Boston Retrospective

It’s 6:30 AM, and I’m sitting by the window of the food court of Logan International Airport, watching the sun rise over the tarmac, casting golden sunlight and long shadows on the first few flights of the day.

My flight to New York isn’t until 10:35 AM, but Kyle missed his flight to Denver last night and took the first flight out this morning instead; and I decided to already come along so Lance wouldn’t have to make two trips to the airport. Which was just as well, since I wouldn’t have wanted to reel at the US$25 baggage charge and still fumble to move 10 lbs from my baggage to my carry-on luggage at a busier hour of the day. This is the last time I’m taking American Airlines (and probably the last time I’m using that travel agent in Manila as well).

AA angst aside, I had a great breakfast—praise God for club burritos and banana smoothies!—and anyway, why let a few sour minutes spoil what’s been an amazing five days in Boston?

A not-so-brief recap:

Lance picked me up from Logan on Wednesday night, after I had spent over 24 hours in transit. The wait outside the airport was my first ever encounter with subzero weather—piles of ice and gusts of wind all around. I tried to will my body to deal with it, but finally succumbed to the urge to rifle through my bag for my gloves before my fingers turned to icicles on the curb. Lance arrived soon enough, and his apartment in Cambridge is just 10 minutes from the airport. Kyle, who had flown in from Denver days before, had a delicious spaghetti dinner prepared at home. It had been years since I last sat down and talked with Lance and Kyle—and we Skyped with GP and Mikee in New Jersey inbetween—so we slept past 1 AM.

The next day, Thursday, Lance drove us through streets lined with heaps of crushed ice, blackening in some parts, to Harvard Square, where we had breakfast at International House of Pancakes. Mia Cruz had called Kyle shortly before we left the house, and instead of spending the day working on her dissertation, she joined us at IHOP (which led me to ask later, “Ganyan ba buhay mo rito? Pa-shola-shola na lang?”). We walked around Harvard and down to the frozen Charles river, then drove to Boston Common, the city’s version of Central Park (a nicer version, I would dare say, because it’s built on upward-sloping ground, and the size is much more manageable). We walked up to the Massachusetts State House, then down to Newbury Street, where we went inside Trinity Church and had coffee at the Prudential. That evening, Lance and I walked to Marshall’s and Target near their place; then the three of us sat down to a steak dinner Kyle had prepared.

With old friends Lance and Kyle near Harvard Square. (Or is this still part of Harvard Square?)

Friday was to be my first encounter with Berklee College of Music, and my first ride on Boston’s subway, the T. What should have been a pleasant ride and a short walk to the school turned out to be a character-building experience. For one, I learned that the T isn’t your typical high-speed light rail that seats a thousand, runs smoothly, and pulls into a station before you know it. Instead, each train on the T consists of two narrow, 20-seater cars (more like a tram than a train, if you think about it). These trains whine and wheeze, thud and tumble through twisting tunnels under Boston, braking every so often when there is traffic on the tracks ahead. I got motion sickness on my first ride. More than that, on my first ride, I also got off two stops earlier than I had planned, when an announcement came that there was a train stalled at the next station and we would be stuck indefinitely. I figured it was pretty much the same route that Lance, Kyle, Mia and I had walked yesterday, maybe even shorter, so what the heck. What I hadn’t figured was that the walk would be much more tiring without company, with a heavier bag, and with winter winds drying the sweat on my neck and your back.

But anyway, I made it. Jett met me at the lobby of Berklee’s main building at 150 Massachusetts Avenue, and we had lunch at the Berklee cafeteria: eat-all-you-can, with stations for salad, sandwiches, pizza and pasta, Mexican food, smoothies, bread, cereal, beverages, for only US$6.50. After lunch, Jett got me a much-needed two-hour slot at one of the school’s piano practice rooms—my audition was the next day, and I hadn’t sat in front of a piano for four days.

With Jett of the Ateneo Chamber Singers, and one of Hangad's sound engineers (ADMU AB Psy '05; Berklee College of Music, Music Production & Engineering '12).

When my two hours were up, I said goodbye to Jett, took the T to Government Center, and checked out Quincy Market, a shopping and dining complex in a historical square, with an interesting mix of restaurants, stalls, and shops (I enjoyed my first-ever visit to an Abercrombie & Fitch store, with its gorgeous salespeople, and that testosterone-packed fragrance throughout the store that makes you want to pounce on the aforementioned salespeople). Still stuffed from my eat-all-you-can lunch, I just got myself a cup of coffee and boarded the T home.

There was choir practice that evening at Lance and Kyle’s place, in preparation for the Filipino Mass on Sunday. I played the keyboard; Jett led practice; Mia and Joel were there; I met Tina, Rafa and Ene, Mabel, Ian, Ivan, Fanny and Jordan, and some others; and I was thrilled to see Fr Arnel.

Early Saturday morning, after Kyle took Lance to the hospital for Lance’s two-day shift, Kyle and I drove to the Berklee student hangout, Pavement, for a quick breakfast (thanks Jett for recommending that amazing Spanish latte!), before I went to my audition and interview (which I will blog about separately). The audition ended at around 1:30 PM, after which I went to the Pru for a [lousy] lunch at the food court. Kyle met me at the Pru and we drove to the city’s North End, where he had a huge pasta lunch; then we walked around the North End, to the Paul Revere Mall (“If it’s a mall, where are the shops,” Kyle had asked), down to the waterfront, across one of the many bridges, back to the Quincy Market and Faneuil Hall area where we spent some time at the New England Holocaust Memorial; then Mia called to remind us about dinner (with Fr Arnel saying “Don’t be late!” in the background).

Dinner was at Khao Sarn Thai restaurant; dessert after that was at Cabot’s ice cream house. The evening ended with us taking Fr Arnel back to his residence at Boston College—and me playfully stepping on a heap of snow that I mistakenly thought was tightly packed, and sinking thigh-deep into ice and screaming “Save me!”

With Fr Arnel, ACMG friend Mia, her husband Joel (who was also my "angel", or sponsor, when I tried out for Dulaang Sibol in second year high school--"you're a bad omen for my Berklee audition", I had told him jokingly), and Kyle.

I slept so soundly that night—from exhaustion, overeating, and post-audition relief—that I slept through my alarm the next morning, making us 30 minutes late for our call time for the Filipino Mass at Boston College. It was a pleasant Mass, with a friendly congregation in an intimate chapel. I bumped into Carlo, a grade four batchmate and co-reporter in the Ateneo Grade School paper, who now has a doctorate in physics (“I work with lasers,” he had said). Kyle and I grabbed a quick bite at the reception prepared by BC students after the Mass, then picked up Lance at the hospital and drove to the lovely port town of Rockport, around an hour from the city (I wouldn’t know exactly how long the drive was, I was asleep both ways). Rockport is a picture-perfect town, with narrow streets flanked by rows of colorful shops, and a romantic harborfront lined with charming houses—the kind you would imagine in movies. It was freezing and several shops were closed for the season, but I loved it nonetheless. Kyle said (and later showed me photos) that it’s even better in spring and summer.

Rockport.

Dinner that night was at Cheesecake Factory at the mall near Lance and Kyle’s place (nothing at all like Manila’s Cheesecake Etc., as I had initially assumed).

The next day was my last full day in Boston. It was also Valentine’s Day, so I told Lance and Kyle I would go off on my own and let them have “quality time.” I took the T back to Boston Common and went crazy with my camera on Beacon Hill, the old, posh residential neighborhood adjoining Boston Common; then had lunch at Finagle A Bagel and walked around a bit downtown before taking the T home mid-afternoon. As soon as I got home, the three of us went back out to rustic Charles Street (right at the base of Beacon Hill) where Lance and Kyle had a late lunch, and we walked around before I took the T back to Berklee, where Jett had arranged for a two-hour piano recording session for us in one of the school’s high-tech studios; and Lance took Kyle to the airport for his flight to Denver (which, I mentioned earlier, he missed). Jett and I had a burger dinner after the session—my first time to record with a live grand piano, rather than with MIDI—and then I headed home.

In frozen Boston Common. Can't wait to see this place in spring.

And now, here I am on my sixth and last morning in Boston, waiting at the airport for my plane to New York.

This must have been my most relaxed trip ever. I had two guidebooks (I was supposed to have just one, but I found a Fodor’s Boston 2009 for only Php150 at Powerbooks in Cebu a week before I left), but I didn’t have a fixed hour-by-hour itinerary the way I usually do. I had a vague list of places I wanted to go, and I though I didn’t get to go to a lot of them, I’m surprisingly okay with it.

Before the trip, I really didn’t know what to expect. Friends who have lived here (Lance and Kyle, Chad and Leanne, GP and Jett) rave about the place. Those who have visited give mixed reviews: Domi said it was alright, Elaine liked it, Chad S. said his mom loved it. Jia and Karlo said it was boring, with shops that close early and not much of a club scene. My guidebooks said it’s brimming with history and culture, but I’ve never cared much for US history; and that it was a compact, walkable city, but I figured it was just a marketing claim. For the most part, the impression I had was that it was a historical city and a college town. I hadn’t figured it would turn out to be much more.

Boston to me, today, is a charming, classy city, with clean streets and beautiful architecture; a chill city, where park benches and coffeeshops beckon you to just sit, and read, and write, and talk; an optimistic, energetic city, where the rich blue sky in the middle of winter reflects the percolation of thoughts and the creation of great, wonderful things; and yes, a compact and walkable city, where there’s something to see everywhere you look.

I love this city.

I love the open spaces. I love the rich texture of history and modernity. I love the photogenic streets, buildings, and churches. I love the people. I love how it’s a place that’s so relaxed yet so purposeful. I even love its quirks—the way the T goes out of service and make you get off, and the streets which often make no sense at all—which remind you that this city, though imperfect, is so alive.

I’m honestly not sure yet whether Boston has stolen my heart away from New York. I still do love New York’s garishness, its sensory overload, its chaos and pressure, its in-your-face hugeness. But quiet, steady, dignified Boston sure is giving the Big Apple a run for its money.

At times during this brief stay, I found myself wondering if I’ll get bored or restless, the way I got bored and restless living in Cebu nine years ago… but then I remind myself, compact as Boston is, there’s a ton of stuff to do. Because this trip was so chill, there’s still a mile of stuff on my Boston to-do list: the Museum of Fine Arts, the New England Aquarium, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the Science Museum, the many towns around Boston. I can’t wait to witness the changing of the seasons, hear the Boston Pops perform live, run 6 miles along the banks of the Charles, and make new friends both in Pinoy community and the international student community. And as early as now, Mikee and I have already talked about auditioning for community theater, and Lance and I are already toying with the idea of running the Boston Marathon.

There’s no rush. Pretty soon, this will be home.