafood. I had lobster for the first time! It was almost sinfully delightful. Amazing. Beautiful. Yummy. Everything good was wrapped up in the succulent meat of this  crustacean.

The day was filled with the most beautiful moments. We climbed the Bunker Hill monument. That in itself was less beautiful and more like 294 steps of tortuous hell. But collapsing on the green grass of the hill afterwards, our legs shaking like jelly, the wind kissing our faces, was a moment of sheer pleasure.

We walked all over that city. And I mean ALL over it. This lead to two things:
One: I got to understand the city fairly decently. NYC is still mostly a mystery to me. But I think I could competently find my way around Boston given a map, a GPS, and a emergency signaling system.
Two: Exhaustion. We walked, and we definitely tired. It was hot, my friends. Very hot. 
So, when we arrived at a park that had a row of fountains, and I saw children playing in the fountains, I was like: guess what I'm going to do? If I had said that out loud, my companions would have responded: What, Renée, what are you going to do? But before they had even finished asking, they would have seen me make a beeline for the fountains and begin playing in the water with the children. I ended up playing a very fun game with several little boys called 1-2-3. The rules are simple. Stop a water jet with your foot, and on the count of three, everyone steps off the water jet, releasing the stream of water skyward. The best.

Everyone in college is always bemoaning the loss of childhood. Rubbish. If you want to go back to your childhood, you just have to do it.

Finally, the day ended with the Boston Pops concert/fireworks. Jennifer Hudson was there! I wasn't anywhere close to the stage, so they could have been fooling us and just fed her voice through the speakers, but she sounded phenomenal. But despite that, I was a grumpy gus. The island was crowded, sweaty, claustrophobic, and I was stuffed full of lobster from dinner. And I was tired. I have definitely discovered what my purgatory is going to look like. On top of that our group had got divided, and trying to locate the other half was a stress fest. A lot of times, people say to me: "Renée, do you ever get grumpy?" And I say to them: "Oh honeychild. You have no idea." Because if I reach critical mass, yes. I do get grumpy. Which usually means I just get quiet and retreat off to the riverbank to prevent my grouchy mood from spoiling the evening. When insults and foul imprecations are the only words you can really think of to say in a situation, usually it's best to just not say anything at all.

My bad mood evaporated like the sweat off my skin when the fireworks began. They were amazing. And on top of that, the rain we had been expecting all day came right as they started. I don't know if you've ever seen fireworks while standing in the rain, but it's a breathtakingly exhilarating experience. The firey bursts of light combined with the refreshingly cool rain showering down upon you is maximum joy of the senses. I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't have any words. I just looked up at the fireworks, surrounded by the sweet ocean of a summer rainstorm. America the beautiful, indeed.

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