Katherine Hepburn had the right idea.

About living in Old Saybrook. It had been her home for most of her adult life where she lived on the shores of Long Island Sound. We originally found this town out of a conversation we had once while watching TV. We were watching a favourite music video of ours, Billy Joel’s river of dreams. The sun drenched pictures along with the gospel singers gave the impression it was filmed in the warm deep South. That is where I thought it was. Justin however saw it differently, he thought Up-state New York, and I summise this was mostly because he new that Mr Joel never strayed far from home when making his videos.

Some googling later and I discovered that the video was shot almost entirely within the area surrounding the town of Old Saybrook, Connecticut. The river of Dreams was indeed, the mighty Connecticut river.

It is a monster of a river, having it’s origins in Northen New Hampshire, almost at the Canadian border, all the way to Long Island sound.

We had crossed it many times already in the trip. Firstly at Hartford, then Springfield, where you could see it from the rollercoaster at six flags. Through Vermont and the ravaged town of Battleboro. Now we came to see her at her widest and most impressive.

Our intention today was to do the Essex steam train/ River paddleboat combination.

Essex was about five miles up river from Old Saybrook. The famous bridge from the River of Dreams clip was only about 500 metres from our hotel, so we had a peek at it before heading to Essex.

The old Connecticut rail company runs the tourist service from Essex.

We arrived at the station and had a little wait for the next train.

In the shed alongside the tracks was a gorgeous little museum, with some very kid friendly activities. It was just another example of how the Americans always remember children in all that they do, it is just a kid friendly country.

We boarded the lovingly restored Steam train in the open carriage. We were warned about the soot riding all open like that, but I didn’t think there should be any other way.

Off we went at walking pace, through the woods, past some gorgeous old houses and down to the Majestic Connecticut river where our steamboat was waiting.

The paddle steamer took us a fair way up the river, it was glorious. The captain and tour guide was amused that people had come further afield than Florida to ride his boat and so we were instant celebrities, the family from Down Under !

We really enjoyed the steam combo, and headed back to Old Saybrook with enough time to see where Katie had lived and watch the sunset illuminate the tranquil Long Island sound.

It truly was a beautiful place.

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The return

Some snow had fallen somewhere when we were at our Old Saybrook hotel. As is usual at this time of the year, it makes big news as it signals the coming season in the U.S.

We had a spare un-booked day this day and flirted with the idea of following the snow. It had fallen in Western Pennsylvania, a little too far for one day off the beaten track, and it was most likely to have completely vanished by the time we arrived.  No more had fallen, so I had to decide where to take our little selves this day. I pinned up the map. Old Sabrook Connecticut, to Philadelphia PA.

Due to Long ISland sound, and there being no bridge across the only viable way was through NYC.

Need I say more ?. We were already pining for it.

I didn’t want my desperation for another slice of my favourite place on earth to overwhelm everyone else, so I put it to them one at a time.

“We have spare night tomorrow. We can go to New York for one more day, or we can go somewhere else”.

One by one the kids replied in the same vein. “really ? can we really go back to New York ? wow ! oh please mum..YES !!!!”

I wasn’t really expecting such a unanimous chorus of excitement. It seems I wasn’t the only one who had fallen head over heels for the Big Apple.

I found a spare night at a great price in Fort Lee, NJ. It was of course, way too short notice to snaffle a room or two in Manhattan, but who cared ? we had a car, we knew where to park, and we knew Fort Lee was an easy commute.

My heart in my pocket, I took a deep breath. I can’t explain to you the feeling of butterflies I had to be having just one more day in New York.

We got up super early that morning, we wanted as much time in Manhattan as possible. The drive took two hours,and the traffic was bearable.

Justin took a wrong turn (missed the GPS) and landed us in the Bronx. Nice Work. Most petrified I’d ever been, but we got out alive and parked the car in our favourite carpark in the Lincoln Centre.

The Lincoln centre is also the home to Julliard, so it was time to get Audrey her alumni hoodie.  The shop was amazing. We were also able to get some gifts for our performing artist parents.

We decided to approach the day as a day in New York should be approached..with no plans.

We headed from the Lincoln centre to Central park, across the park to the shopping district of Midtown.

After two trips, I still didn’t have a shot of my Audrey at Tiffanys, so this time we would tick that box.

We got our shot, and had a giggle when we saw a little Aussie flag in the ‘O’ in Tiffany and Co.

We spent the day wandering.

Went to M&M world again, Toys R Us, Time Square. I didn’t care where we went because I was just happy anywhere on the streets of New York.

We walked until our feet couldn’t walk anymore and then left the Big Apple one more time.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I knew this city would continue to call me…so until we meet again.

 

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Into the smallest state.

We only arrived at Sandwich in the evening, after dinner, and with only 30 mins before pool closing time.  The kids had never the less used all of that 30 mins in the water, and the first thing on thier mind in the morning was more pool time.

We had to do a re-pack of sorts, so Justin did that while I took the kids to the pool. It is always a bit rushed in the morning leaving a hotel, as you have check out time, and the desire to get on the road to the next destination, so every day we had to do that required focus and good time management.

We got on the road and stopped at the supermarket to get some driving supplies. The breakfast at the hotel had been ordinary, but it was at least available.

It was here that we saw one of the funniest sights on the trip. Well, it may not have been that funny, but we got a good half hour of jokes out of it.

I always joke about the over the top nature of schools and lunches these days at home, I’ve even called the teachers in the Kindy the Sandwich Police. Today, we found evidence that such a thing really existed. Beware of putting any unauthorised fillings between bread today.

From Sandwich we made our way down  the glorious Massachusetts coastline. It had been one of our regrets that by this time we had been unable to get to an American football game. The closest we got was in Hartford, but we were hours behind schedule and couldn’t do it. We  tried many times to find a game to coincide with our destinations, but it just wasn’t happening.

We tried college and NFL, and it was all to no avail. This day, we happened upon a High School match. We didn’t waste the moment. It was also alongside a farmers market. We parked, paid the $2 entry, and sat in the stands with the locals. It was the team of Fairhaven. It was fabulous to watch the cheerleaders going through their paces, and the bulked up kids running head on into each other whilst the 5 coaches paced up and down the sideline.

I really enjoyed the little slice of America, and I think it was almost as fun as the big time matches. I felt like I was at Rydell high as I sat up on those metal benches and a little bonus was having to actually enter the school to use the toilet. It was like a scene from a movie !, a real American high school..priceless.

Fairhaven was only miles from the border of the smallest state in America, Rhode Island. We headed towards the very familiar (for Australians) city of Newport. I had originally like to stay here, but couldn’t find any suitable accommodation in our price range. This turned out to be a huge shame, as it was the most beautiful little city I had ever seen. I think it will be one of the huge regrets of the trip that we couldn’t stay here longer. The streets were colourful and eclectic, gorgeous to look at and teeming with people. You could hear the music from the ocean side bars as you drove along the streets, the sun was shining, and it took everything I had not to jump out the window of our slow moving vehicle to join them. It reminded me of my long afternoons sitting on the deck of The London hotel in Balmain, in Sydney. Similar vibe, similar look. No doubt I’ll be back for a slice of that.

We headed away from the action, and up the hill to see the “mansions”. The most impressive example of American 20th century opulence, they were super impressive. Newport was the playground of the new industrialists in the early 20th century. Here they built to out do each other, copying many of the castles from Europe and lining them up side by side with their neighbours as to make party hopping in the 1920′s a breeze. Here played the Vanderbilt’s, The Astors, the Wideners. Later the Kennedy’s and Bouviers.

They sit on a hill overlooking the Atlantic, and they were for the most part, hardly ever used whilst their owners spent most of the year in the Upper East side of NYC.

From there we went down the hill to the equally impressive large sweeping estates on opening of Newport harbour. The significance of this place was not lost on me when we passed the New York Yacht club, and I imagined the rowdy bunch of Aussies, sailing their victorious crew past it whilst the drank champagne from the bottle and their Prime minister equally tipsy gave their compatriots the right to a day off in honor of their victory.

I was a wide eyed ten year old when all that happened right here in Newport, Rhode Island, and the moment wasn’t lost on me as I drove on through.

Off the Coast, we spied a rather impressive looking Cruise liner making it’s way out to sea, could it be our friends on the Aida again ? we couldn’t see her hull close enough to know, but it made me giggle.

I also noticed the geology of the coastline was unusual, flaky granite like stone. I wondered about this, and didn’t know the answer would be found later in my travels.

We left Newport and headed for Connecticut, our stay in Rhode Island was as small as it is in size.

The Cradle of the revolution

Many cities claim revolutionary status, claiming to play an important part somehow in the revolution that created the Republic of the United States. Either by claiming a revolutionary,or by being witness to some revolt or battle.

I have seen quite a few cities, and Boston really is the cradle of the revolution. Philadelphia may have been the boardroom or engine room of the conflict and ensuing declaration of independence, but Boston was the heartbeat. The conscience, the moral compass, the protagonist.

For it was a night in April of 1775, that set the cogs of the revolutionary war in action, and it had Boston at its heart.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow best described the events of that night in this poem;

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,–
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
>From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

And so it was, on the morning of  October the 1st, 2011, the Poor family made off, on motor, along a very similar route to alert the Americans of Lexington and Concord, that the Australians were coming. Actually, given the large number of Aussies in Boston at that time, and ever-increasing, It may be tongue in cheek, but it may also be very accurate !

Lexington is just another suburb of Boston these days, but as with all American historical places, not a stone has been turned. Everything is as it was, and despite having entered the town off a ten lane interstate, we had arrived in the cradle of the revolution.

Curiously, at the information centre, I noticed a small monument to all the war-ships that had been named after the town of Lexington, one in particular caught my eye;

So it seems that it is not just the American’s who owe something to Lexington.It’s fascinating how you learn about your own history when studying someone elses.

From there we were given directions to the battlefield.

There is an impressive visitors centre there, much like Gettysburg’s, complete with equally impressive multimedia three d theatre presentation back-grounding you on the area’s history.

The kids enjoyed the presentation and we headed off to the musket demonstration at Hartwell’s tavern, preserved perfectly in its 1775 state.

We had a little wander down the very path that Revere and co rode, as we had a little wait until the next firing demonstration. By this time the kids had morphed into little revolutionaries yelling out “the British are coming ! The British are coming ! ” as they ran down the path with long stick rifles. It was funny, I was wondering if the weird looks we were getting from the boy scouts passing us by were because most Americans heard our accents and assumed we were English. Actually, due to the quirk of fate of their father being born in London, the kids are actually British citizens, which made it even more amusing.

 

We ambled back to the Tavern and took a seat alongside the paddock where we would be treated to a musket firing demonstration. We were delighted to have a woman demonstrator, owing to the very 21st century policy of equal opportunity, the National Park Service had women as well as men in this role, unlike how it would have been in revolutionary times.

It was her first time demonstrating as well, and she did a fine job. She fielded many difficult questions from the crowd (7 Poor’s and 2 others) but it was the last question of the day by the youngest member of the crowd that had her stumped.

Little Scarlett shot up her hand just like her older siblings, she had given this question some thought, you could tell by her furrowed brow. “excuse me, but why did they have to actually KILL the people ?”, silence followed, and then Miss NPS said, “well, that’s a very good question and I can’t give you an answer”. Thus ended the proceedings. Four year old Australian 1, Miss NPS 0.

 

From there we put the town of Plymouth into our GPS and headed south.

Plymouth of course, was the settlement of the famous Pilgrims, often described as America’s first settlers. They weren’t the first however, but the spiritual founders of modern America.

Our GPS had us discover a little beach town on the way, we stopped, looked around, and headed over the bridge like it asked.

On the other side of the bridge was a dirt road. Strange considering we were heading into a city. The further along the road we got, the more we could see the twinkling lights of the city….ACROSS THE WATER !.

GPS FAIL. No, Plymouth is not under water, but on dry land.

It was really funny, and not a bad place to have picked up some photos before we turned around.

Our planned night in Plymouth, ended up with a drive around for hours looking for somewhere to stay. Plymouth was completely booked for the night, and we stumbled around and eventually ended up for the night in a last desperate gasp at Sandwich in Cape Cod. Warning to you all, Southern Massachusetts is very difficult to get accommodation in on a weekend, so book ahead! .

The last gulp of Boston

I didn’t really want to leave. I had felt like this before. In New York of course, but I had stayed longer there, and in San Francisco and New Orleans two years ago. Cities I felt ashamed I had not booked more nights in. Cities that deserved more of my time.

There was much consternation about what to do this day, there was so much left undone. It was, however a beautiful day, warm in fact.

We walked the familiar walk across the bridges into the city, but this time we headed due north.

Kids were hungry so we headed for the main shopping district and had Mcdonalds. Disappointing after all the chowder and delectable food I had consumed in Quincy market.

From there we just wandered. Past the monument to the Irish immigrants escaping the potato famine, responsible for most of what Boston is today. Past the Old State house, and up to the cemetery to end all cemeteries.

COuld a resting place anywhere else in the world ever see so much action ?. It was crowded. Groups of people on tours squeezed their massive numbers like liquid going into a bottle as they negotiated the narrow paths between the graves.

Costumed tour guides spruiked and entertained as they had their groups transfixed on the stories of Revere, Hancock, Adams and co.

We had to go right when the large groups went left. There simply wasn’t enough room for all of us.

People sat in the Irish pub across the road and sipped Samuel Adams, as they watched Samuel Adams laying peacefully in his 250 year old grave.

The crowds had come to pay respects to a collection of colonial men, who collectively planned, executed and orchestrated the war of Independence against the British.

Over the years their stature had grown, as folklore and popular culture had elevated them to American royalty.

A man stood at the gates handing the tourists his hand prepared dossier on all the grave sites. I was so grateful to him for preparing it. We slipped a dollar bill into the front cover as we handed it to him on the way out.

Ironically, a small cottontail rabbit had become the highlight of the grave tour for the kids. The sense of history and significance had passed them by in the form of a cute little thing.

From there we ,made our way across Boston common, over to the Botanical gardens and along a tree lined Boulevard, Commonwealth avenue towards the Copley square area.

Copley square this day was a bustling hub, an Organic food market ringed the grassed plaza in front of The Trinity church. By now we were really hot, and had sore feet from walking, so we opted for a subway ride back to Quincy for lunch ( the lure was too great).

The subway is the oldest underground railway in America and pre-dates the NYC subway by several years. It was clean and efficient, and cheap to ride. I was taken with the fact that when we got off at Government station, there was no platform, and we alighted right alongside the tracks. I’d never seen this before.

Quincy market was more abuzz and ablaze than ever before. The combination of a super warm day, and a weekend culminated to make it the most happening vibe around.

There was a large crowd buzzing around a particular street performer. We made out way over to watch him. Within a minute we recognised his accent. A compatriot !, and Busking to Boston’s finest. He was fabulous, very funny, and very Australian !.

He amused the Quincy market crowd and the kids and Justin went and said hello to him after the  show. He was from Sydney. SO funny to see our humour exported so far.

‘We had another Chowder, bought Antonia the Harvard jacket she so desperately wanted and headed down to the Wharf.

We jumped on a commuter ferry for a round trip to Quincy ( the suburb).

It was a fabulous day to be on the Harbour. Minutes into the trip, as we sat on the top deck, and I could see gorgeous headlands, and a large open harbour dotted with islands, I felt like I was home. This was the closest resemblance to Sydney harbour I had ever seen !.

It was magnificent, and like Sydneysiders, Bostonians commuted to work via these ferries to their  harbour-side homes.

It was a great way to see the wider Boston area. We were even treated to a close up and personal of a WW2 frigate as we docked in the Quincy docks.

So we watched the sunset over the beautiful city of Boston, and after a quick stop at Logan airport; (tip for travellers,Logan international has a ferry terminal one stop from the city !), and we headed back into town.

We were able to get some tickets on the Ghosts and Gravestones tour for that night, but as the baby of the family was too little to ride, her and I had an indulgent night in the hotel whilst the other 5 enjoyed it.

So I have only photos to tell that story, but from all accounts it was hilarious and much fun. A must do for your Boston stay.

New Book Release

I have just released a book of words and photos from my New York adventures. It is a great Christmas gift, and I’d be happy to sign a copy if you contact me.

Boston, take 2.

We woke up to a very different looking Boston, instead of the bright blue skies, it was bright grey. A haunting fog lay like a blanket over the city. I was mesmerised. We virtually only ever get bright blue skies in Perth, so anything different for me is fascinating. It also gave a different look to the city for my photos. Photographers are ever the optomists !.

Because we had 2 day tickets, we needn’t walk to the city today, but just to the bus stop outside the hotel where we could catch our trolley bus. The bus took a detour this morning to the cruise port where three cruise ships had come in. One of them was the same ship that was in Montreal when we were there. They had followed us !.

Boston is a busy cruise port these days. The city has gone out of it’s way to encourage the huge Cruise liners from Europe on route to NYC to stop in Boston. The cruise port is also close to the city, and most cruisers would know that this is a big plus for any port.

The Bermuda bound “enchantment of the seas” was in the front spot at the pier, whilst the Aida ship, from Germany was parked behind.

As we came into the city, it was really breathtaking to see the taller towers hidden in the fog. I found it fascinating, and so different to the day before.

We jumped off the bus at Quincy market again for breakfast. There really is no better place to start your day than here. Of course, I headed straight for the chowder, as did the girls. The boys opted for bacon and egg muffin’s, they were determined the resist the lure of the chowder.

 

So we’d done the whole tour loop yesterday without getting off at the stops, so today we had worked out our must do list from what we saw the day before. The first stop we wanted to get off was the Naval docks where the U.S.S constitution was moored.

The U.S.S constitution is the oldest commissioned naval ship still afloat in the world. Launched in George Washington’s post Independence war era, she saw the most action in the war of 1812 against the British.

She is a wooden tall ship and she was magnificent.

After a significant security screen, we went on board where a commissioned naval officer gave us a guided tour.

Early in the tour, she stood in front of the crowd, which included two classes of third and fourth graders from suburban Boston. She asked, “and who was our first President ?”. Armed with the fastest and longest arms in The West, the Poor kids beat the Boston kids by whole seconds to be the first to call out “George Washington”. Strange, because they didn’t sound like George Washington’s people at all, the had funny accents. Where they British spies ?.

I laughed so hard and mumbled to them. “Darlings, We never had a president”. None of that mattered though, they were here, they knew their history, and they wanted to display that knowledge in all it’s glory. They were American, if only for a moment in time.

The kids loved being on the ship, it was a fabulous tour and a great history lesson.

After a quick stop in the constitution gift shop we got back on the bus headed for our duck boat tour.

When we arrived at the duck boat launch, we were greeted by a larger than life captain, called Gary. For this I need to give you some background.

In Portsmouth, the day before we came to Boston, the move “a perfect storm” was on TV. I was delighted ! I hadn’t seen the movie for years, but I knew it was based in New England. We often show the kids movies before we arrive in places as it gives them a little insight (albeit a Hollywood version) into the area.

Antonia and I watched the whole movie together, it was particularly moving, given it was a true story, and the origin of the crew was only 20 miles away from where we were.

Now back to Gary.

Gary was a big eyed gruff Bostonian. He had a broad Boston accent (emphasis on the vowels) and he had an equally broad Boston attitude.

While we waited for the boat, he teased the kids incessantly, pretending to steal their M&M’s and making jokes.

When we got on the duck boat (which was a land and sea vessel which drives into the harbour and then becomes a boat), he proudly announced that they usually throw someone overboard on every trip.

He scoured the boat and pointed at Antonia. “you ! you !, will be the one sacrificed today”. He didn’t know he’d picked the most steely character on the boat. Her eyeballs were as big as his and she opened them up in a glare that would freeze most people. He opened his up with a respondent cheeky glare and the battle was on.

Boston had expeienced that morning an unusually high King tide. The water of the harbour was lapping only millimetres from the top of the cement walls that contained Boston into the reclaimed land that it now lived on.

Boston of today lies on 70%+ reclaimed land, so there is a constant push pull between the city and the ocean.

Gary explained to us that this tide was not a lunar tide, but a planetary one. Very rare and very large. He was a former fisherman, and it was his job now to captain this little tour boat full of tourists, out into the harbour he knew like a best friend.

We had some trouble getting under the first bridge. There was literally only  millimetres of space to get under. Gary climbed out hanging our the window, and directed the driver so skilfully through.

It was time for Antonia to go overboard. She marched up to him like a soldier ready for a fight. A little banter from him was met with that steely stare I know so well. “just try me” it said. Then her brother piped up and said “don’t throw her, throw me !”. My heart melted, what a wonderful young man I had raised, still, Antonia needed no assistance, she wasn’t going, and she was going to win the battle of the stares.

Gary Laughed and gave in to his much tougher adversary, and the boat load of people laughed at the entertaining battle.

I then had a chance to talk to Gary. The Perfect storm still fresh in my memory, I was so excited to meet a real New England fisherman. I asked him why he gave up fishing. He lamented that the large spanish fishing compnaies had enveloped the market and forced the independent locals out of the game. Fishing was no longer a career option for many New Englanders, and a traditional lifestyle that New England is famous for will be lost forever.

I then mentioned that I had watched “the perfect storm” just two nights ago.

What had been a smiling and cheeky glare on a craggy and weathered face, now became ashen. He went visibly pale and he dropped his head. “I was out in that on the day”, “it was a very bad day, a very very bad day”. The pain was evident in every crease on his face. “I was up off Maine and struggled to get back in. I lost my rigging and navigation. I was lucky to get back to shore, so very lucky. It is a day I will never forget, and a very sad day.”

I was mesemerised. I had really met someone who had experienced something horrific, but historic. I was honoured to have met Gary, he was the essence of the true New Englander.

From the Duck tours we jumped back on the bus and headed to Cambridge, where we could swap buses and get the Harvard tour bus.

When we got on the bus the tour driver sounded like he’s over dosed on mogadon. He then went onto great detail about the lattirude and longitude of the city of Boston, how many times the earth rotates arounf the sun and it was immediately apparent we had super nerd tour driver. Complete with a heavy dose of allergies (he sneezed and wheezed around the whole trip) he was hilarious, even when he didn’t mean to be.

He warned us as we got off the bus, that heavy rain was predicted in around 34 minutes. Handy to know, but we got off anyway and headed straight into the crowded college village of Harvard square.

We went straight to Starbucks as it was coffee hour. It was people watching heaven. I looked at the fashionably casual students in the queue. I wondered how much thier parents had paid for them to be there. These were America’s finest. Would one of these be President one day ?. Harvard has the distinction of having turned out the most Presidents of any university in the U.S.

We emerged from the cafe to ominous looking skies but pressed on.

We entered into the University and stumbled onto an Archeological dig. The kids were fascinated, and we had not been standing watching long, when one of the students came to explain to them what they were doing.

She was amazing. She gave the kids a little lesson in Archeology, and my Paleontologist-to-be Antonia, was totally mesmerised.

I whispered to her “do you want to come here and study your craft ?” a big goal for an Aussie kid. She smiled with that “oh my god yes !” subtlety she possesses and I knew a little spark had been lit in side of her. She looked like she was home.

Suddenly, the heavens opened, and I mean opened. Like opened so wide the whole universe could fall in.

We bravely ran to the statue of John Harvard, you couldn’t come here without rubbing his toe ! We had no umbrella and no wet weather gear and so we were getting soaked trying. We braved the toe rubbing, and ran for cover, only there was none until we got out of the square and into the street where we ran down some steps into a subway. It was the most intense rain I had experienced, and there were rivers running down the street.

We got back on the bus looking like drowned rats, but happy with our Harvard experience. Really, we were so blessed to see those students doing what students do.

We took our wet bodies back to the hotel for the night, as usual greeted with high fives by the doormen. We spent the night by the pool and watched the mother of all storms roll in from our high rise window. The sure do ‘weather’ spectacularly in New England.

Beautiful Boston

We woke up to bright blue skies and gorgeous sunshine ready for a big day in the revolutionary city. Our hotel was in the seaport area, a re-vamped area of old Boston where the port is situated. It only took us about 10 mins to walk across the two bridges into the main part of the city and it was a nice walk. The first thing we noticed was how ridiculously clean the city was. It looked like New York in the sense that the architecture was similar, and it had the East Coast sensibility, but it was clean and orderly,where NYC was noisy and messy.

Less people live in the CBD of Boston, it is a harbour city with many suburban options, so the city is largely reserved for commerce.

We headed straight to the Quincy market area, via the Old State house where the Boston Massacre had occurred. The Boston massacre pre-ceded the revolution. It was the first spark in the revolutionary war. You can read about it here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boston_Massacre.

We then headed to Quincy market for brunch.

It is an old marketplace that is now full of eating options. Every imaginable culinary experience is available here, but I headed straight for the Chowder. I’d been warned about the New England chowder. It can make you pine for it forever if you can’t have it, so it was dangerous to even go there.

So I took one mouthful of this chowder, all creamy and lumpy, and I fell head over heels. It was the most magnificent tasting thing in a cup I had ever have. How could I leave it behind eventually ? I knew I shouldn’t have gone there.

The girls had some too, they all melted at the mouthful too. If kids and adults can agree on something like this, it must be extraordinary.

The setting was lovely. We had only found seats upstairs but just quietly, they were the best !. The big cream coloured dome of Quincy market was above us, and an assortment of long windows around the circular room let in an enormous amount of light. Restored beautifully, it was a lovely spot to engage with the chowder (the world’s most magnificent food).

The boys opted for Philly cheesesteaks, which had me beat. Boston = Chowder, Philly = Cheesesteaks as far as I was concerned, but you can’t tell them. They liked them anyway, and it was obvious the general standard of food in Quincy market was very high no matter which part of the world it was from.

We had made contact with the Trolley tour operators before we left who were keen to show an Australian travel agent around Boston, so we picked up our tickets and headed to the bus pick up.

We opted for the Boston Upper deck trolley tours. http://www.bostonsupertours.com/upper-deck-trolley-tours/. They had elevated trolleys which gave you a much better view from the street.

Once on the trolley, we had our first encounter with the Bostonian. Forged from largely Irish stock, the Bostonian possesses one of the worlds finest sense of humour. Being influenced by the Irish meant that it was a sense of humour an Australian was most familiar with.  We travelled past Rose Kennedy’s garden with 104 rose bushes in it to signify each year of her life. On to Charlestown and the bunker hill memorial, then over the bridge to Cambridge  where we decided to give our jaws a rest and wipe the tears of laughter from our faces, for just a little while to get a coffee. The trolley stopped outside the Cambridge Galleria shopping mall.

Here we encountered some giggling schoolgirls who were entertained by our accents, and a best buy that emptied our wallets.

We jumped back on the trolley and finished the whole town loop. Seeing the Massachusetts state house, Boston Common, The botanical gardens, The very well to do suburb of Beacon hill and Fenway park, home to the Red Sox. The laughs never stopped either, those Bostonians are hilarious, laconic and very good tour guides !.

We jumped off at our hotel which was on the tour route and dropped off our shopping. Got some warm clothes on and jumped back on the bus to go back to Quincy market.

Passing the barking crab restaurant, the tour guide mumbled “there’s the Barking Crab restaurant, named after a college girlfriend I once had” and so it went on. We went back to Quincy for dinner. I had another chowder. It had only been hours but the warning’s were true, I had pined for it already, actually, I didn’t just eat mine, but I finished the kids too. I had gone down a path of no return.

Taking NYC

The Poor family descends on New York City. The city is a hive of thriving activity. How will they add their spice to the melting pot ?

Taking New York, posted with vodpod

A bit of this and that

Last night was an un-booked night. It turned out ok as we found a great Best Western with a 2 bedroom suite and 2 jacuzzis. It also had an indoor pool and it was good that it did as the kids were hyper after a day of shopping.

This morning it was easy to dress everyone as they all had brand new clothes !.

We had stayed in Portsmouth. This town was gorgeous. It was like stepping back in time as nothing had been altered much since the independence war era. It was a big town, probably a city actually, and I envied the people who lived there, it looked like a wonderful place to live.

From there we followed the coast and found the gorgeous beachside town of Rye. Rye was breathtaking. It had sweeping views of the Atlantic, and stunning historic mansions dotting the coast. We decided we were going to move there, I asked the kids in jest to pick a house. It was funny to see which ones each child preferred.

The next thing on the agenda today was Walmart and bath and bodyworks. I had found a spot that had  both. I needed the bath and body works as I loved the products and I had experienced difficulty purchasing from them online. Lachy needed a walmart for a large purchase he needed to make.

After our big shop I punched in the closest beach on the GPS as I anticipated it would be like Rye, and a nice place to have lunch.

We crossed into Massachusetts from New Hampshire and headed to Salisbury beach.

It was shocking.

Not at all like Rye, more like a dodgy Coney Island. It was dirty and very seedy characters were walking around. We ate there anyway, the kids were hungry, but we left as soon as possible.

I noticed on the way out of town that it was a very depressed place. I later looked up the crime stats and discovered that it was not a very desirable area. Surprising, as we had been in nice areas for the most part of the day.

We  moved on through Massachusetts towards Boston. One one road we pulled up at some lights and next to a carpark and building that had been taped off with Crime scene tape. There was a whole lot of news cameras there. I googled later and discovered it had been a murder scene. Justin thought it was a TV film set. This was real though. It had been the owner of a chinese restaurant who was found dead in his restaurant. Intriguing, and a little scary.

We arrived at the Salem Holiday Inn, only to be told that we were at the wrong hotel. We had booked the Salem NH hotel, only 30 miles from here. We rang a few hotels close by, the traffic was horrendous, but got a booking at another hotel near by.

When we arrived we discovered they only had one room with two double beds ! it seems the front desk guy had misunderstood Justin.

I decided to cut our losses and head straight to Boston. The Westin had a room for us, and we were booked in there tomorrow anyway.

It was an easy drive. It was like coming home to the Westin, and amazing hotel. The kids had a swim and we ordered a Pizza, and were super glad to be in Boston.