Internal Tourism

As you know, I hate driving with the heat of 60,000 suns. Serious and true. Yesterday I had appointments in town, Boston and Cambridge, and errands to run. Being the bright broad that I am, I figured ‘Hey, great chance to have breakfast (favorite meal of the day) with Jen AND get a ride into town!’

What to do with those two hours between being dropped off and that first appointment? Take a stroll along the Charles and hit a coffee shop in Harvard Square for air conditioned reading, sipping and catching up on correspondence. Of course!

The best wander time, for me anyway, is early, early, early. The Square is mobbed by noon and more crowded still in the early evenings as clots of folk wander from street musician to magician and more. There are jugglers, glass harp players  (you’ve not lived until you’ve heard the theme from Star Wars played on a warm summer evening by a tuxedoed, glass harp rocking wild man), unicycling comic magicians, folk singers and punkers. No mimes -- I can’t recall any but, perhaps, I’ve just blocked that out of my memories. Self preservation and all, doncha know.

Before making it big, Tracy Chapman, Joan Baez, Tom Rush and Bonnie Raitt all played on the streets here.

 Sounds molto fab right -- getting to see and hear future radio stars? The teeming multitudes, the throngs of slow moving revelers are way too much for me now.

Back when I first moved to Boston, I worked in the Square at my very first pressroom. Gnomon Copy and Press. I worked in two different locations -- 99 Mount Auburn (conveniently located right next door to the Million Year Picnic) and 1304 Massachusetts Avenue with its astoundingly gorgeous art nouveau front.

My chums and I hung at The Wursthaus, The Ha' Penny Pub, Jonathan Swift's and The Casablanca when we weren’t down the road a piece at Jack’s catching The Zulus or Birdsongs of the Mesozoic that is.

My pal Steve and I, one blizzardy winter night, had tickets to see Jaco Pastorius and Jorma Koukonen together (!). The storm bushwhacked Jorma, so one of his roadies took the microscopically small stage at Swift’s along with Jaco. It was a mind blowing show. There were four hands playing the guitars but it sounded like a zillion in perfect harmony, counterpoint and union.

Back to yesterday though -- I sat in the window of the coffee shop in Holyoke Center watching the early morning chess players in the outdoor courtyard area. Murray Turnbull, The Chess Master wasn’t in residence yet but there are others. By noon, even in 90 degree heat, there won’t be a table to be had. 

I managed to hit one of my fav bookstores -- The Harvard Bookstore with its tremendous used book cellar -- before descending into the Red Line MBTA stop and continuing my errand running.

I miss the Square though I’m def glad that I don’t work there anymore. A return visit is in order but it’ll have to be on a day that doesn’t threaten to rival June days in Phoenix.