Travels in mass.

5/29:

Boston gets me excited for NY. I arrive almost at 6:30am so the city is empty except the other bag-carriers like me that just stepped off the plane and got onto the silver line. I made friends with the jet blue lady and she gave me front row seats so I managed to get off the plane quick which means I am travelling among the real Boston-ites who seem to know what they're doing. I'm waiting for the red line train with them, inside the metro smells warm and musty. I also get whiffs of my still-clean hair but I don't think this will last long as I still have more than a whole day left of travel.
Now I'm writing as I walk. Inside, it's not like BART. The seats are all funny and sideways unlike the forward/back facing ones we have in the Bay. I walk the empty halls of Downtown Crossing metro station closely following a middle aged woman because I'm scared of being alone down here where the sunlight doesn't reach. I emerge to find old buildings, wobbly streets. I have to walk this alley to get to the park so I put my hood up and quicken my steps. At this hour there are only bums and pigeons. I sit in Boston Commons to write and listen to birds.

A plastic bag slowly and gently drifts by infront of me. I am in a new place, everything catches my eye: A young lady smoking, a flabby woman jogging, a flutter of wings, a dad with his baby, a black porsche stuck in a flash mob of slow white taxis, the sea of green park infront of me accented by the red blanket that covers a sleeping man (reminds me of one of my moms' favorite painters), the stone carvings on the buildings (a boat, a goblet, an eagle), a rumble I can feel shaking the bench I'm sitting on (must be the next train).

I've been sitting in one place for too long now so will move on to Boston Gardens, to utmost serenity. I'm not homesick yet, but I still find comfort in similarities between new places and home. I see old men doing tai chi here in the park just like those foggy Berkeley mornings on the Ohlone Greenway.

A new chapter

5/29:
So few hours have elapsed and I've already learned a lesson that will serve me my whole trip: it makes a big difference who you ask so choose wisely.
I arrived in BOS a bit disoriented since it is afterall 2am my time and I barely slept on the plane. The flight attendant was a brat and all I gained from my so-called "rest" was a neckache.
Anyway, then I had to figure out what to do with my large backpack so I could go explore the city on my 12 hour (!) lay-over.
First, I naively went over to a non-American looking guy to explain my situation. He didn't really understand but shook his head angrily and then drove off in his little airport car.
My next encounter was the complete opposite because I accidentally ran into the sweetest young man who immediately started with: "I'm not supposed to tell you this but...." and then told me that I should leave my bag on the carousel and come pick it up from the lost baggage claim later. His shift will pick up again at 3pm so I'm hoping to meet him there before I leave. Glad to have found a little friend along the way, it's fun to know we're both in on the same little illegal secret! :)

Gubbeen is near

Ireland draws closer and now I'm scrambling to pack and get everything ready for the trip. Little things here and there are starting to make this almost imaginary trip more tangible. Most importantly, Giana of Gubbeen Cheese wrote me and instructed me to take the Schull bus to Skibbereen where I will finally be picked up by the Gubbeen crew. In total this makes my trip have four legs: SFO-BOS, BOS-DUB, Dublin to Cork, and finally Cork to Skibbereen. Phew!