A Local Tourist?

“Boston is an oasis in the desert, a place where the larger proportion of people are loving, rational and happy.”

---Julia Ward Howe

Boston is the center of the universe. Now, before you get your map of the solar system out, and start telling me that it’s not even a blip in the vastness of space, zip it. Writers, historians, statesmen, and just regular Massholes have been waxing poetic about Boston for centuries. Ben Franklin was born here. John F. Kennedy was born here and, my personal favorite Bostonian/Vulcan, Leonard Nimoy, was born and raised in Boston. Both of my parents were born in the city, one in Charlestown and one in Dorchester. Even if we didn’t have so many accomplished natives, the city is a true jewel; there simply isn’t another place like it anywhere.

First of all, sports. No, Tom Brady isn’t getting a ring this year, and the Red Sox are in the dog house currently with a shameful controversy that never should have happened, but the Bruins are in first place in the Atlantic Division. The Celtics? Well, they’re struggling, but you name a team after the Irish, and of course, they will know struggles. Even when we aren’t racking up the trophies, we are behind our teams, 100%. Except you, Cora. Tell your story walking, off you go, get along now, we don’t need the likes of you.

Last week, friends of mine were in Boston for a conference so we made time to have dinner in the city. There are about a gazillion good restaurants in the city, but we chose the North End because it’s got everything you could want. Colorful residents, charming shops, amazing food, (cannoli anyone?), and beautiful architecture. There’s an energy that defines each Boston neighborhood, but the North End, well, it’s just special. The small streets, quaint alleyways, and tiny grocery stores that carry 150 different kinds of cheese make it magical, for me at least. It’s January, so the night was freezing cold, with a wicked wind off the harbor, but so what?

Walking from my office, just as the sun was setting, gave the city that deep blue glow that only happens on crystal clear nights. The skyscrapers of downtown seem to stand watch over the North End’s brownstones, while the light from restaurant signs and tiny apartments spills out on to the sidewalk. Inside cafes and bars, it seemed everyone was raising a glass, breaking bread, and reveling in their community. Sure, many of them had trucked in from the suburbs because there was a Bruins home game at the Garden, just around the corner, but they were part of the city, for a night anyway.

My friends arrived and couldn’t wait to tell me about their week. They’d been here before, but this time got the chance to wander through some of the more local sights. I congratulated them on finding the best local bakery because while the tourists always head for that very famous pastry shop with the celebrity pictures, they managed to find the tiny corner place, with the good bread and the homemade ricotta pie. We toasted with prosecco and gorged on delicious pasta and seafood, snugged into a tiny place with a view out to the hustle and bustle of Hanover Street. 

Getting to show friends even a little bit of my city, and share a meal is quite something. I became a bit of a tourist myself if one can do that in their own city. On the way back to the train I was snapping photos of the red glow of the Pizzeria Regina sign, the streetlights over the Saint Leonard’s Peace Garden and the silhouette of Paul Revere on his horse. I grew up going to Boston all the time with my father when he’d go to work and I was bored at home. I’ve been by these spots, and so many others, thousands of times. Why is that when you live somewhere, you become so used to what’s around you, that you almost don’t even notice what a gift these places are? How does it happen that we can overlook such a phenomenal environment?

For me, I’m going to make it a point to spend more time exploring my own city and surroundings. Shop local is a real concept, and I do that whenever I can, but maybe we should also look local? Really look around, even when you’re somewhere you’ve been a hundred times before. Put some fresh eyes on the old haunts, and they become new again. Of course, some things never change. As I turned a corner, I heard a burst of car horns and a woman with a wicked Boston accent screeching at a driver, suggesting he perform an act I’m fairly sure is anatomically impossible. God, I love my city. Home is where the heart is, so while I don’t live inside the city limits? Oh, oh, Boston, you’re my home.