Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

When a brush with a witch occurs, I think you carry a bit of that magic with you. Whether a protective talisman, a charm of safe passage, or some dark bit of pixie dust that keeps others at bay, this magic works in different ways. As we sought out a place for a late dinner – one that was getting later by the hour – we followed another woman up a bridge and down into the depths of Lolita. 

We started under the rainbow, a fitting turn of events that tumbled us upside down and left us disoriented and turned all around. There was no more pretending it wasn’t dark out, but as is the case at this point in these sorts of stories, we didn’t feel afraid. It was an adventure, and in the dark environs of Lolita we had some sparkling water and regained our composure. 

Refreshed and hydrated, we crossed another bridge and made our way to Nebo, which had available tables outside, so we took one and ordered our long-awaited dinner. An opener of octopus made it more than worth the wait – and the walk – as did the lasagna. Perhaps a little too satiated, we began the long walk home on feet that were too old to be walking that much, but I insisted we try burning some of the meal off. 

Our path brought us back along the Boston Public Garden, a place of comfort and peace even (and sometimes especially) in the evening. We paused at the angel, as bewitching and beguiling as any other entity in the city. If there was magic here, may it rub off on us. We need the help. 

It was approaching midnight, and we took cover for the rest of the way home along the Commonwealth Mall. The cover of trees led us back to the condo, where I rushed in just as midnight began its dozen rings. Collapsing like Cinderella, Kira’s feet were done in from the walk and the sandals, so I heated a bucket of water and added some essential oils and Aveda soap for a soak while I took a quick shower. We would sleep well, under the spell of a magical day in Boston. 

Shrouded in an evening fog that was just starting to lift by the time we got up and going on Saturday, Boston held its entrancing spell as Kira and I ventured forth in the morning. We were looking to find some plumbing parts for the kitchen sink pipe that was leaking. (Pause for reaction to me doing any sort of plumbing.) 

Around us, Boston continued in full bloom, and the sun began to peek through the dissipating clouds. We found some pipe at the hardware store, then proceeded to Newbury Street to restore our shopping senses. Now that the initial thrill of the Levain Bakery has died down, we were able to try a couple of their cookies without waiting in line. The recipe I have does quite come close to the ones on offer here, so at $5.00 per cookie, it’s not exactly a bargain. Still, we indulged, and after walking quite a ways, with the heat on the rise and the humidity not that far behind, we wound up in the South End, resting at the former location of Francesca’s Cafe – a site that brings me back to Boston in the 90’s. 

It’s a Caffe Nero now – one of many – but it provided this exquisite lemon coconut frulatto that absolutely made our afternoon. As the day’s heat reached its crescendo, we paused in the shaded nook of this cafe, watched the world pass by for a bit, then resumed our journey home. It was time for a siesta. 

Somewhere on our journey home, we passed a woman with dark hair who gave us a mysterious smile that made it seem like she knew too much. I can’t explain why I felt it, but I immediately said to myself that we had just passed a witch. Now, I don’t mean that in a derogatory of negative way – in fact, I carry witches in high regard, and view them with a sort of reverence and respect. I tried explaining myself to Kira, but she wasn’t getting it, and maybe it was better that way. I just know what I felt, and I suddenly realized my view on people had changed, and I was seeing things in a way that opened up the possibility of magic and enchantment and a world I’d always shut off from lack of understanding or wanting to understand. 

Back at the condo, I did a meditation while Kira took a quick nap on the couch. The afternoon light spilled into the bedroom, where I sat down lotus-style and slid into deep breathing and closed eyes. The beauty of meditation is that it can be done wherever you might be. It’s the best sort of travel companion. 

Once the meditation was done, and Kira was up and about, we made motions to start the second half of the day. We set up a couple of drinks – a Paloma for Kira, and a calamansi mocktail for me – and brought them out to the front steps to watch the people peruse Braddock Park. A favorite past-time in favorable weather, we savored the minutes and the company.

The weather turned slightly, the winds picking up a bit, and I remembered our brush with the witch, and her smile. Was she a good witch or a bad witch? The world went a little quieter suddenly, and the day took its first turn onto dusk. 

We finished out drinks and dressed for dinner. Unprepared with a plan, we decided to wing it with a stroll through the South End toward the seaport. A hex must have been placed, as we lost our bearings and our sense of where we were just as the sky went dim. I thought I might be losing it when I heard the opening chords of ‘Willkommen’ from ‘Cabaret’ in my head. It came out of nowhere, and I made Kira stop walking to find out if this was my long-waited and forecast break with reality. 

In a little park surrounded by trees, I saw the ghostly flickering of a movie screen, and the menacing Emcee of Joel Grey peeking out from the reflection of a mirror. It could have been the stuff of horror, but instead struck me as a whimsical turn of events – finding an outside showing of ‘Cabaret’ for a small group of elderly folks set up with chairs and blankets. Our adventure continued…

“Leave your troubles outside. Life is disappointing? Forget it!” ~ ‘Cabaret’

When I arrived in Boston on a hazy and breezy Friday afternoon (following a hellacious drive where I witnessed an awful accident as it happened on the other side of the Mass Turnpike) there was the scent of sea on the air. Not everyone noticed it (Kira couldn’t find it when I asked her) but when you’ve been landlocked for weeks, you notice the shift. And you definitely notice the sea, which is something that I have always adored. When the breeze comes in from the water like that, it can make for interesting weather, not always nice, but in this case it was a recipe for the perfect stretch of days with some sun and light breezes, and the ocean buffer kept Boston in the low 80’s as opposed to the 95 degree nonsense of upstate New York. At this moment, there was a fog-like haze to the city, obscuring the tops of buildings, allowing for spirits to pass into the earthly realm. 

There has always been something grandly beguiling about Boston in the spring – the way the flowers nod and scent the air with their loveliness, the way the nights warm just enough to provide a comfortable atmosphere for a stroll, or the way the denizens arise as if from a winter-long hibernation, refreshed and slightly groggy, ready to see the world all over again and partake in its beauty. It turns out there has been something bewitching at work too, a magic I’ve noticed peripherally in the last few years, something that hints at something more, but that has proven elusive and difficult to pin down. 

The lure of the sea had been calling to me for years. One of the things I always loved about Boston was its proximity to the ocean – the salty water that offered exit to the rest of the world after the vast expanse of its body. While rarely venturing to the seaside, it was always a comfort to know it was there, gently buffering the hot weather or easing the sharpness of the cold, and sometimes making both worse and conjuring storms more devastating than anything inland might have to endure. Though I kept mostly away from the water, its presence was felt anytime there was water in the air – humidity, showers, snowstorms. You could smell it then, and it was a comfort, the way a home is made more cozy when battered by a winter storm. Proximity to danger somehow lends a safe place even more security. Humans are strange that way. 

On this Friday, Boston was bewitching in its usual spring charm, and would prove to be doubly so in more literal hauntings. Kira arrived early – her shift in work hours was finally accepted and she wanted to surprise me, so we began our evening around 5. I was already in the process of setting up a light meal when she texted me that she had arrived, so we eased into dinner gradually, drawing out the process and enjoying the minutes more than we might otherwise have done. Time seemed to operate differently on this weekend as well, keeping us slightly off-balance, and perhaps more susceptible to shifts that would otherwise go unnoticed. 

We made one foray into the evening air, for some dessert at the market, and the air was warm enough that we didn’t require jackets – the first time that’s happened on a visit to Boston this year, and a very happy sign of the season. We slept with the windows open, a sea breeze wafting all the way through the condo from the front to the back. The soothing sounds of the Braddock Park fountain mingled with the muffled tones of Les Baxter coming from the stereo. A Friday evening that fulfilled its promise of holding all hope…