As the saying goes getting there is half the fun, or not.
My dear wife and I flew into Boston a week ago, rented a car and toured the Massachusetts coast from Glocester (movie location of The perfect Storm) and Rockport in the north to Cape Cod in the South having a wonderful time. But I believe it was the fateful stop in Salem on a warm sunny October afternoon where unknowingly to us, we were cursed.
It did not become apparent until we dutifully attempted to return the rental to its rightful home near Logan airport. We had directions, it seemed simple. In the past we have successfully navigated the 5 level freeways of Houston and the ups and downs of San Franciscos crazy streets, although I must admit we did have to go back and forth over the Golden Gate bridge several times before finding a way off, but nothing prepared us for what was to come.
Our destination 1a south, near the airport, some 20 minutes away. But, who would imagine that 1a south was indeed NORTH of the city and in EAST Boston. One wrong turn leaving the touristy downtown took us on a 3 hour journey through the BIG DIG, miles and miles of interlaced underground freeways, up to 55 mph, complete with on ramps, off ramps and toll booths snaking its way under the city and bay.
Never did the basic law of physics, For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, ever mean more. Every time one route was chosen we went the other way, weaving our way back and forth, on and off, in an out, coughing up more than a fair share of cash in toll booths and gas in the process.
The directions we received said explicitly, when in the tunnels do not take an airport exit. My wife pleading repeatedly saying to do the opposite. You would think after 32 years of marriage I would know better and listened, but then again I am a male. To my credit and against all natural male instincts I did stop to ask directions whenever we emerged into daylight, all were polite and kind, some had long given up the desire to learn English language, others gave directions that never matched the actual wording of the signs we whizzed by 3 rows abreast with milliseconds to make decisions.
Moments of screaming and yelling interlaced with periods of silence and tears (mine) as we rolled through the concrete tunnels like a ball in a bizarre game of pinball, back and forth under the city over the same roads, tunnels and bridges we had traveled only minutes before. At times I wished the giant rock in Raiders of the Lost Ark would roll and rumble its way towards us and end it all. At times I suspected my wife was wondering how she could kill me, still survive, and walk out to freedom.
We did indeed Wind up at the airport,several times, finally, I succumbed to my incredibly her pleadings and stopped. Now what, I asked hesitantly. With all her female wisdom and mustering up her last bit of composure she said, See that Thriftys van picking up passengers over ther, uuuhhha I replied sheepishly, Follow it!
Giving in I waited for it to move as one of the local police officers approached our stopped car, he tapped on the window, I motioned I understood that I should move, he tapped again, I rolled down the window, What you dont want to talk to me? he asked, My wife nudges me, Tell him our story my wife pleads. But Dear, he has a gun, She gave me the look, with face flushed I explained our pathetic story. Taking a few steps forward, he stopped dozens of impatient buses, vans and taxis and waved us on to follow our only beacon of hope, the Thriftys van.
And so our BIG DIG nightmare ended behind the blue van as it proceeded onto a ramp going North to go South not stopping to fill the near empty tank for fear of losing our only chance of survival.
So, with that SND BOSTON is on. The city is fantastic, Bostonians, warm, friendly and patient and a workshop that promises to be one of the best in years with over 700 in attendance. Wish you were all here.
Will keep you posted.
Now how do I get out of this room? Left or right?
Labels: BOSTON
