A friend in Boston

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We collected our Amtrak tickets and USA passes from New York Penn station where grubby jumbles of homeless men and women share coffee, routed through the bins and shelter from the cold. The journey was quite picturesque especially the section that followed the coast line past small fishing villages at the icy mouths of great winding rivers ending their journey into the sea. We travelled past flat reedy marsh land, through snowy woods over a crisp, icy and photogenic landscape . Four and three quarter hours later we arrived at Boston South Station where a smiling Karen in woolen red hat was waiting to greet us.

Wow I thought New York was cold but Boston is something else. The station is located in the financial district. The ground treacherous with dark, glassy ice patches and hard lumps of re-frozen, dirty, slushy snow. We grab a cad and head south towards Karen's flat past a wide, partially frozen river and into a picturesque area of powder blue, light yellow and duck egg green painted wooded houses. We catch up for a bit with a glass of Riesling then head out along the icy pavements to a local bar where it's quiz night. We try and help our table but the questions are mostly US centric and we have no clue so we content our selves drinking several pitchers of beer, tucking into the bar menu and laughing along in the warm and hospitable hustle and tussle of the bar. The following day we have a lazy morning and a slow breakfast before attempting the 'Freedom walk' through Boston. We manage the first four points of interest, criss crossing Boston Common before becoming aware that we are no longer able to feel fingers and toes. The icy wind is rasping and reddening our ears and noses. We are head down into the wind and only wanting to visit warm places we decide a museum may be a better option than continuing the two and a half hour walk. We find the Massachusetts State House at the top corner of the common on Beacon Hill and take sanctuary in this magnificent building designed by Charles Bullfinch and completed in 1798. It is built with marble patterned floors and pillars. Paintings depicting Paul Reveer's Midnight Run, The Boston Tea Party and other significant moments in local history decorate ceilings and panels in the high walls. A sculpture sits as a memorial to Army Nurses - 'Angles of mercy and life amid scenes of conflict and death.'. Great golden eagles, leaves and coloured glass decorate the ceilings. There is a flag room and reproductions of important historical documents written by the founding fathers. It is very interesting a well worth a visit. We leave as it is closing and head down the hill to Starbucks where we slip hot chocolate and wait for Karen to come and meet us.

She leads us around the corner to a crowded, smart bar and restaurant where a huge LCD screen shows images of a real fire place that suggests warmth. We sip martinis on leather stools at the bar. We decide on trying an Ethiopian restaurant that is close to Karen's flat but are left disappointed at the bland and meager portions of vegetarian fair that is served to us in a large tin tray lined with bread that you tare and wrap around food before popping it into your mouth. The experience is different and interesting but the food was poor.

Another lazy morning follows before we wander into the centre of town and eat lunch at a great little vegetarian cafe called Veggie Planet offering a variety of dishes including Mexican, Curry and Pizza. We then go shopping for some sexy boots that Karen has been coveting before heading to The Museum of the Arts, Boston. The first two rooms, Herb Ritts and Brown Gallery, is showing an exhibition called Photographic Figures. Arno Rafael Minkkinen, Herb Ritts and Saul Leiter all catch my eye with some great images. It was written about Leiter that he 'captures quiet, lyrical moments in everyday life' which I thought was quite a nice turn of phrase. Afterwards we visit the Winslow Homer exhibition in which there are Civil War illustrations, Oils of fishermen struggling in rough seas, delicate water colours and some beautiful pencil of women and children highlighted with white paint. Rachel Whitehead is showing some unemotional doors and other dry stuff that leaves us all unmoved. On the way out there is a great optical piece. Several blown mirror glass pieces sit on a mirrored shelf surrounded by mirrors. This is all viewed through a one way mirror creating reflections that fade back, bending to near infinity. When the gallery closes we take a taxi to the Delux Cafe, a bar decorated with Elvis memorabilia, punk record covers and a stuffed Jackalope which is basically a rabbit with antlers. I suggested that it was a hoax but both Karen and the bar tender insist that it is real. A Google search later confirms my suspicions. We move on to a lovely dark Vietnamese restaurant and bar called Pho Republique decorated with red curtains and a gong for more drinks before heading to a bistro that is all low lit with dark wood and candles. I eat a delicious garlic rubbed free range half a chicken washed down with a sugar rimmed cocktail called Sidecar from Hell. We then pushed on to a tiny corridor of a Jazz bar called Wally's Cafe where we stood shoulder to shoulder with others appreciating a young but very talented band, probably students from the nearby Berkley School of Music. The band consisted of Trumpet, Guitar, Double bass, Piano and Drums. The drummer was really 'in the zone' possessed by some rhythm demon he tossed his head around, jazz gurning and grinning with every tap and stroke. The bass player bobs and nods, his head by his knees whilst the piano, trumpet and guitar take turns with the lead exploring those outer regions of music and inner worlds of complex, mathematical emotion that they love to wander through. We have a snow ball flight on the way back to the flat where we crash out drunk, our heads, stomachs and hearts full of good music, food and friendship.

We get up and pack but are unable to summon a taxi by phone as no one seems to be answering. Karen and I run through the fresh eight inches of snow down to the local mall and grab a cab which drives us back to pick up Lou and the bags. We say our quick farewells. Time is ticking and it is a fraught journey to the train station. We make the train with two minutes to spare which is too close for comfort. We are on our way to Philadelphia, city of brotherly love.

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