Somewhere Out East
We are . . . somewhere in Boston. Somewhere Priceline could find you a deal, missy, which turns out to be an inconvenient distance from the airport or any attractions we might hit before joining the rest of our party and heading north. Our actual destination this trip is Maine, but the six daylight hours in Boston could be put to vacation use, too, right?
For a spatially oriented person, that “somewhere” turns out to be anxiety producing. I don’t know where we are, my nerves are all telling me. How can I do what needs to be done next if I don’t know where we are? I’m itching for a map, something to spread out on a table or suitcase or browser window and find north, orient the hotel and the harbor and the–do we want to go to Beacon Hill? The aquarium? Tell me, kiddo, what are your druthers, and here it is, in this quadrant here in relation to our current location.
The itchiness started in the airport, where one is already forming lists of what needs to be done next and plans of attack. But we had arrived late, and decided to grab the bird-in-the-hand dinner option from a Dunkin’ Donuts kiosk–welcome to New England. We ate our sandwiches and reviewed the options to get to this hotel that was too far for a courtesy shuttle. We sat under a map of the subway.
I’d just read (somewhere) that subway maps are terrible for learning where in space places are: designers are just trying to squish all the stops on the page. But there’s a rack of tourist brochures, and when we get to the hotel I can log in, and . . .
“Taxi,” Kid2, he of few words, said when we’d finished eating. I did know where the taxi stand was. We loaded up in a car whose driver had heard of the hotel (have you ever seen a taxi driver with a map?). Kid2 put on his seatbelt before I thought of it, and showed me the credit-card swiping gizmo mounted on the seat back.
I let go of the map.
We’re here for six daylight hours. We’ll see what we see–I’ll see what he sees–and we’ll get back to the airport and Kid1 and the bus north tomorrow when it’s time. We’ll be somewhere in Boston until we aren’t.
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