Boston: Red Sox vs. Red Coats.

There’s no other way to put it: Boston is a strange and wonderful place. So full of history, so full of pride in itself, and so full of Red Sox and Celtics fans that it’s hard for a Midwesterner like me to feel comfortable.

From the winery it was a pretty short drive up to Beantown, except when I got there my Google directions sent me directly into the mouth of madness. I made a few wrong turns and was on the other side of town from my hotel before I knew what happened. Then, magically, I turned onto the right street. Zip. Just like that.



My hotel was the Bulfinch, and it’s shaped like the Flat Iron building in NYC. It’s a great place. I got my stuff settled in and, since it was only about 5 p.m., decided to hit the town to see as much as I could before night fell. That, and I was incredibly exhausted after waking up at 5:30 in the morning.



The Freedom Trail, a few-mile-long path that leads from one Revolutionary War site to the next, is a perfect was to see the city. It guides you, helps you learn the streets, and gives you a sense of order and place in a city where a “square block” is as rare as the dodo.





Back in the day, Boston was a helluva place. Rabble-rousers like Samuel Adams and John Adams all used this city as a launching pad against the British. The Old State House, the site of the Boston Massacre (it’s an intersection now, sadly), Bunker Hill – Boston takes great pride in these places, so much so that they’re all still being used for public purposes. Faneuil Hall (above, with Sam Adams) is now a shopping center.



I couldn’t make it across the bridge to Cambridge to see Bunker Hill Monday night because my knee flared up, but I did make it to the Italian part of town. Let me tell you how good it smelled. So good, in fact, I whipped into the Modern Bakery for some canoli. The ladies in front of me bought $47 worth of baked goods, but I couldn’t compete with that. Besides, it was dinner time, so I stopped into the Green Dragon Tavern for food and beer. I met a couple, Bill and his wife (I don’t remember her name), from England, who had a unique perspective on the place’s history.



Also, James and Shara from Santa Barbara talked our ears off. It was kind of nice. I hadn’t talked to anyone – really talked – the whole trip, so we chatted for hours. Another couple joined us (one of them another Brit) and we talked about American sports and soccer and United Nations and NGOs and the environment. The prototypical bar scene.



I limped home knowing I saw a lot of what the city had to offer. But I still had to see Bunker Hill, so I slept great (on a real bed!) and got up bright and early and hit the trail.



Bunker Hill is in Cambridge, which is across the river from Boston proper. As you can see, it looks just like the Washington Monument: a tall granite obelisk that you can see for miles around town. The actual hill is pretty modest, but I stood there thinking about those Boston trouble-makers, led by Prescott, firing down on the advancing Red Coats, and it was awe-inspiring.



As an American, you can’t help but feel proud of what those guys went through, and how brave they were to stand up to what was then the most powerful army on Earth.



After Bunker Hill, I came back into the city and grabbed a quick breakfast and coffee, and headed to the hotel to check out. A quick nap, a few right turns out of town, and I was back on the highway heading toward Concord and Walden Pond.

Tags: boston, boston common, boston tea party, bunker hill, faneuil, old state house, sam adams