BOSTON, Massachusetts

Boston Excursion- August

Thursday, - Amherst, NY.

We were up early, to finish packing and close up the castle. At 8:30 A.M. an Airport Cab picked us up for the short ride to Buffalo International. We checked our bags into the US Air counter for the 10:00 A.M. flight #3240 to Logan Airport in Boston. The airport was fairly quiet for a Thursday morning. We bought some coffee and walked the terminal, waiting for the flight call.

The plane, a 60 seat express jet, boarded us on time. We made the 75 minute flight into Logan, without a hitch. We retrieved our bags and caught a cab into Boston. It was 79 degrees out and muggy. The cabbie whisked us through the new tunnels of the “big dig” and soon deposited us at the Omni Parker House, at School and Tremont Streets, just up from the Boston Commons. We had always wanted to stay at this venerable landmark, so well situated. We checked in and were assigned Room # 870. We unpacked our gear and then decided to set out on foot along the famed “Freedom Trail,” which leads pilgrims for 2 & 1/2 miles past a whole array of Historic sights, from the Boston Commons to the Bunker Hill Monument in Charlestown.

It was now 85 degrees, muggy and getting hotter. We stopped by the various historical churches, the old state house and even payed homage to a newer “Irish Famine monument” on the way to the Quincy Market. Fannueil Hall and the market are a tourist magnet for tens of thousands daily. It was awash with outlanders as we threaded our way amidst the happy families of Griswalds on vacation. The Durgin Park Tavern summoned us. The Black Horse Tavern is on the lower floor, Durgin Park on the upper, with its reputation for mild customer abuse. The pressed tin ceiling, rows of tressle tables and lazy overhead fans screamed of an older and slower era. We had some very good clam chowder (chowdah to the locals) and salads. The mild abuse is free)

We browsed the many vendor stands of the market and walked by the equally venerable Union Oyster House. It looked cool and inviting. The trail led us from the market area across the “ buried big dig” and into the North End, now an enclave of Itailan restaurants, past St. Stephen's, the statue of Paul Revere and the Old North Church. Each commanded our attentions. I could envision conspirators having whispered conversations about rebellion, as the British Soldiers valiently manned the local taverns. A small cemetery,just north of the Old North Church, caught our interest. .Like most cemeteries from the period, the headstones are of slate. The inscriptions had worn smooth in the ensuing 250 years. It is the slate of history being wiped clean by time and nature, a lesson somewhere for the observant.

From the rise of the hill, we could see across the mouth of the Charles river to Charlestown. One of the most revered historic sites in the nation lay at anchor here, the USS Constitution. We could see her masts rising above her anchorage.Just beyond her, and on the rise of a hill, stands the Bunker Hill Monument, commemorating that famous exchange of lives with the British and the colonial minutemen.

We walked across the bridge towards Charlestown, noting the new and beautifully designed “Bunker Hill Bridge” and the Fleet Center, just off to our left. Charlestown was undergoing a renewal. Well ordered, brick condominiums line the broad boulevard that leads to the US Navy yard and the USS Constitution. She is still an officially commissioned US warship and is manned by the US Navy. Her black hull and soaring forests of yardarms and staylines,held aloft by the three towering masts, evokes every history lesson that I had ever had of the period. She is our history. A long line was waiting to board her, so we walked about the yard admiring the other naval vessels tied up there. A commercial ferry stopped to pick up and disperse passengers leaving for a ride around the inner harbor. There is also a nautical museum, and other points of interests, for the little Griswalds to enjoy.

From the Navy yard, we set off through Charlestown to nearby Bunker Hill. The towering monument sits astride Breed’s hill and commemorates the battle that took place there. Though modest by today’s standards, almost 450 American Militia, and 1,000 British soldiers, lost their lives during that brief battle.The American’s withdrew, leaving the British a Pyrrhic victory.

The heat and humidity were oppressive. We hiked back over the Charlestown Bridge and marched lickity-split through the North End and back into the Quincy Market area. We were headed for the Union Oyster House. It was cool and comfortable inside, as we sidled up to the bar and ordered two Coronas to cool the body’s engine. The place has character. JFK and a full rota of pols had dined here regularly. We enjoyed the relative peace of the late afternoon. Later, the place would be crammed to the gunnels with aging diners.

We walked back along the Freedom Trail, enjoying the ebb and flow around us. 39,000 firefighters, and their families, were in town on convention. It was one crowded city. At the old city hall, we wandered through the small cemetery. John Hancock, Benjamin Franklin and Paul Revere were in attendance. Most of the stones were weathering badly, their slates being wiped clean by the sands of time.

The Boston Commons lay just down the street. We entered this first of America’s public parks and people-watched as the various throngs entered and exited the subway, or walked through the park. The classic Massachusetts State House, with its shining gold dome, sits on a rise in the near periphery.We walked up to its steps, before deciding that the heat of the day was wearing us down. We then walked back through the Commons and over Tremont St. to a Starbucks. We settled in to enjoy one of their tasty nectars and enjoy the moving tableau of street scenery before us. The skies were threatening to open, so we walked across the street into the welcome air conditioned bubble of the Parker House. We had a brief consultation with Ozzie Nelson ( nap).

It was still muggy and warm out at 7:00 P.M., as we ventured out for dinner. Our dogs were barking (tired feet) from the five mile walk this afternoon. We found the second story “Kennedy’s” about one block over and settled into this venerable speakeasy for a seafood platter and crab cakes. They were pretty good.

From Kennedy’s, we walked slowly towards the Quincy Market.The Griswalds were still there in their thousands. The younger generations were there in force as well. “Houston’s” was crammed to the rafters with returning college students. We were tired from the walk and the heat. It was time to pack it in. We walked back to the Parker House, settled in with our books and soon were enveloped in the arms of Morpheus.

Friday, 8/20- Boston, Mass.

We were up early and had coffee, while watching the Olympics on the Today show. Perhaps we might one day that way go. It was humid outside. The temp was headed for 85 degrees, another scorcher.

The entrance to the “red line T” was just down the street at the edge of the Commons. We entered and caught the “Alwise Outbound” ($1.25 each). A few stops up the way and we exited into Harvard Square in Cambridge. The area was bustling with activity.The students, like the swallows at Capistrano, were returning to their roosts. A starbucks caught our eye and we stopped for a morning pick me up. Thus fortified, we entered through the black, wrought iron gates of arguably, one of the most famous Universities in the World, Harvard. The neatly trimmed lawns, and red-brick, georgian classroom and dormitory buildings bespoke of a lustrous heritage and a wealthy endowment, reputed to be in the $19 Billion range. Emerson hall, Sever Hall and a dozen others remembered famous and wealthy alumni who had proclaimed their esteem for their college days in millions of ways, each one bearing a portrait of George Washington.

A small crowd of Orientals had gathered around a bronze statue of a seated John Harvard. They were happily taking pictures of themselves in front of him and rubbing his right foot for luck.The Bronze there was shiny from the many people who had touched this statue for luck. I wonder what this austere pilgrim would think of the institution that his collection of books had help get started three hundred and seventy years ago? We had recently read William Martin’s book “Harvard” and had some appreciation for what we were seeing around us and the many personages, foreign and domestic, that had passed through these hallowed halls. Who knew which of these unassuming and scruffily dressed urchins, who now walked by us, would one day run countries or corporations?

Moving vans were unloading student belongings and parents were walking along the macaddam paths with their children, perhaps wanting to eye ball what was costing them a small fortune in tuition and bills. We came upon an ornate and enormous building that much looked like an ancient Cathedral. Upon closer inspection, it purported to be a refectory for the college. Not a bad place to wolf down some eggs on a cold morning. Everything about this place is larger than life, like Oxford or the Sorbonne.

From the Harvard Yard (no they don’t day Hahved yahd), we walked across Harvard Square to the Harvard Coop.Once it had been a small bookstore with a few extras. Now, the place occupies three separate locations and sells, in addition to any kind of book needed by students, every imaginable clothing or souvenir item, all with Harvard printed across them. We browsed and enjoyed the experience. It was hot and getting hotter and we had many places to go and things to do.

We descended into the bowels of the “T” in Harvard Square.The wave of heat above and below ground, was palpable. The Red line inbound, took us all of the way across the city to the JFK/U.Mass station, on the South side of the city. We climbed to the surface and waited for the bus shuttle that would ferry us over to the John F. Kennedy memorial Library at South Point. We had been there some twenty years ago and were looking forward to our return.

The area around the station is full of triple-decker residences and working class housing. It gave way to the huge collection of buildings that is the University of Massachusetts . The bus stopped at the college and then took us past the Mass. Archives, and another museum, to the JFK site, at South point. The entire group of buildings and the University are located on a point of land that juts out into Boston Bay.The city skyline, the harbor islands and the blue of the ocean create an attractive tableau that is visually pleasing. It is also washed by a welcomed sea breeze that felt wonderful.

The JFK memorial is a pleasant white stone affair, designed by I.M. Pei, that is flanked by a large black-glass tower and overlooks the bay. One wall of the complex is glass and looks out onto the ocean. We walked around the building, enjoying the sun, the sea and the cooling breeze. A small wooden sloop sits almost alone on the seaside of the building. It is the “Victura.” It is JFK’s 26’ sloop that he sailed from the family compound in Hyannis. It looks sort of lonely there, all by itself and devoid of its dynamic owner.

Inside, we paid our $10 admission and stepped into the past. A 20 minute film gave us a brief bio, narrated by JFK, of his family and the years leading to his presidency. I had read a few dozen books, on his life, over the years.The faces and facts on the screen were like old friends. I can even remember the days of Camelot and the pride and excitement that he generated in the simple fact of being an American. Where are you now Jack, when we really need you?

We watched and reminisced as televised recordings replayed the Cuban Missile Crisis, the 1960 Nixon and Kennedy debates and finally JFK’s “ask not” Inaugural speech. The music and the cadence of his speech are that of an Irish Chieftain, summoning the clan to battle. It stirred my blood now, even after these many years had passed. I was glad we had come.

Collections of the many dolls given to Caroline Kennedy, by foreign countries, and a whole array of “Jackie Memorabilia” are also interesting. “Bobby” warranted a small room for his memorabilia and even Ted had some space. These lads looked after one another, even in death. We came away with a feeling of unease for what had been lost to the nation and the promise of one so bright that had been blighted. It did however make me think long and hard about National Politics. Jack cared for the poor and the disposessed like no other since Eleanor Roosevelt. We need another leader like him, to rise from our ranks and take the helm once again, leading us into the new century.

The museum has a small cafeteria, where we stopped for some clam chowder and ice water to replenish our fluid balance in the draining heat. It was pretty good. Thus fortified, we waited for the shuttle in the wilting heat and eventually rode it back to the JFK/UMASS station of the T. There, we picked up the red line, inbound, and rode it into the Park St. station and the Boston Common. The Commons was awash with all manner of people, even in the high heat of the day. We walked through them enjoying the spectacle, like outlanders walking into the wonder of mighty Rome.

Just across the Commons and Arlington Ave, sits another pleasure of Boston, the Boston Gardens. A small figure eight pond is surrounded by towering trees, floral displays and a well mannered gentility that is appealing to the eyes and soft on the senses. We walked through these well-clipped grounds, enjoying the colorful swan boats that floated on the pond, laden with their cargo of Griswalds, from Dubuque and Peoria, and enjoyed a softer side of Boston. The Gardens attracts mothers with children, to feed the ducks and swans, and a quieter version of those rowdy tenants of the neighboring Commons. We sat for a time and enjoyed the peace and the beauty around us.

The Ritz Carlton Hotel sits just behind the Gardens.We walked by this storied edifice and entered into one of the pricier shopping boulevards in the back bay, Newberry St. All manner of expensive apparel is displayed in the small boutiques along the busy boulevard. We ogled, enjoyed the swirl of people and walked far down its length. Small groups of musicians played on street corners and swirls of shoppers flowed up and down the active street.We stopped for coffee, at a small Starbucks, and watched the panoply of people flow around us. Then, we set out onto a cross street and ended up in Copley Square.

The enormous bulk of the Boston Public Library attracted us. Inside, it is cool and marble and speaks of another age where books and learning mattered more. Directly across the square, sits the venerable Trinity Church. It’s dark-brown, brick surface, and pointed towers were undergoing repair and resurfacing.The entirety of this marvelous structure is reflected in the glass mirrored walls of the high rise office building next to it. I can’t help but wonder that the architect had much enjoyed the idea of reflecting this architectural beauty in the walls of his building. Another side of the square is taken up by the well healed luxury of the Copley Square Hotel. We briefly considered stopping by the bar for a glass of wine, but knew they would probably eject me as tourist rabble.

On the last side of the square, amidst a collection of restaurants and offices, we found a small internet cafe, where we checked our e-mail site for messages. There were none of note. The heat was rising and we were wilting. We set off back across Newberry street, again enjoying the pleasing euphony of music and the babble of shoppers along the way. We were headed for the bar at the Ritz Carlton. Inside, it was cool and elegant. We sat and ordered glasses of wine. A liveried waiter delivered large glasses of wine and a bowl of peanuts. It was very good, even at $12 a glass. We watched the tableau of the Boston Gardens, from the window of the bar, and enjoyed where we were and the fact that we were fortunate enough to be together after all of these years. It was hard to get up from the luxury of cool and venture forth into the heat, but we managed. We walked through the Boston Garden and then across Arlington and through the Boston Commons. All manner of tourists, with and with out Picollo Mostri (little monsters), were everywhere about enjoying their park.

The skies were threatening liquid mayhem as we walked into the cool bath of the Parker Hotel. I wonder how they survived before air conditioning? We swilled ice water and chilled out, reenergizing from the drain of the heat of the day. As dinner approached, so did the black clouds. We decided to stop by the hotel bar. Its name, “The Last Hurrah” is a favorite Edwin O’Connor novel, loosely depicting the life and times of former Boston Mayor James Michael Curly. We couldn’t resist. We had some very good crab croissants and a few glasses of a very nice Washington State, Red Diamond Merlot. We watched the heavens open and the crowds scurry on the streets outside, through the long windows of the bar. It was a relaxing finish to a long and adventuresome day. The room summoned us. We watched the Olympics, in Athens, much enjoying the “babe ball matches” (woman’s beach volleyball) until sleep claimed us.

Saturday- August 24-- Boston Mass.

We were up early. It was humid and overcast outside. The rains were coming. We had coffee, while watching the today show, and then set out at 9:00 A.M. The nearby Starbucks drew us in like a magnate. Their coffee really is that good. We walked over Tremont St., to the Commons, and caught the green line “E” train. It took us across the city to the Museum of Fine Arts stop, in the Fenway District. The Northeastern School of Law, Simmons college and a Technical Institute are close by. The area is an emerging “arts district” in the city. Fenway Park, of Red Sox fame, is located a few blocks away.

The renowned Boston Museum of Fine Arts is a three story, granite- faced affair, with two wings extending from its grand center entrance. A statue, of a native american in head-dress regalia and sitting astride a horse beseechingly, with arms spread out, sits just in front of the museum. I thought that it might be a Fredrick Remmington, but it was a sculptor that I am not familiar with. We paid our $15 entry fee and walked into this venerable institution. We blew through the ornate and colorful gallery devoted to 18th century European art, on the second floor, to get to the Impressionist gallery. Boucher & Reubens are the only real attractions for me in that period.

Several Monet seascapes were eye catching. Mary Cassat has two wonderful pastels, one of an opera setting and another of a tea service. She is the only female and American of the genre. I know not much about her. Three exquisite Van Goghs shined luminously from the walls, reaffirming my opinion of his genius. The real eye stopper is the large Renoir of a woman dancing with a man. A vibrant flash of rust red adorns her victorian bodice. It contrasts Renoir’s normal and lustrous blue satin, and sets the painting off brilliantly. I could view his works forever. Degas is represented by several muted pastels of bathers and dancers, that are also appealing.

From the Impressionists, we descended the grand, stone-staircase to the first floor American Galleries. The 18th century is mostly portraiture and attracts me not much, even the Stuarts. John Singer Sargent has the better part of a small room all to his own works. Three of his works immediately caught our attention, for their life-like qualities. The more I see of his paintings, the more I appreciate his talents. Beyond the Sargent room are several of the art nouveau variety, that is a form of either monkey-splatter or electronic performance art. A tableau of plaster characters, by George Segal, is the only redeeming work there. It was time for a break. We took the elevator to the basement cafeteria and had coffee and muffins. A large interior and open-air court is available for outside dining in better weather. There are also “finer” restaurants on the first and second floor, if your better tastes and bigger wallets are interested.

Next, we wandered through an enormous collection of bronze and iron, Asian Art from the 14th through the 17th centuries. There are also over-large and finely woven wall tapestries from everywhere. However prized and valuable, they did not ignite my interests, Philistine that I am. The “two hour Museum glaze” was setting in on us. We browsed the gift shop for souvenirs and then headed out. The Museum was just in the process of opening up an exhibit, on the American Art Deco period, that would have proven interesting. Many of the MFA’s members were in today for an advance preview, lunch and social butt smooching.

It was raining lightly as we left the MFA. We were headed across the boulevard for another unique Boston Attraction, The Isabelle Stuart Gardner Museum. She had been the wife of a wealthy 19th century industrialist and a patron of the arts. For $11 each, we entered what can best be described as a three-story, stone, Moorish hacienda, with the Baronial furnishings of a William Randolph Hearst at San Simeon. The castle, for that is what it felt like, surrounds a large interior courtyard and is covered by a glassed-in roof above. A fountain, ferns and many plants give the impression of a Roman Atrium. Each of the three floors have open windows looking out into the atrium. The shape of the stone window casings is arched, in the Moorish fashion. All along the walls and through the house, ancient columns, stone friezes and other stone antiquary is worked into the existing structure of the home, forming an eclectic array of styles and impressions. It appeared to me to be “Europe’s Attic” for lack of a better name. There are two interesting Sargents, both of the famed Ms.Gardner at different stages of her life. A Renoir, Monet, Degas and Manet feature her Impressionist paintings. Two exquisite Botticellis, a Veronese and a Tintoretto represent her travels in Italy. They hung hodge- podge, in no particular array or time line, just as she had placed them 100 years ago. They would remain thus until the place fell down, as per the dictates of her will.

The Chapel is dark, paneled with wood and large enough to have fit in a Monastery. String quartets and other groups perform here for the interested, from time to time. Large, woven wall tapestries cover most of the walls and are accompanied as well by other eye catching attractions. A friend, Nancy Fulford, said that she and friends go and concentrate on one floor at a time, to really begin to give justice to the eclectic array of artwork here assembled. That sounds like a plan. A small cafeteria provides refreshments on the first floor. The Museum glaze had set in on us. It was time to go. It is an interesting place, Mrs. Gardner.

We caught the “green line” E - train, inbound and got off at Parker Center. The skies were dark and pregnant with rain. It would come soon. We walked over towards Filene’s, that famous department store. The rains came hard for a while and we scurried into the overhang of a building front for cover, as did throngs of other tourists. When the rain let up, we walked down the pedestrian mall towards Filene’s. The area appears to draw the lower end of the economic spectrum on the weekends. A Large shelter for the homeless sits nearby. Its patrons were abundant in all their diversity, god bless them all. We exited quickly. The ”Beantown Bar,” on Tremont, caught our attention and we stopped in for lunch. The place was loaded cheek to jowl. We found seats by the window and had some decent clam chowder, tuna sandwiches and tasty, seasoned french fries. We knew how bad everything was for us by how good it tasted. The Parker House is a block over. We walked back to chill out and await the rains. They came with a vengeance around 4:00 P.M. , knocking trees over in the burbs and scattering the tourist like ten pins.

At 6:30 P.M. we flagged a cab and rode over to the North End for dinner. We were meeting Mary’s sister Trish, husband Brandon, and their good friends Bob and Nancy Fulford, for dinner at Terra Mia, 98 Salem St. The Fulfords live north of Boston in Manchester by the sea. Trish and Brandon were staying with them for the weekend. We hadn’t seen the Fulfords in several years and looked forward to renewing our acquaintance with them.

“Terra Mia,” is a very small and ultra-chic Tuscan Bistro that seats a maximum of 40 diners. We arrived early and were seated at a table for six in the bay window,overlooking the busy street. An English waiter ( go figure) served us a glass of Chianti, while we waited for the Watsons and Fulfords. They soon arrived with stories of the diffficulty in finding a spot to park. The Watsons had parked in Government center, several blocks away, for lack of any other space available. Bob found a space nearby for a double saw buck.

The chatter was convivial and light as we all reacquainted ourselves. The wine flowed wonderfully and the laughter followed. Tomato Calabrese and several other appetizers tickled our taste buds. The pesce al giorno , a delectable Halibut entree, worked for me. The rest of our party had an eclectic array of delicious Italian specialties that each much enjoyed. The food was very good and the service excellent. We all much enjoyed the meal and each other’s company. It was the day after Nancy Fulford’s 39th birthday (or thereabouts) and we all wished her Buona Compliana.

There are no desert items on the menu at Terra Mia. The tradition is to walk over to “Mike’s” or the next door “Vittorio’s,” on Hannover St.,and sit for canolies and cappuccinos. Both places were awash with diners. We found a table for six and ordered every lard-ass special on the desert menu, washing them down with delicious cappuccinos. Nancy Fulford called me a wuss for drinking decaf. We laughed, enjoyed and celebrated being alive and together.

From “Mike’s/Vittorio’s,” we walked along crowded Hannover St. enjoying the warm evening and the noise and laughter of the many restaurants along the way. Most were SRO. “Luccas” looked pricey. “Cafe Paradisio” is wide open and informal. There are at least a score of places to dine in the area. Near the end of Hannover St., we noticed an exquisitely paneled and elegant looking wine bar named “Via Valverdi.” We exchanged “Buona Serra” with the aging maitre’d and he invited us in to look around. A small wine bar, and a more elegant seating area, occupy the first floor. The shuttered windows were wide open to enjoy the warm night air. We were able to enjoy the active street tableau, as we sipped a few after dinner drinks. The waitress is a former stewardess and had mutual friends with the Fulfords. Upstairs is an elegant and pricey Tuscan Bistro. The place had just reopened, after an extensive remodeling, and had few customers other than ourselves. We enjoyed the visit. It was getting late and our companions all still had a 40 minute ride up to Manchester By The Sea. We parted company, amidst hugs and wishes of good will. The Fulfords invited us to train up to Manchester tomorrow and join them on an ocean excursion on Bob’s power boat. We left it as a “maybe” and then separated, all walking our different ways.

Mary and I walked back through the Quincy Market area towards our hotel. Even at this hour, the Union Oyster House was loaded with diners. The area bars were in full steam too. Downtown Boston rocks on a Saturday night. At the Parker House, we asked the desk clerk to pull up the Amtrak schedule for all points North. A 10:15 A.M. train, on the morrow, would be leaving from the North station. It looked doable for us. We had decided to spend more time with Mary’s sister and husband. North is where they would be tomorrow. Mary rang up Trish, on the cell phone, and told her we wood meet them in Manchester tomorrow morning. It had been a long and interesting day. We were “stanke morte” (dead tired) . We slept like dead alligators in a swamp.

Sunday- August 22-2004 Boston, Mass.

We were up early. It was a rain-cooled 57 degrees out. We showered, prepped for the day and set out at 9:00 A.M. We caught a cab to the Amtrak North Station, next to the Fleet Center. The cab driver was a Russian émigré from Moscow. We chatted briefly in Russian. ($10)

At the North Station, we bought coffee and pastries, while we waited. A large group of developmentally disabled people, whom we affectionately call “goofies,” arrived to buy tickets for Manchester. They were headed for a beach outing for the day. A lowlife scammer was working the crowd asking for “$1 to get home with.” The goofies all blew him off, god bless them. We bought our one way tickets ($5.50) for Manchester and waited for the 10:15 A.M. train. A large crowd had formed to join us. When the train call did come, the whole station moved in unison for the train on track number one. The train was very long and could well have seated twice the number wanting seats. We settled in for the 48 minute ride north. We watched with interest, the tidal estuaries, industrial sites and smaller towns as the train wandered northward. As you might imagine, the scenery became softer and more affluent as we ventured further north. Finally, we arrived at Manchester by the Sea. Virtually everyone got off the train for the beach. Brandon was kindly waiting for us in the Parking Lot. We drove the few miles over to the Fulford compound and had coffee and Danish thoughtfully provided by Mrs. Fulford.

An older Veteran of the Normandy invasion, Roger and his wife Vivian, showed up to join us, as did their daughter Claudette and her son Colin and friend. The whole group had traveled to Paris and then Normandy for the 60th anniversary of the D-Day landings. The Fulford’s daughter Susan, and her friend, rounded out the entire company of those setting out on the S.S. Fulford. We watched film clips of their travels and the group reminisced on their recent vacation.

By 1 P.M., the entire group drove over to the Manchester by the Sea Marina, to board the S.S. Fulford. Bob’s boat is a 35 foot power boat, with at least a 10’ beam. Even as large a group as this fit comfortably. Loaded and seated comfortably, we cast off lines and headed out into the ocean. Manchester Bay is laden with sloops, ketches and all manner of attractive craft, maintained by those who could well afford them. On shore, we espied a few of the pricey estates looking over the harbor from surrounding bluffs. Some went for a mere $7-12 million, should anyone be in the market.

The sea was choppy from the off shore breeze. Bob navigated skillfully, mindful of the aging and fragile cargo. The sea was a blanket of undulating bobbers from the thousands of lobster traps laid out all along the continental shelf. To run one over was to risk fowling a boat’s propeller blade. Along the shore, a few enormous castles and several other large compounds dominated the skyline. The sun was shining brightly enough to make you squint. The sea was a deep blue and the sky, a rain-washed cerulean that made the eyes wince from its brightnesss. The air was rain cooled and pleasant. The conditions were ideal. Liberal libations, interspersed with the exquisite hors d’ouvres, accompanied the lively chatter on the aft deck. The four younger members of the crew were playing cards below or lolling on the stern, even at the boat’s topsy turvy bouncing at high speed. Craft of all sizes and complexity were everywhere around us. We admired some, laughed at others and enjoyed the day.

Bob slowed the craft as we entered Gloucester harbor. The Gorton’s fish processing plant, and a whole array of fishing boats, stood at ease as we entered. The names of the rusting and gull-winged craft were as always, interesting. We tied up to an anchor buoy. Nancy laid out sandwiches and salads for the whole passenger compliment to enjoy as we admired the expensive craft all around us. The “Red Baron,” at anchor nearby, is one of those luxury power-craft that usually employs a crew of four to operate. It is hard to imagine anyone, other than drug cartels, owning a vessel like this. Swans, ducks and seagulls competed noisily for scraps from ours and the surrounding boats.

The day was waning as Bob powered up the S.S. Fulford for the speed run back to Manchester harbor. A few very pricey sailing craft passed us as we sped back along the coast. It was a beautiful day amidst interesting people on the high seas. Everyone should spend days like this. Back in the harbor, we tied up the S.S. Fulford, packed up the refuse and set out for the Fulford villa nearby. We thanked the Fulfords for their hospitality, said goodbye to our new acquaintances and muttered “ci vidiamo quando ci vidiamo.” ( we will see you when we see you)

Mary and I were tired from the sun and the wind and the sea. We chilled out for a bit inside. It was to be our last night in Boston however. We couldn’t just loll about. We rallied in an hour or so and walked through the cool air to the North end. The crowds all along the way were lessened on a Sunday night, until we hit the North end that is. Every restaurant seemed SRO. We walked along Hannover St. and then onto Salem before we found a small and charming place that would take us in. “Al Dente” seats about 40 diners. Italian arias play in the background and the place is small and charming. We had a glass of Chianti and enjoyed a “real Italian” restaurant. I had the Frutti di mari, Mary, pasta with vodka sauce. Both were wonderful. The tab was an inexpensive $60. We were glad we had found the place. We walked back along Hannover St. again enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy tourist enclave. It was time for us to head into the barns. The Quincy Market was relatively quiet and all the Taverns nearby subdued as well. It was nice to see them throttle down on occasion. We returned to the Parker House, settled in to watch the Olympics and soon after surrendered to the sand man.

Monday- August 23 Boston, Mass.

We were up early, showered, packed our bags and prepped for the day. We had coffee and watched the Olympics on the today show. We were checking out later, but still had time for one last walk. We set out along Tremont St., past the Commons and then onto Boylston St. This is the beginning of the upscale neighborhoods in downtown Boston. The Four Seasons Sheraton overlooks the Gardens and might be a possible stop for us on our next trip here. A whole array of pricey clothiers spans out along Boylston, as it stretches past the Gardens and on up to Copley Square. We walked by and again admired Trinity Church. A whole squadron of bleary-eyed, street-commandos were taking their ease in front of the church. It is a fitting gathering spot for the dispossessed I guess. We wandered over to Copley square and browsed the clothes in Nieman Marcus. Then, we had coffee at a Starbucks in this pricey mall and complex. It’s nice to see how the other half lives on occasion.

In walking back to Copley Square, we saw outside about 7 of those amphibious and ubiquitous “Ducks” that the tourists flock to. Each is painted a different color. There appears to be a fleet of twenty of them. Whole galleries of Iowans, Dakotans and others from the various small towns across the country tour the city in these odd craft. Mercifully, we had either been too lazy or too embarrassed to try and board one of them. We walked back along Arlington St. to the Boston Gardens, once again admiring the beauty and serenity of this small haven amidst the chaos of such a large city. Mothers, and their kids in strollers, were everywhere about feeding the ducks and taking their ease. We perused a small 1700’s era cemetery on the Boylston side of the Commons. Most of its head stones had their slate surfaces wiped clean by time and weather.

Back at the Parker House, we showered, changed our clothes and finished packing. We checked out at 1P.M. The tab was $902 for four days, and reasonable for where we had been. We flagged a cab out front and drove to Logan airport for the 4:00 P.M. US air flight to Buffalo. The security line wasn’t too crowded. The process was perfunctory enough. We checked our bags in at the US air counter and walked the terminal for exercise. Nancy Fulford had mentioned the quality of the “Legal Seafood” restaurant here, so we settled in for lunch. Clam chowder, shrimp salad wraps and french fries were pretty good. ($35)

Gate 9-A was the waiting area for the small executive jet to the “ Big B. “ The cell phone monsters were ubiquitous and loud. Whatever happened to private conversations? I wish low voltage stun guns were an acceptable form of displaying annoyance at these rude cretins. Who says I was tired and getting cranky?

Soon enough, the US air flight loaded us on board and lifted off westward for the “Big B.” About 90 minutes later, we landed in Buffalo, picked up our bags and caught a cab for the castle in Amherst. It had been an enjoyable sojourn to an interesting city. We were glad we had gone, but as usual, much happier to have returned.

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Joseph Xavier Martin