Our days and nights of staying out until the wee hours of the morning are somewhat behind us, so anything beyond midnight is a late night. I think we went a bit after that for our first night, but promptly crashed as soon as we got back to the condo. The night breeze, coupled with the air conditioner and fan, kept things comfortably cool, and we vowed to sleep in as long as possible.
That means different things to parents, and as a non-parent I was happy to sleep a little longer than Skip’s internal alarm clock allowed. He had had the foresight to load some YouTube shows to watch while I slumbered, and once I managed to rouse myself at around 9:30, we were heading out for breakfast and a Newbury shopping expedition for his son Jack. While we struck out on finding Jack’s request from Newbury Comics, we found a decent-enough breakfast at Cafeteria as the rainbow-clad populace of Boston made its way toward the behemoth of its Gay Pride Parade. Having sat for a few hours of the parade with Skip a few years ago, we were happy to side-step it and all the accompanying crowd and noise, staying on its edge along Newbury. We wound our way through the Boston Public Garden before ducking into the relatively quiet corridors of Beacon Hill.
We walked all the way to the river, which was only moderately populated with sun-worshippers and bikers and joggers on such a fine day. Avoiding the parade allowed us to keep relatively clear of the crowds, and the riverfront was too pretty to ignore. We re-traced the steps we had taken in the dark of night last year– seeing them in the light of day which is far prettier. This is one of the rather hidden parts of Boston that the tourists don’t bother to traverse, and I love it all the more for that. We took our time walking back, passing geese and water iris and kayakers, and making loose plans for an afternoon siesta – the highlight of any proper middle-aged guy at the start of summer.
Despite its stature as a city, Boston has a few pockets of peace that make one feel far removed from the hustle and bustle one usually attributes to a cityscape. Along the Charles, below the leafy canopy of mottle sunlight, we walked parallel to the insanity of Boylston Street as if in an entirely-other world. Walking across the overpass brought us back into the cobblestone jungle, where we clung to the brick buildings and the shade they afforded from the afternoon sun.
We had a good hour or two for an afternoon siesta. After that, one final chance for a Peking duck dinner, bookended by sessions of stoop gazing…
