Farewell Boston

After the action-packed weekend in Maine, there were only a few days before I was homeward bound so I made sure to visit all my favourite haunts.

I really love America, but there are a few things that do annoy me. One of these is the permeation of "Starbucks' Speak". To give an example, I went to order my coffee and said something along the lines of -

"Can I have a small chai tea latte, iced, with skimmed milk, but not too much ice, please"

Admittedly, the mannie behind the counter (I think they are called "Baristas"?) looked at my strangely, but I got what I wanted.

"You said it all wrongly" hissed my sister, once we were outside "It's a tall non-fat iced chai, easy on the ice".

Another day, I went into Starbucks and ordered a large Americano (that's just a normal coffee to those not fluent in Starbucks), primarily because I knew the fancy name for it. The annoying wifie behind the counter (a Lady-Barista?) looked confused -

"Do you mean tall, grande or venti?"

Now, come on, love. I know you work in Starbucks and probably spent 3 weeks learning the poncey names, but you have got 3 cup sizes - small, regular and large (little, medium and big, if you will) - surely you know which I mean. But, no, I was forced to got all Little Britain-esque with a point and a "I want that one" to convey that I wished to purchase a coffee in the most colossal-sized drinking receptacle available.

Whilst I am complaining, I frequently find American driving a bit alarming. Not only are the cars invariably driven on the wrong side of the road but the lane-changing can be quite hairy. At one point on our trip to the Kings of Leon concert, when the driver had got well and truly hacked off by my anxious exclamations of "check the mirror", "is your indicator on?", "let's just wait, shall we?", I gave up and resolved to close my eyes at the crucial point and only open them once we were safely in the correct lane. This proved to be a great solution and the rest of the drive passed without incident.

Anyway, back to my last week and particularly, Monday, which was a sad day as it was my last day at the gym. To celebrate, I went to 2 different classes - "Body Pump" during the day and "Cardio Dance" in the evening. If you remember, "Cardio Dance" is the class which demands not only that you do exercise (hence the "cardio") but also that you try and look alluring whilst doing so.

"I'm too tired to dance and look sexy tonight - I just don't have the energy", I confessed to my sister.

"What was your excuse last week then?" She retorted. She's growing to be such a wit since I've started quoting her in these blogs.

On Tuesday, my sister took a day off work and we travelled to Newport, which is in Rhode Island. It's a really quaint touristy place and home to certain "historic" (ie. 100 years old - that won't impress us Brits) mansions as well as a plethora of tourist and clothes shops. Most of these shops have a nautical theme - "Posh sailing shops for people who have never been near a boat", scoffed my sister.

Then Wednesday, it was time to travel back. After my less-than-comfortable journey over thanks to Mr Walrus' intrusive bulk, I was relieved to see that my immediate neighbours were a normal-looking, regular-sized middle-aged couple. Unfortunately, the obligatory Please-God-Don't-Be-Sat-Within-Earshot-Of-Me family complete with crying baby and over-excited toddler were seated directly behind me. After 4 hours of having my chair kicked by above-mentioned toddler, notwithstanding his mother's feeble protests that he "shouldn't kick the nice lady's chair or the nice lady might get cross", the nice lady felt like taking the little brat and hurling him from the nearest emergency exit. However, I found it slightly more amusing when the mischievious tot poked the surly stewardess' (substantial) derriere every time she passed the aisle. He may have been a brat, but he was certainly a brave brat......

After enroaching flesh and screaming children, my biggest bugbear about air travel is the security gates. There is a lot made about women at supermarket check-outs and the way that we always appear to be taken surprise when asked to pay at the till and only then commence search for our purse, notwithstanding the ample opportunity to do so whilst standing in the queue. However, I would contend that men at security are just as bad. I mean, they are standing in a queue for 20 minutes and watch every single person in front of them take off their jackets and shoes and remove their laptops from the case and yet, nearly without exception, they wait until they are at the conveyor belt before the sudden realisation - "Oh, I too am wearing a coat and shoes!"; "Why, I do believe that this case contains a laptop!" After witnessing the same pantomine time after time, I really felt like accosting the next male in the queue and removing his belt myself before checking his trousers pockets for any loose change.

However, this may have been slightly inappropriate. So I contented myself with just tutting and rolling my eyes in a meaningful way.

I've now got a few weeks back home before the 2nd stage of my travels to Thailand. Thanks for reading so far and check back in around 20 October for the start of my Far East adventure......

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