In six hours I can fly from Spain to Canada, but six hours stuck in a car isn’t considered anything out of the ordinary in the US. That’s what Megan told me as we hopped in her car and headed down to Boston, the city where Megan was once a uni student and which lies a whole six hours south of Burlington.
Boston felt more European than anywhere I’ve been in the US. The metro felt Parisian, the streets looked English, and the cannoli we devoured tasted very Sicilian. I felt like I was back in my home continent until I saw people in caps talking in an American accent about going to the “ball game”.
It turns out that the “ball game” was exactly where Megan and I would be headed, too. A place called Fenway Park is home to the Boston Red Sox, a team which sounded vaguely familiar to me and of which Megan is a keen supporter. She grabbed us some last minute tickets whilst the sound of someone belting out their national anthem resounded through the stadium. We’d been assigned nosebleed seats, but managed to make our way down to a better spot as others left. Not that this mattered all that much: I still don’t understand this sport in which players seem to spend most of the game idling, so I spent most of my time sampling some of the US’ best/worst sports snacks.
That evening the heavens opened as we crossed an unfortunately long bridge over the harbour. We got home drenched to the bones, so it was a miracle that we didn’t both wake up with a raging cold the next day as we jumped back in the car for our next destination: Rhode Island.
Part of Megan’s family hails from the smallest state in the US, which I learned has a rather funny accent as we tucked into some clam chowder in a quint wooden seafood restaurant overlooking the beach. We spent time with Megan’s aunt and cousin, our gracious hosts; but also had the chance to grab ice cream, eat nice meals, and spend our last evening walking down the beach to a local dive bar overlooking the sea.
As I sang along to some live country music in this ramshackle joint full of characters, I wondered how every decision and turn in my life had led me to be in this most random of places at this very moment. But, and after managing to separate myself from a drunk lady in a cowboy hat who’d forced me into dancing with her, I had a moment to reflect on this with Megan as we looked out over the waves, and I realised that there was no place I’d rather be.
