Boston, is this really you?

Holiday Inn Bunker Hill, Boston. April 22-23, 2015

Beep-beep-beep! Overload warning!
Two weeks into our Canada/U.S. trip, my head is still spinning, a maelstrom of images and emotions. Bloor street and Queen street, Thornhill and Burlington; Liberty and Mr. G; Pemberton and Grounds for Sculpture; Silver Spring, DC, Etto's; Manhattan, the High Line, Celeste, Riverside Park -- all these are not mere words or names; they evoke sights and sounds and smells. Not to mention the beloved people that were the focal point and lodestone drawing me to these places.

My feelings upon reaching Boston, after a four-or-five hour drive from Manhattan, were along the lines of "I wish I'd spent another day in Manhattan instead..." (Hear that, Jonathan Torn?) But to be fair, I hadn't really given the place a chance. It's just that the hotel -- perfectly satisfactory once we were inside, except for the dour receptionist -- is in a dreary, industrial-looking part of town. Obviously, we had to do the touristy thing and follow the Freedom Trail Guide (or similar) to get a whiff of the pretty face of town. Which is what we ended up doing, having less than 48 hours at our disposal.

I get the impression you have to be American to appreciate the Freedom Trail. You don't have to be American (or British, for that matter) to have heard of the Boston Tea Party. And I have no idea whether I learnt of the ride of Paul Revere in American Poetry classes at Tel Aviv University, or possibly earlier when I thought I might be spending high school in Brooklyn with my cousin Sheri, and started reading up on American history. So, while I appreciated the attempt to make American history come alive for American youth, I couldn't get very emotionally involved.  (Which is a "nice" way of saying I was a mite bored.)

When it comes to ships, though, it's a totally different story. I love seafaring stories. I love big ships with huge masts and sails, I am awed by aircraft carriers. Just say Cutty Sark, the USS Intrepid, or any other name of a famous shipyard, and I'll hop on the nearest train to go visit.  So obviously we went to see the USS Constitution -- the ship and the museum.  There were lots of youngsters at the museum; looked like a school outing. Indeed, most of the illustrations and activities seemed geared to a young audience. Which is fine and dandy, of course. On the ship itself, two young Navy guys with a penchant for acting were giving lively explanations of the history of the ship, its travels and travails.
Still -- most of the ship was not accessible, and I was a bit disappointed. Maybe my memories of other ship-related experiences, such as the Chatham dockyards in England, got in the way.

Yes, I know -- there's more to Boston than the Freedom Trail. There are places where people live, eat, shop, study, enjoy. Quincy Market, for example, was bursting with activity. So much so, that, though hungry, we found refuge in the relative quiet of the nearest Pret a Manger. I'd love to add a link, but the slow wifi is driving me nuts...

On that happy note -- to be continued!

Studio apartment in the Annex, Toronto

Brief addition to my previous post:
This is the building in the Annex where we stayed. Our white, chunky, rented Hyundai Tucson can be seen peeking at the right-bottom of the photo:

And here are a few pics of the interior, starring Audry Hepburn, my cardigan and scarf, and Michael:

As I wrote in my feedback on Airbnb, the place was near-perfect. It was more spacious than we expected -- the pics on Airbnb don't do it justice; and there was plenty of room for all our stuff. Believe me, we had -- and still have -- lots of stuff. (I over-packed, surprise surprise...)

Incidentally: Before finding this place on Airbnb, I don't think I'd ever heard of The Annex, though this was by no means my first visit to Toronto. By now, I've heard it described as "funky", "old", "student-hippie-like", and assorted other adjectives. Whatever it is -- I like it.

All this seems like eons ago...
So difficult to keep up! But -- as I always say -- may that be the worst of my problems.
TTFN!

From TLV via LHR to YYZ and the Annex

The whole idea was to reach The Annex (you know -- the one in Toronto, ON) by the most efficient, least painful route, to see our daughter Shira whom we hadn't seen in about a year and a half, which -- as far as I'm concerned -- is way too long a time not to see one's daughter.

Our 2-part flight was blissfully uneventful. During the first part, the seat to my left was unoccupied, which is a great convenience, since you can drop all your stuff there after takeoff rather than try to squash it on the floor under the seat in front of you and in the tight pockets of the seat in front of you. Also, the gentleman next to the empty seat just minded his own business and responded politely and helpfully when I asked him for something.

This flight took me to hitherto unfamiliar sections of Terminal 5: B & C, for our connection to Canada. Security was quite strict, which led to several misunderstandings, baffled looks, angry complaints and what-not. One Israeli guy couldn't believe his ears when the security guy stone-facedly told him that he could not bring his seriously-large chunks of halva into the U.S. "But this is halva, it's not margarine based, it's not liquid, it won't turn into liquid!" He kept repeating. "It's for my daughter, she loves halva, what am I going to tell her now?" he beseeched. Then he insisted on speaking to the security-guy's boss. Mr. Boss came along, and coolly confirmed his subordinate's ruling.
I, on the other hand, caused the metal detector gate to beep loudly as I passed, though the female security guard who patted me down couldn't find anything metallic on my person, aside from my jeans' zipper.

No time for serious shopping at the Duty Free. Which was just as well; as soon as I step into WHSmith or Boots I go glassy eyed and helpless, befuddled by the selection. I couldn't even choose a pretty box of chocolates for my own daughter! My husband, on the other hand, did managed to choose a couple of bottles of whisky with fancy names.

On to the Toronto-bound flight. Minding my own business is not what I did on this journey. There were only 3 seats across (as opposed to 4 on the LHR-bound flight), and to my left sat a serene, impressive-in-an-understated-way woman, who was marking papers. The editor in me was intrigued and wouldn't keep quiet. I immediately decided she was either an editor or a prof at some university/college. I longed to ask, but didn't want to bother her or break her concentration. Guess what? Eventually I broke down and began talking to her. Indeed, she's a professor at Kent Law School in the UK. And a lovely person to boot! Hope I get to see her again, maybe in Israel.

Landed in YYZ as planned. It was cold and dreary out. But who cares! Our daughter was there to greet us. Went to the Avis desk. Were too tired and distracted to resist the sales pitch of the guy at the desk, and thus ended with a large, heavy-set Hyundai Tucson instead of a more modest Elantra, or a VW Golf. But, having driven a 25-ft RV, I can barely protest that the Tucson is too big for me...

To make a longish story short, we got to our pre-booked accommodation -- a lovely studio apartment on Madison Ave in the Annex -- a name I'd never heard of until we started searching AirBnB for a place within walking distance from Shira's.

I wanted to upload a couple of pics, but either my oldish laptop, or the wifi here, or both, are sluggish. So this is where I stop for now, hoping to continue with some impressions of Bloor street (don't turn up your noses, please!), Queen street, and -- most important -- ballet class with the amazing Stelio.

Ta-ta for now.

Between Prague and Paris

It's been nearly four months since my trip to Prague. The envelope with all the usual mementos -- a leaflet from the hotel, an entrance ticket to a museum, a postcard -- is still on my desk, along with my handwritten travel journal. The photos are on my hard disk -- at least the ones I took with my iPhone; the ones taken with a proper camera had been downloaded to my hubby's hard drive, which went kaput as hard drives sometimes do. Much good all that does me, or my readers.

But lo and behold: lucky me is going abroad again. Without having properly documented the previous trip. Tut-tut. So before I pack my bags and fly off, I'd better get a couple of things off my chest:

First of all, I wanted to share with you the image that has stayed with me from Prague. The one that's stuck in my mind and bothers me. It is not a pretty picture. It's not the beautiful old-world buildings, the amazing clock tower, the dizzying selection of handbags, nor the quirky modern statues nor winsome bands of musicians.

Clock Tower, Prague

Bag shop, Prague

Musicians on Charles Bridge, Prague

It was the beggars.

I don't have a single photo, but I can't get them out of my head. I didn't take pictures because I felt it was bad form; it would be demeaning, dehumanizing.

The beggars don't just stand or sit around. They crouch in the most abject posture I've ever seen. They crouch on their heels and bend forward, their forehead resting on the pavement, their arms stretched in front of them, holding a cup, tin, or their hat. 

If you go to Google Images and type in "Prague beggars" you'll see exactly what I mean. Because plenty of tourists have found the sight worth photographing. Far fewer bothered to throw a few coins into the beggars' cup or hat, as far as I could see.

Every big city has its beggars and homeless people. But the Prague beggars are still there, as if begging me to remember them.

On to two happier thoughts:

- My Prague posts focused, inter alia, on my need for medical cannabis. I'm happy to report that I'm off cannabis. It didn't agree with me. Interfered with my concentration and my work. And I'm doing quite well without it.

- And now, here I am preparing for my France trip, the first in -- gosh, how long has it been? Eighteen years or so. As usual, I'm agonizing as to what to pack. Weather in my home town in Israel is still hot and humid and sticky. Flip-flops and flimsy-sleeveless-dress weather. Whereas in Paris and the Loire valley it's cool (in Israeli terms...). At least I'm not worrying about which books to take with: I've got my Kindle with scores of books on it :-)

Pity I didn't leave myself enough time to brush up on my high-school French. Am trying to make up for it last-minute with the aid of Duolingo.

Au revoir, mes amis!