I left Amsterdam Monday afternoon at three and arrived in Boston the same day in the afternoon at five.
While we began our descent to Logan International Airport, the NWA flight attendants hurriedly positioned themselves in the aisle and handed out customs and immigration forms to passengers. I took 2 forms, the green one for the visa waiver, and another one for customs, which I think was yellow.
I first filled up the visa waiver form, and like any immigration short questionnaire it asks where you will be staying. I wrote in the number, the street, and the city of the place I will be staying in Boston. Then there was also a blank space for the state. I paused, unsure what to write. I have always been good with spelling during my elementary years but I can’t seem to remember how many “s†there are in Massachusetts and if it’s actually a double or single “t�
I peeked over to the Dutch guy sitting beside me for answers, who is by the way just about 2 meters length – now, try to visualize how he managed to squeeze himself into the seat for 7 hours. Nevertheless, he was not of any help as he only wrote MA, the acronym of the state. Eh, bummer.
With no lifeline to call, I wrote down on the green form – Massachussets. Right, next time, I better stick to acronyms.
Samuel Adams in front of the Fanueil Hall. That’s Mr. Adams back towards me in the next foto. Historians say he is the catalyst of the great American Revolution.
For more foto’s please go to my new Flickr Foto Album —
Click here: Dutched Pinay Boston Fotos
The next couple of days was all about work. Busy. And of course, the arch nemesis of traveling transcontinental – jetlag. For two days in a row, I was waking up every hour after 24:00 midnight. Argh, I know its 06:00 in the Netherlands!!! Hated it. I felt like I had a hang-over for days.
I also managed to escape a bit to this gigantic modern mall that connects the main hotels in the area, the Hilton, Sheraton and Westin hotels. Since I was staying at one of these hotels, it was very convenient for me to slip in to the mall, walk around, shop a bit and go back up to my room during my free hours.
I was able to buy a few stuff. Some were sale items, some not.
How I actually found this huge mall which happens to be annexed to my hotel was by accident.
It was 6PM and I was dying for a walk. So I went out of my hotel from the lobby entrance, circled a bit and found this entrance to a mall by one of the main streets. I went in, browsed through the many shops and followed what seemed to be clusters of malls. To my surprise, I saw the sign of my hotel on top of one of the corridor junctions — Oh? This mall is connected to my hotel? From then on, I never went out of my hotel to get inside the mall, lol.
Strange place to pose at but yes, that is indeed a cemetery in the middle of busy Boston City. The next foto is the Trinity Church in Copley Square.
Well, during a lunch, I was talking to two American colleagues. The girl was telling me that she is going to Colorado to meet friends in a few days. The guy said he is also going there to ski the next weekend. It was one of those strange discussions that sort of digressed from quite interesting into really interesting. From sports activity we found ourselves talking about health, diet and corpulence. I found myself nodding in agreement and saying – Yeah, where are the fat Americans in Boston, anyway?
Not really wanting to cause an upheaval between the American states, I was told that unlike the south and the mid-west states, the east coast states are what they call the “healthy states†of America. Bostonians in particular, like the New Yorkers, are always physically moving about — walking, taking the subway, jogging and sporting. They very much lead an active lifestyle.
Thus, the stereotype of fat Americans is a far cry from being accurate as I have not really seen enough overweight and obese people to surmise the weak sweeping statement, well, at least in the east coast.
The morning before I left for New York City, I took the “Trolley Rideâ€. Before making this decision, I was torn between the “Skywalk†– to view Boston from above. Or, the “Trolley Ride†– to view Boston from the ground. In the end I stayed on ground and did the trolley tour.
Our tour driver was a young lively cacophonic guy. It was amazing how he survived cackling for an hour without pausing and drinking water. His stories were funny but it was really exhilarating to listen to his non-stop monologue. There was also this big plastic name tag that hangs on top of the trolley windshield beside him. It reads — Mr. President. I am not joking. That was his name.
Typical American newspaper stands, er… I mean boxes. Next foto is the signage of the Boston Common Park and behind it is the popular Old North Church.
At any rate, my train to New York City leaves 15:15 at South Boston Station but my watch on my mobile phone was still on Amsterdam time. Considering I am mathematics challenge, this lead to much confusion.
The consequence — At 13:05 Boston time, I literally panicked. I thought it was 14:05 after calculating the difference from my mobile phones’ Dutch time and the time on the clock wall.
I ran. With my short legs, my dyed hair flying on mid-air, and my tongue out; I lashed through the long, busy, and chilly stretch of Boylston Street, eyeing steadily at the big Prudential sign ahead on top of the tall building. The Prudential sign, which was my landmark for the hotel, looked like its just a stone’s throw away but it seemed like moons away to reach. I have arranged for a late check-out at 14:00 at the hotel and me being precise with time (as I terribly hate inconveniencing others), I thought it was already 14:05! And I still have five blocks to run!?
I got to my hotel room and saw the time on my bedside table: 13:18. Ugh, I hate math! How could I miss the -6 hour time difference? Next time, I make sure I switch my mobile phone time to the local time. No ifs and buts.
Five minutes before 14:00 I already stood by the hotel reception desk, all checked out. And with my luggage in tow, I made the exit to the mall to do my last 15-minute Boston shopping spree. I didn’t really bought anything. I was severely suffering (after being exposed to malls!) from the paralysis-analysis of — shall I buy this or not, do I need this or not. My luggage started to feel heavy so I went out of the mall and hailed a cab to the Boston South Station.
The taxi driver was speaking a different language into his mobile phone while artistically maneuvering his way in the busy city streets. I am like — Is telephoning while driving allowed in Boston? Being the nosy me and I did not mean about the telephoning and driving, I asked the cab driver what language he was speaking. He turned his big dark head towards me and gave me a wide grin, showing a set of huge white teeth, “Creole ma’am.â€
The 10-minute taxi ride was an interesting one. Mr. Creole cab driver announced he has had enough of being a taxi driver. He complained that he isn’t earning much; that there is just too much taxi competition in Boston. He wants out of the trade and his goal is to become an inter-state truck driver. However, for him to realize this, he must first go back to school. Driving school he means. He will also need to shell out $5,000 for the whole program. He said that lorry drivers earn by the mile and an easy $2,500 per week is what he wants.
I don’t know if he is just rubbing his ego at my neck but that amount would translate to a truck driver income of at least $100,000 per year with an 8-week unpaid vacation? Or wait, am I again math challenged?
Frozen lake in Boston Common. If you look closely at the foto, there is a sign there that says – Skate at your own risk!
Anyway, my alert eyes hastily surveyed the big station hall before me. I was looking for the Quick-Trak, the self-service ticketing kiosk of Amtrak.
I like to plan my travels way ahead of time. Everything must be arranged and booked online long before I set my foot in the USA. I do not like surprises, although they seem to happen all the time, lol. A copy of my travel plans, contacts, addresses and everything else sits at home for the Dutchman’s reference (he was in Luxemburg though for work when I was in the US). This is the usual drill.
I found the machine and after retrieving my tickets from the Quick-Trak, I moved to the nearby bench. I wanted to sit down so I can think. I need to figure out what I should do with my 20 minutes before I board the Amtrak Acela Express to New York City. Perhaps, I should buy those Miss Vickie’s chips so I have something to munch on in the train? Ah, I am dying to drink some fresh orange juice! Oh darn, I need to sign the tickets. I was in deep thought when my haphazard gaze met this guy staring at me. He smiled. Big smile. He brought himself up fast from his seat, and briskly walked towards me —
“Hey… (50 cents look-alike with the rap accent), I was just sitting there and then I saw you. Waaauw, you are one smokin’ hot girl?! And damn man… look at you, you got smokin’ hot boots!â€
This guy actually hit right on to me and invited me to have dinner with him?
Anyway, the encounter with this 50 cents look-alike still leaves me amused, and wondering — Was it me? Or, was it the what he calls, my smokin’ hot boots? Boot fetish huh? lol
Of all my trip stories, the Dutchman thinks this is the best that I brought back home to the Netherlands. Yeah, the smokin’ hot boots is it. Man, they rock.