Boston In January
Driving about Boston the houses seems to be as they have all been shoved into a closet tightly bunched together with there shoulders to their ears. Elegant as the movies that try to perceive the lovely 1900’s, I cant help but feeling warped back into time. The craftsmanship and detail on the siding all the way down to the railing post and mailbox’s scream antique boutique doll house. Backstreets draped with cable wires, they hang like clothes lines. You wouldn’t think to find as much tenements as you’re exposed to. However, these for the most part aren’t project buildings but condos and one or two bedroom apartments soaring up through the wires all around you. As the tight nit houses surround the city everything is spinning. The Atlantic Ocean being a huge provider to our nations upbringing was a huge impact on Boston’s infrastructure, making the city streets and surrounding quarters a spiraling maze.
Colder than I imagined, the downtown city streets are alive. Out of townees are probably spotted quickly by their faces as they squint about trying to shield their eyes from the sharp icy wind. Despite the grueling chill which always seems to one up on you, every moment is adored. Local pubs scratch the surface as new and hip restuarants try to lure in on goers with there floerescent blackboard ads phrasing “best cream donuts” and “hot tea & coffee”. Young students crawl throughout looking for thrills in large groups mainly for encouragement, as they pass by shyly speaking the latest. The breeze is crisp and it howled pinching the very tips of nose’s and ears of those outside wanting to play. However, be careful who you ask for directions while walking underneath the moon. Mallets from the Salem witch trials are said to still be heard echoing along with bloody screams from innocent women being burned to death just to prove a point, or a point of view. The building where trials were held still stands and host tours frequently. A painting of a re enactment posted outside has enough detail you would think the artist has veiwd this first hand. Eventhough the occurrences were so many years ago the building still gives of such an erie feeling like people walking past you as if you were standing on the platform at pennstation. While being watched by a figure standing in the window frames behind the curtain staring you down wanting your sense of life, following you back home in hopes to take you when you sleep.
Approaching the Samuel Adams brewery you can tell that what once started as a small business has transformed the whole community into a striving close nit bunch. Owning what it would seem to be about 5 blocks surrounding where they host the tasting and tours. Charter buses and street cars that make you think of San Fransico roam about. Not no fancy buses neither, they were old and charming ones our grandparents would use but restored to show they are cared for. Most or all passing with a glaze in there eyes from both barley and joyful tears. Experiencing the brewing process and holding the raw materials of a world renowned beverage is pretty astonishing. While a microphone projects the voice of a privileged employee around the room you just remembered that there really was more than Massachusetts then cream doughnuts and witches. As visitors listen on about the history of the great city and town and people who made it what it is today, the most attention grabbing subject on every ones mind is what they smell. The aroma from a mile away was intoxicating enough to lead anyone with a dry tongue to the front door. The second room which you are brought into has piles of fresh malted barley waist high along side hops from across the globe. Holding the fresh ingredients up to your nose your senses are brightly perked and taste buds wonder for a taste.
Although confusing the city was subtle and peaceful, easy to park in and enjoyable. With Beacon hill looking as it would on the show Cheers the nostalgia in the building and brownstones in the neighborhood are picture worthy as every angle seems to be ready for its close up. Greens in window boxes to the horse and carriages passing by kicking up mucky snow. Black spun rod iron fences cascading down the steep stairways with snow shoveleded off to the side, its a fairy tale.
Thinking about my drive home only makes me concentrate on my fun and soon to be memorable experiences. Young and hip slang talking bunch with high top shoes racing among the streets waiting for there school bell. Border lining a historical ghost town village with doll houses and swinging cable wires. Shoving against sheik condiminiums raising from every angle nestled around the small quaint city of Boston, Massachusetts.