Allsaints Spitalfields

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Pretty catchy name for a clothes store, isn't it? Never mind, when we saw this captivating window full of antique sewing machines on Newbury Street in Boston I saw no further than the window display--not the name of the store (Allsaints Spitalfields, a London offshoot), and certainly not the purpose of the store (selling expensive and trendy clothing).

I never buy new clothes. You can call it economy, you can call it social consciousness, you can call it a devotion to recycling. You can even call it Yankee stinginess, if you wish. My clothes--some with pretty fancy labels--come from a charity store that has 10-items-for-$5.00 specials, and all for a good cause. You would never catch me buying even a 50% off item from an expensive shop like this one (see some of their women's clothing here).

But, oh my, I loved those sewing machines.

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

You'll have to pardon my excitement, but this was our first trip to Europe, so you'll be hearing a bit more about it. I thought it might help if I told you all the places we went.

First, we headed to New York from El Paso, so that we could meet up with our son, who was traveling onward with us. Because we are such country mice and were quickly exhausted by wandering around crowded Manhattan on foot, we made our way to this peaceful sanctuary of a cemetery just across from the World Trade Center site.

St. Paul's Churchyard

The next day, we left New York and headed for Iceland, where we had a very brief layover--just long enough for a beautiful open-faced smoked salmon sandwich. Yep, it's always about the food with us. 

Can you tell that I'm excited about becoming a world traveler?

After our late-night "lunch" in Iceland, we headed off in the summer twilight (it doesn't really get dark this time of year in Iceland) and on to Paris. Pausing just long enough to figure out the controls on the rental car and to program the navigator, we headed south through the Loire Valley to the beautiful blue-shuttered house, Les Volets Bleus, that we had rented for the week. The link below the photo will take you to many more views of the lovely interior. It was a dreamy place to stay, and it was all ours--for the week, anyway.

Les Volets Bleus

After an all-too-short week in the countryside, visiting chateaux and abbeys, street markets and gardens, beautiful villages and the sea, we drove back up to Paris and turned in the rental car. From that point on, we explored Paris as the Parisians do--on foot, by metro (subway), by boat, and by le taxi. But not by bike or Vespa--I drew the line there!

An amazing piece of interactive street art. Look closely (click to enlarge)
and you will see that the sidewalk appears to have heaved upward. The little boy
was using it for a slide. I can still hear his laughter. This is located off of the Boulevard Saint Germain, on the south side, at the intersection of Rue de Rennes and Rue Bonaparte. It's in the Place du Quebec and the sculpture is Charles Daudelin's, l’Embâcle http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Place_du_Qu%C3%A9bec

In Paris, we visited museums, strolled through parks and gardens, ate at sidewalk cafes, became philosophers for an afternoon, indulged ourselves at the Angelina Tea Room, and took an evening boat ride on the Seine.

Sunset over the Seine

Then we flew back to Iceland, swam in the geothermal waters of the Blue Lagoon, and continued on to Boston. In Boston, we did a bit of shopping and a bit of eating (you're not surprised by now, I'm sure), then drove up to New Hampshire for two days of visiting, partying, and reuniting with old friends. And then we flew once more, back to El Paso.

Phew. It's no wonder that some mornings I wake up wondering which hotel I'm in, and which language I'm expected to understand for the day!

Last Night in Boston

There's a moment of silence on Boylston Street that blows in through the window on the breeze from the Charles River. It arrives around 4AM, just after the last of the night time people has left for home in the last taxi. The traffic lights are blinking yellow and the streets are almost empty.

After a night of lively sounds, the silence wakes me up. I listen to the quiet, then the day starts to flow. First I hear the rubber thump of the early morning runners, then the homeless guy arrives and starts yelling about eggs again, and the trucks pull in with their beeping and clanking to deliver another load of fresh shellfish to the cafes across from the hotel. 

Last night we ate ambrosial crab cakes and sweet oysters and drank California wines at the Atlantic Fish Co. We didn't order the Loire Valley wines because the price for a single glass was three times the price for an entire bottle in France. We laughed, and we thought about how really, really good we got at drinking that amazing local wine from the little Vival store in Monts-sur-Guesnes. 

We laughed, and we thought about how cheaply we will be eating very soon, back on our patio under the shady trees, looking across the hot dusty valley up to our beloved cowboy mountains. It'll be pinto beans for us for a long time, after the big splurge of this once-in-a-lifetime vacation. 

History, History, and More History; Our Last Full Day in Boston

I borrowed this photo and logo from the Union Oyster House website. For this part of our trip, my camera was still jammed and I was unable to take any photos.
Later, however, I used some Internet tips to get it somewhat un-stuck.

On our last full day in Boston, we had a lovely sidewalk breakfast at a little bookstore on Newbury Street called Trident Booksellers & Cafe. Newbury Street, I have just discovered, was underwater until the mid-1800s, when that part of the Boston Harbor was filled in. You can read about the street's history here.

We lunched with friends and family at the Prudential Center (mad, crazy, loud food court where there were too many people eating the wrong foods--but a nice visit); and we had an entirely spectacular supper with my son, Ben (up from New York City), and our friends, Pat and Mary (in from western Massachusetts), at "America's oldest restaurant," the Union Oyster House.

We either walked or took the "T" to all our destinations, and doing so gave us a sense of Boston's mixture of old and new streets, gardens, cemeteries, squares, sidewalks, and other public spaces;  its buildings, shops, and churches; and its incredibly varied architecture. We walked on sidewalks made of cement, and on sidewalks made of brick, and on sidewalks made of cobblestones--stepping back in time, more or less.

On our way to supper, we stopped at the New England Holocaust Memorial, located right across the street from the restaurant. We knew nothing about it ahead of time; we simply saw six tall towers made of glass in a little park and wondered what they were all about. It was only when I was standing inside the first tower that the power of the memorial struck me, because each of those towers was inscribed with etched numbers--numbers, not names. The numbers went up and up and out of sight, and standing there, I understood why there were six towers, because each one represented a million people who had lost their lives. It was a very powerful way of illustrating the horror and inhumanity of the Holocaust.

You can see a photo essay about the memorial here on the official website. If you should visit Boston, I urge you to visit this memorial, because it is one of those experiences that will change you and stay with you forever.

Being inside the Union Oyster House was an amazing experience of a different sort. No one knows exactly when the building was constructed (although historians know that Union Street was laid out in 1636), but it is known that the restaurant has been in continuous service since 1826. Our booth had a sign telling us that at the Oyster Bar Daniel Webster, a constant customer, daily drank his tall tumbler of brandy and water with each half-dozen oysters, seldom having less than six plates. Our modern appetites were somewhat curbed by the later discovery of cholesterol, but we still managed to get ourselves around helpings of lobster, clams, and oysters. Our server--Maggie? Meggie?--had the thickest Boston accent I have ever heard, so it was easy to imagine ourselves back in the time of the Revolution, perhaps plotting tea parties over our oysters. 

On Our Way to Fenway

Continuing the story of our trip by rail to Boston (all posts are indexed here, for those of you who just can't get enough of other people's endless vacation pictures):

Okay, now how many people travel across the country to go to a baseball game? Quite a few, as it turns out, and a lot of them were staying at the Lenox Hotel along with us.  

To get one of these packages (hotel, limo, Fenway tour, a close-up look at batting practice, a pre-game party, pictures with the Red Sox' World Series trophies, free food and drinks brought to you non-stop by your own server, Red Sox uniform shirts, and first-row seats on the Green Monster) you have to sign up with RedSox.com and pay close attention to the emails they send you. You have to be quick and you have to fork over the money, and then you are in for a treat!

Beez was pretty excited to be leaving for the game at last!

The fans start to gather in the elegant lobby of the Lenox Hotel

Jimmy Fisher, 80-something bellhop, entertains the fans with stories of when Casey Stengel and the Yankees used to stay at the Lenox 

Boarding the limo--they called it a limo, it looked like a bus to me until...

I saw the tricked-out interior

There were even drinks facilities, but

... the ride was a short one and we arrived at the world-famous Yawkey Way before we knew it.

There is nothing like your first view of Fenway Park, no matter how many times you've been there before

Look, it's the Green Monster. Our seats were to the right, by the light pole

"America's Most Beloved Ballpark," indeed

Luxury in Boston's Back Bay or, Is It Really Us?

When we travel, our overnight accommodations can usually be described like this: Cheap, close to the highway, pets allowed, easy check in and check out. Yep, I'm talking Motel Six.

Not this time. For our trip by rail to Boston in honor of our anniversary celebration, we stayed at the Lenox Hotel, which has been described in the following ways: Boutique hotel, "one of the five greenest luxury hotels in America," historic charm, environmentally friendly, personalized service, richly appointed... The list could go on, and it all accurately describes the place. 

I'm telling you, I could hardly recognize us as we stepped into the elegant mirror and marble elevator run by a uniformed elevator guy!

Our room, chandelier and all. I kept opening the curtains day and night for the wonderful view.

Our view from the 10th floor.
Harvard and the Charles River are off to the right, just outside the edge of this photo

A beautiful stairway just down the hall

One of the great characters at the hotel is Jimmy Fisher, who has been a bellhop there for over 60 years and who is well into his eighties. You can read about him in the article, Beloved Boston Bellhop Gets His Due, and you can see him at the hotel on weekends. I know you'll want to go.

Here is a video showing some of the amenities at the hotel. Oh, my, I am still impressed with the fact that we stayed in a hotel with actual amenities. Imagine.