The Taming of a Turbo Tourist

I'm a sucker for a road trip, especially the impetuous last minute kind.  I'm also infamous for inviting myself along on any adventure that comes up on my radar, which is why many of my friends are tight-lipped about their travel plans.  They know I'll invite myself along.  Just ask my friends Keith and Kathy who ended up having me as a self-invited crew member for an entire month on their sailboat. I'd like to think that they didn't suffer that bad having me along since I swabbed a lot of decks and stood watch at crazy hours of the night. But the thing is, this world is so dang fascinating to me that I just want to see it all. And I'm willing to awkwardly invite myself along on someone else's adventure just to see it. [Be forewarned.]

Mark was my most recent victim of self-inviting when I learned he had a business meeting in Boston. I didn't hesitate to tell him to book TWO tickets. I have no problem wandering streets, trains, or subways all by myself in a strange city while my poor husband is stuck in meetings all day--all in the name of adventure.

Here's what I've recently learned about Boston:

There are no crowds in January.  

This photo might offer some speculative reasons as to why I had this incredible town all to myself...15 degrees of  Brrrrr!

Notice an extreme lack of city traffic in the background. I happened to arrive right in the middle of a giant Atlantic snowstorm. But I bundled up in layers of hats, scarves, gloves, sweaters, coats, and boots (things we Oregonians like to call "accessories"-but they are definitely necessities here) and I made Boston my oyster. Albeit my frozen oyster.

"Turbo Tourism" is a rare breed of traveller whose methods usually drive leave-no-stone-unturned-read-every-sign-and-plaque-at-a-leisurely-pace sight-seers bonkers, and sadly I would be guilty of the former not the latter. I'm a Turbo Tourist who likes to come and conquer--mostly because I have a terribly long bucket list of places to see that will take several lifetimes to accomplish.

But after getting started on my Boston quest, I found it to be too rich to take at such a fast pace.  Like wolfing down gelato.  Some things just need to be basked in.  I found myself lingering in the King's Chapel inside incredible box pews which were owned by wealthy families of the time and wandering the grave yards where history's revolutionaries were buried as well as the gravesite of Elizabeth Pain who was believed to be the real life Hester Prynne from The Scarlett Letter. I even spent half a day loitering in the splendor of Boston's public library enamored by it's rare book collections, including sermon books, family bibles, witchcraft books, and even a room completely filled with a cache of over 6,000 books on Joan of Arc. I was in history-geek heaven, a turbo tourist reformed.

I spent a very snowy part of the week wandering the town, chatting up Haitian cabbies, and learning Boston's subway system "The T", almost by heart.  And when the weekend finally came, the snow began to thin on the sidewalks and, at long last, both Mark and the warming sun made their first appearance.

Once Mark was in tow I resumed my usual stealth travel mode-we only had two days left and our Boston clock was ticking. We commenced by walking the length and breadth of the Freedom Trail at a pace that would have qualified us for Boston's famous Marathon; we toured "Old Ironsides" from top to bottom, walked to Paul Revere's house, and stormed up Bunker Hill like a bunch of Red Coats prepared to do battle.  Then we finished off the day by skimming Boston's Museum of Art for pieces mostly from Colonial America while museum curators stood perplexed watching Mark and I whiz past the vast array of Egyptian artifacts in the Ancient World exhibit and snub our noses at the Modernest Photography displays without even so much as a glance.  We were hellbent to spend our last days taking in Colonial Boston and leave the rest to the summer tourists.

By the time our Boston Blitz was over and we arrived at the airport for our 6 hour flight back to the west coast, we were in love with Boston...snow and all.  There's got to be something magical about a place that can temporarily tame a turbo tourist like me.