BeanTown Babble

What a whirlwind in only 58 hours! Thursday afternoon, Megan and I departed for beautiful, cool, crisp, edge-of-spring Boston. We met at Tracy’s house (4th grade teacher who lives near the airport and so willingly agreed to pick us up at the airport at 10:30!) in drizzly Nashville to head off on our adventure to Boston. We were amazing in our planning and didn’t even realize it. We got to the airport, checked in (but checked no luggage; carry-on only for time saving at check in upon departure in Boston where it was possible we‘d have a timing crunch-though I‘m not really sure I understand where we saved any time by not checking…maybe 15 seconds), rolled through security, put our shoes and jackets and jewelry back on, bathroomed, and walked on the plane which was conveniently boarding as we arrived at the gate. The connection in Charlotte was much the same. We had JUST enough time for some yogurt. Chocolate/vanilla swirl with M&M minis. YUM! Both flights were bumpy, but uneventful. We were not seated together either flight. My second flight was very informative as a cheer-mom who was afraid of flying (thick Boston accent- I imagined her as gum chewing, but never saw any evidence) sat next to an almost-too-patient father (seemed to say all the right things yet was not engaged at all in his 5 year old daughter, though he was very proud of her) who chatted NON-STOP to Boston. At Boston volume. Well, northern volume. How’s that? Sorry, Bewley. I guess though, in honor of my future year abroad, I suppose I could say American volume. At any rate, I can tell you her kids’ names, ages, and respective abilities in gymnastics and cheering as well as his wife and son’s names, including some of the jokes the son likes to tell (thanks for sharing with all of us, sister). I think it’s great when strangers are nice to each other. There is, however a limit. Let’s say 1 hour 45 minutes more or less.
Anyhow, since I’ve wasted a whole paragraph on only the first 4 hours of the trip, I should move along. And (don’t worry I’m noticing), I think I need to start rationing my parentheses.
So we land in Boston, take our reimbursed cab ride to Cambridge and get out at our hotel. I check us in while Megan scours the brochures and systematically grabs every one of them. We go to our very nice, yet stuffy room, hit the highlights of the pamphlets and journey back downstairs to grab a bite. All the while, mind you, Megan is trying to pop her ears that clogged somewhere over North Carolina when she slept on the plane with congestion. Way to go. Back to dinner…I think I need New England clam chowder (that’s for you Kate!) so we go the seafood route. Luckily there is one within walking distance. As in 50 paces walking distance. I chose to walk those 50 paces. Megan continues hopping, jumping, hanging herself upside down, and making strange faces to attempt to pop said clogged ear. Unsuccessful.
Legal Seafood apparently is semi-famous, and the clam chowder I ordered was served at the past 7 presidential inaugurations. I was disappointed. It was good, but I apparently wasn’t in the mood. Megan had a fried platter and alternated waddling :) with hopping back to our hotel. So we go upstairs and being the party animals that we are, get into pjs, plan our day and go to bed with the tv on. I of course am out like a light in a matter of minutes. Megan, on the other hand, tosses, turns, coughs, etc for awhile. Long about 2:30 am, I awake to this incessant mumbling. I can’t make out any of the words until thermostat. Our air conditioning apparently doesn’t work. Awesome. So I get up, show Megan where the thermostat is because she can’t see it by light of cell-phone, or else because she was actually sleep-talking and -walking.
Finally we fix it and enjoy a relatively good night’s sleep.

Friday we wake to overcast skies and a grey, cool day. We’re fine with that. We take the Red line (aptly named for Harvard’s color-crimson) two stops to Harvard and put on our thinking caps and smart-looking faces to enter. When I was in Boston for a day years ago while visiting Bhavini in Amherst, I remember loving Harvard and not caring much for anything else. Something about it is so peaceful. Here you are, right next to a subway stop and busy streets; yet upon entering the gates, all you hear is birds chirping. We oohed and ahhed (or is it awed?) and compared campus and campus life to that at Lipscomb- so opposite in many ways. Then we shopped. I was disappointed in us. We went to the Harvard bookstore, the Harvard shirt store and somewhere else starting with Harvard, yet came away empty handed. The good news is, whenever you travel with Megan Allen, no gift shop will remain untouched. She found her Harvard hat in the Cambridge Marriott later that night.
We got back on the crimson Red line to our hotel which also conveniently was a ticketed stop for the Old Town Trolley ride. By now, it’s drizzly in Boston, too, so we rain-geared up and sucked it up and headed on the trolley.

I was dead set on the Freedom Trail. Why, you ask, when I despise history and all things social studies? Well, I’m not so sure, but I felt we should do it…and I wanted to see the first public school.
Off we went on a walking tour following the red-brick path through Boston over 2 miles of history. Reading of the Constitution, site of the Boston Massacre, Bunker Hill monument, the USS Constitution, Paul Revere’s house (that he shared with 2 wives at different times and SIXTEEN CHILDREN) and grave, Fenway Park (for my new inner sporty spice, though it has yet to transfer from football to any other sport…Go Titans!), etc, etc, etc. By the end of the day, “etc” was enough for me.
After walking our two miles, I was famished, so we stopped in a sandwich shop and I literally had the best portabello sandwich I’ve ever tasted. It was magnificado!
With a full belly, we boarded another trolley. Our driver was Peppermint Patty! She was great so we thought we’d hang out with her for the rest of the day. Then we passed H&M and had to get off! Newberry Street here we came. I introduced Megan to the wonderful world of H&M, yet we left unsatisfied. Oh, make no mistake, I bought yet another pair of cheap sunglasses as well as unnecessary earrings, but not my usual H&M loot. I guess I took care of it all in Chicago this time! By now, it’s not only rainy, but cold, so we re-board the trolley. This time our driver was Ziggy and we were his only passengers for quite some time. I think that bothered him. Oh well.
We rode the trolley through all the stops we had missed, stopped at the market so I could get a Red Sox hat (I know it’s out of character, but man is it cute! Bewley, tell Tom I’m not truly a fan), and ended up at the Oyster Bar whose name is leaving me at the moment, but it was where JFK always ate, so we got a picture in his favorite booth. I have never enjoyed a $35 meal before! Being a chicken girl and not a steak eater, I have literally never eaten a meal (I guess maybe that I paid for) that was that expensive. But I enjoyed it. And somehow, even enjoyed the thick Boston accent of our waitress.

At this point (8pm) we were miserable, so we red-lined it again and got in our pajamas. After talking to Turner, who told me all about his Mothers’ Day (it bothers me that we write it in the singular possessive when it’s all mothers’ holiday!) cards for Amanda, and told me about his really scary dinosaur “mobie” that he was about to watch and who asked me if I were coming to his house tomorrow and how was my weekend?

Are you still reading? So after that, we went to the infamous gift shop where Megan bought her armfuls and I bought a little chocolate. I know I was miserable after dinner, but everyone who comes from the Berry line needs chocolate on a daily basis no matter the scenario. So I got my nutrageous and Diet Coke and Megan got her Hahvahd hat and Cheers mugs and Boston shot glass (I mean, the girl loves souvenirs) and we retreated to the room.
This morning, I got up earlier than the alarm of course, because I do that, but also because I was so excited about the day ahead! I know that six hours of meetings is not ideal fun, but it makes this whole Mexico thing real, so I was positively anxious.
I got my shower and then had to figure out two things: 1-when do I wake Megan? And 2- how do I get everything back in my one, carry on-sized suitcase???? Call me a genius-or a Fulbright Scholar- but I figured out both!
Only the people who truly love me are still reading, so I’m going to continue babbling way too much (just wait until I’m actually in Mexico- you’ll be missing me so badly you’ll want to read all this!).
The meeting started out with a breakfast. I dined on some of the best granola I’ve ever eaten. I’m noticing Boston is a city where my stomach is always full. And it’s typically really fatty stuff. Good thing I don’t live there! The first little bit was an introduction to the staff and those running the meetings as well as some general highlights of cultural things to be aware of and how to prepare your exchange partner for their own culture shock. Then they split us into several groups, so Megan and I went our separate ways. I got to talk to a Spaniard who teaches in Boston and is an American citizen who did an exchange in Mexico. That was interesting! I wish, however, that we had had more parallel exchanges. He taught at the University level which is polar opposite from elementary and he is a man, which is polar opposite from being a woman no matter where you go, but in Hispanic culture especially. He even said he wished there had been a woman there so I could talk to her. But he was helpful.
Lunch. Yet again, too much food, but thankfully some Boston Cream Pie. (Crème?) I was thoroughly impressed. Big shocker. After lunch, administrators got to depart for an hour while I had meetings with Mexican teachers (again both men) on exchange here. They were ridiculously helpful. They gave advice on where to live, how much things should cost, what questions to ask, etc. It was a very valuable time. I left having a very big headache from having to think and absorb so much. Megan and I got changed into comfy clothes and our new cute hats and chilled in the lobby since our flight was still two hours away. So much for not checking luggage to save time!
As I write this on the plane from Charlotte, I must end with a funny story from this plane. When Megan and I departed from Guatemala last summer, we flew through Charlotte at some ungodly hour of the morning. On
a
Puddlejumper!
It was miserable and our flight attendant was on our nerves before the cabin door was shut. Well, in Charlotte, we have over an hour, so Megan wants to eat dinner. I of course already had my peanut butter sandwich packed on Thursday. I know.
So we stop in the food court area but the Burger King has a mile-long line and she sees that there’s a BK near Gate E25, so we press on, commenting on our way there that a sit-down place that we see would likely be better food. We get to our gate. Burger King? Being renovated. We traipse back up to Fox sports Den or something. We now somehow have 15 minutes until boarding, and I had seen on our itinerary that this flight has limited storage space. You guessed it: puddlejumper…
Long story short, we have to walk outside to the plane (think Mexico, Laura, think Mexico) and at the stairs we’re greeted with instructions for gate checking our luggage. So I take out my breakables from the outside of my suitcase-earrings, sunglasses- and get on the plane. Row 13A. I drop Megan off in seat 1A. Why does United not put people traveling together on the same itinerary?! I carry on and begin to realize that not only am I the last row, but I’m also conveniently located by the restroom. How many people used it before we took off you ask? THREE! Really?
The couple in front of me is laughing at me because of course I traded my cheery disposition for snide comments. Luckily the flight was not full. I got up and asked the flight attendant if I could move and she said to wait and see. Shortly after, she comes to get me and says I can sit in this seat or that seat, both by people while there are three, count them three empty rows. So I sit and then she goes back to the back of the plane saying there’s more room if anyone wants to spread out. She tells me I can move if I’d like and I do. We’re about to begin the instructions from the phone even though we’re all within 10 feet of each other and can hear her fine when a couple walks in, looking at their boarding passes. Where were their seats? Yep. So the FA is like, “Here, you guys, this lady has just moved several times, you can take any open seats you’d like.” The whole plane is laughing while trying to not be seen because they’ve witnessed my moving all about. She escorts them back to the back row in front of the bathroom, which has a slight advantage to being beside it, and the old man bellyaches the whole way. I don’t blame him. I get the guilty conscience as everyone is looking at me and laughing yet saying with their eyes “go back to your seat you selfish princess.” As the FA comes by me I tell her I’ll be glad to move back, she says “stay where you are” in a snide tone even I couldn’t compete with. Thankfully she was snide toward them and not me.
Some days it pays to be a princess.
*****I apologize for the length of this entry. As I mentioned before, this is journal-esque and actually mostly for me, so if it bores you, no surprise here. But should you get some entertainment along the way, I’m glad for ya.