The easiest and cheapest way of getting from New York to Boston was the Chinese bus - only $25 one way, which was fine by me. One unplanned bonus was the fact that despite all the time I had spent in New York I hadn't made it to Chinatown (after the disappointment of the San Fran one) so at least I got to see a bit of it even though I didn't explore. The bus company was badly (well, non-existently really) signed, and the doorway was practically hidden between other shop fronts. Thank goodness I had all my luggage with me and someone realised what I was looking for and pointed me in the right direction.
Sitting behind me on the bus was five or six college kids going to Boston for a few days, and I had fun pretending to read my travel guide while really eavesdropping on their conversation. I was also excited about driving through Connecticut and Massachusetts, but in the end all I saw was highway and some very uninspiring trees.
We finally made it to Boston and thankfully the hostel had given me fairly decent instructions on how to get there. Not that it was easy thanks to my backpack, daypack, and wheelie luggage. I know that you have to have gates into the subway to make people pay, but do you know how hard it is to get through them with three enourmous bags? I negotiated the subway system (the "T" - hehe) with relative ease thanks to great signage and headed out of the T station into the bitter bitter cold to await the bus. A very kind native Bostonian (recognisable by his accent, thick as two planks) helped me with my bags both on and off the bus (how charming) and pretty soon I was checking in. The reception guy was very nice and as we were chatting away I was reading all the signs and things about the place, not interested really, but just out of an unbreakable habit of continually reading anything that happens to be around. However one piece of information stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Wait a minute. That sign there says John Lennon stayed here."
"He sure did. Back in the 60s."
"Oh my GOD!! I am such a huge Beatles fan! I cannot believe he stayed here! I'm staying in the same hostel as John Lennon!!"
"Well...do you want to stay in the same room?"
"Oh my GOD!! Of course!"
So, not only did I get to stay in the John Lennon room, but there wasn't anyone else in there for the three nights I was there, so I had it all to myself!! The excitement of that wore off fast though as I realised why I had it all to myself. Or, rather, why the hostel wasn't full of guests at that particular time. February in the USA is winter, and it had been getting progressively colder as I travelled from Boulder to San Fran to LA to New York, and now by Boston I was freezing my little fingers off. But even I was unprepared for what I woke up to the next day. My trip to Boston came inclusive of one full-blown blizzard, free of charge. And I, not being used to snow (and especially not in such large amounts) thought, well, bugger it, I'm only in Boston for a few days, I'm going out anyway. Silly Lucia.
I waited out in the blizzard for the bus, and although I was already freezing I pushed ahead with my hare-brained scheme. From the bus to the T, three T transfers, a short walk, 45 minutes and minus one million degrees later, I was standing outside the Boston Museum. It was shut. Duh, they shut things in blizzards because no-one other than insanely determined and clueless tourists would consider going outside in that weather (oh, hindsight is a wonderful thing). At least I wasn't the only idiot staring gormlessly at the securely locked museum doors, but the fact that two British people were just as stupid as I was didn't cheer me too much. Particularly as I had lost my gloves in Peru, and I thought my fingers were going to snap off. An hour, three T transfers, one bus transfer, a short walk and a zillion units of patience later, I was back at the hostel, enthusiasm well dampened, but at least back to 37 degrees celcius. I sat on the computer and drank hot cups of tea for the rest of the day, and contemplated the frustration of being in a new city and not being able to see anything.
The blizzard had stopped the following day, and I thought (silly me) that I could finally do something cultured and see some history (the main reason I came to Boston was to check out all the Independence sites and the Boston Tea Party site and all the related stuff. When I mentioned this to the check in guy, he just laughed and said, "Good luck finding the Freedom Trail with all this snow on the ground!". I looked outside and saw the snow ploughs struggling with the nearly waist deep layer of white and reluctantly gave in to the girls at the hostel and resigned myself to a day of shopping. We went to Macy's, and had sushi, and wasted time basically.
We planned to go out that night to taste test some of Boston's famous seafood, and from that point on things began to go horribly wrong. We got there late and the place was about to close (only 21:00) so the waitress rushed us into ordering, and one of the girls I was with (from South Carolina) got all flustered and stressed. Then her soft drink came out and it was flat. She sent it back. The replacement was flat. Then the other girl I was with (from England) didn't like her dish. Then they wouldn't split the bill. Then the waitress was hanging around while we were trying to decide how much tip to leave (not much considering the service we got and how much we paid for our meal). The whole experience was a disaster and very embarrassing for everyone involved. We couldn't wait to get out of there and the car ride home was very quiet. I had resigned myself to writing that night off as completely ruined, but I underestimated the power of alcohol and karaoke.
Earlier that night we'd made plans with this English kid (from London) to come out with us for dinner, but when we left he wasn't there (thank god). When we got back to the hostel we decided we'd go and find a pub to go and have a drink at (even though at that point I wanted to go to bed and never see these people again). The kid (don't remember his name) came with us and so did Nathan, a kind of kooky older (but not old) guy who was also staying at the Prescott. The five of us bundled in the car and drove to downtown Boston, where all the pubs and stuff are. When we got there we found two great and unexpected bonuses:
1. The beers were $1 and
2. They had karaoke.
Of course everyone was adamant they were not going to sing, but after some Dutch courage (and some extremely bad singing by other people which gave us confidence) we all sang at least once. I fulfilled a dream (partly) when Nathan and I did a duet of "Summer Nights" from Grease. It brought the house down and we had loads of fun. We stayed at the pub till they kicked us out and went back to the hostel where we had vodka and cranberry juice, dunkin' doughnuts and corn chips.
The next day was my last in Boston and it promised to be a good one as I looked out of the window to find a bright, bright sunshiny day. We (the South Carolina girl, the England girl, Nathan, and the London boy) went for breakfast to a cafe around the corner from the Prescott, which was very enjoyable (and, I promised myself, the absolute LAST cholesterol-laden breakfast I would have for the next six months). The downer came as I reached into my back pocket to pay for my breakfast, to find my wallet, including credit card, bankcard, driving licence but thankfully not too much cash, was gone. Some frantic searching, a call to the Everett police station and a lot of sighing later, I gave up and called the Commonwealth Bank to have my card cancelled. So much for the duty-free shopping I was going to do at the airport. I went back to the hostel and finished up packing my bags, and then Nathan and I (he had a flight a little before mine) headed off by bus and T to the airport. Along the way as we were chatting, he brought up a very interesting proposition. Apparently it's very easy to get a position teaching English in Asian countries like Korea, China and Japan. They like if you have a TEFL qualification, but, he said, to be honest, the most important thing is to get really good headshots done! They want young, vibrant people teaching their classes because that's what will bring the students (and therefore the money) in. Even better if you don't speak Korean, Chinese or Japanese as then you won't be able to "cheat" and speak to the stundents in their native language. Sabrina's got me really excited about going to Seoul, so maybe once I'm finished in Barcelona, 6 months of teaching English in Seoul before heading to Buenos Aires will fit in just nicely. I'll probably be teaching English in Spain anyway, so most likely I'll even have some teaching experience! Anyway, it's something to think about and look into.
After I sadly bade Nathan adieu (the crappy thing about making so many friends overseas is that you have to say goodbye to them all eventually) I went to check in at the Aer Lingus desk (theirs being the only airline to let me buy an e-ticket with my Aussie credit card, thanks a million Aer Lingus) and what a relief to come to the desk and hear that thick Dublin accent! It was like I was already home. I chatted at length with the check in girl (never mind the queue that was building up behind us) about Boston, and Dublin, and the craic in both places, and she reprinted my boarding pass with an exit row seat (cheers for the leg room) and I got checked in and went to wait in the interminable airport security line. Some airport clam chowder (actually not bad), airport coffee (very bad) and what seemed like a thousand years later, I was on the aeroplane. At that point I was tired, uncomfortable, penniless and really really ready to come home. The flight was uneventful, other than the millions of Irish guys in khakis (must have been some kind of military troop or something) milling around Shannon airport. Any other day I would have been over the moon at all the gorgeous uniformed men, but at 05:30 after a 10 hour flight I was not looking or feeling my best, and in fact was just annoyed that they had taken over the only coffee outlet in the airport.
Finally touching down at Dublin airport I felt strange. I was relieved to be home, that my own bed, own couch, own clothes were only a short bus ride away, but was this the end? Was I now to return to everyday life, which compared to the last months would certainly seem routine, dreary, interminably monotonous ("Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,/Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,/to the last syllable of recorded time;...")? The last year (more or less) had been a series of embarkations, of beginnings, of adventures. Now I had my first homecoming, and I wasn't sure that I liked it.
