The Calm After the Storm

I’m on the train – the last train. This one takes me from Boston to Chicago. It’s a big one, nearly 24 hours, but it’s the last one. I’m in a familiar position: reclining in a train seat with the autumnal colours of the world passing me at trundling speed. The vintage 70’s upholstery blends effortlessly with the golden browns in the woods outside. All around me are silent, dozing people going to who knows where for who knows what.

My current calm surroundings are a fitting epithet to the past week in Boston, which was a welcome return to more slow-paced activities after the storm that was New York. As with most cities I’ve visited my expectations and plans were virtually non-existent due to my lack of research. I like doing this as it leaves me as flexible as possible and makes my discoveries all the more exciting. It’s also helpful when you’re staying with friends as they inevitably have plans that will impact the possibilities.

On this trip, I’ve learned to recognise signs from my body that it needs some rest and a bit of detox. As a result, my time here was spent undertaking leisurely activities such as meandering around Boston and nearby Harvard, reading, watching basketball on TV, shopping for cameras and sleeping. The drinking was minimised, with the exception of one all day drinking session when Dai and I went out for brunch and accidentally mistook a pub for a shop as we wandered around the centre of his nearest town. It was only going to be one or two as we were due at a party that evening. However, two soon turned into five after the party host neglected to return Dai’s calls. The lack of party was no issue. We filled the time sat at a bar watching football (ours) and football (theirs) and catching up on several years worth of conversation. Dai seems to be one of those people that can hold up a conversation with me for unlimited time. It made me sorry that he’d only stayed in York for one year, but I guess it meant we had much more to talk about. What better way to follow an afternoon drinking beer than to eat the best goddam hamburger I’ve ever tasted. Dai had hyped up this burger place, but it was incredible – the perfect way to absorb all that alcohol. Post-burger we sought out another bar to prop up. Several hours later, we emerged thoroughly worse for ware. We laughed heartily as we stumbled home, largely due to my comically inept attempts to chat up an unsuspecting college girl as we left. Flush from my recent successes, I did what I normally never do and initiated conversation. Unfortunately my drunkenness vastly outweighed the beard magic and I came out with the somewhat bizarre statement that she “smelled like the tropics”. As you can imagine she was truly baffled by this one and vanished within seconds, leaving me to ponder where ‘the tropics’ actually were, what they smell like and why my brain saw fit to pluck this comment from the ether. The drawing board beckons.

The other main event of my Bostonian experience was on Sunday when Dai and I went to see the Boston Celtics play the Houston Rockets. This trip has so far enabled me to fulfil a number of ambitions and here was another opportunity. I’d always wanted to see basketball played at the highest level and was excited at the prospect of seeing the Chinese giant Yao Ming (he’s 7 foot 6) Tracy McGrady and Paul Pierce (two of the most exciting scorers in the league) at the home of the legendary Celtics. Dai did try to warn me, but it was a terrible disappointment. We shelled out $50 for seats that got us a position hanging from the ceiling in the upper balcony – miles from the action. I’d really wanted to see close up how these monster athletes performed, but we might as well have been watching on TV. The game itself was abysmal. Houston were really out of sorts and Boston cruised to an easy victory without even playing well. The three big stars everyone was there to see grossly underperformed and if it wasn’t for Boston’s Raef LaFrentz nailing 7 consecutive 3-pointers in the first half, there would have been nothing to remember about the game. I left the stadium ruing my decision to insist we go. My only consolation was the knowledge that empty-headed idiots who pay stupid money for tickets, then scream and yell moronic abuse at the players and leave 10 minutes before the game, can be found in this country as well as football matches in England. Not a great consolation, but something.

That’s all for now. Hopefully more exciting tales to come from Chicago. I’ll leave you to ponder on how bad the trains in England really are as I enjoy yet another prolonged stationary moment in my 70s throwback train. We’re currently surrounded by brown swamp land. No announcements as usual. Que sera sera.

Postscript...now in Chicago. Train journey was a disaster - never ever travel on Amtrak. Its just not worth it. They really make British trains seem like the best in the world.