Monday, July 15, 2019

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

We just returned from a day and a night in Boston, which is a hop, skip, and jump from Maine. We took the train. Driving in Boston can be a nightmare, and many Mainers skip the stress and hop on the bus or Amtrak.Whenever someone has to drive to Boston, they get a lot of sympathy, and everyone has their driving-in-Boston stories. When the Big Dig was going on, it was more nightmarish, but it still seems like signs and streets move on a dime and we never know when a road is going to be closed or where there might be traffic backup. We have spent a few weekends or days visiting Beantown, and we always look forward to it and also grit our teeth and pray for good traveling. One time we payed the toll twice on Tobin Bridge-don't ask. We've also had our T and train nightmares too, but this time we had a smooth journey.

We went to see the Red Sox, who got whomped by the Dodgers. Too bad. The night before the Sox had beat the Dodgers. (In context for all you non baseball fans, this was a big series because last October the Sox won the World Series against the Dodgers and one of the Sox star pitchers, Joe Kelly, switched hats over the winter and became a Dodger. Boo!)


We aren't advocating underage drinking,
but we did eat sandwiches, wings and
sodas at Boston's tv-famous bar/restaurant;
 however, no one seemed to know our name. 

Boston is a very fun city. It is also gritty and fast-paced. My brother has told me there is a saying about Boston that its a little drinking town with a big sports problem! It is a historic, artsy, and collegiate town with lots of great restaurants and culture. Running is, of course, huge.

I don't know if it was the heat or getting up at 3:30 a.m. to catch a super early train, but by gametime I was ready to get back home to smallville Maine where everybody really does know your name. (We always hit Cheers at Quincy Market.) I think what hit me this visit was the general unfriendliness of the Boston natives. I have to say the Parisians were friendlier! Although we didn't have any truly rude encounters, its always the other tourists in Boston that are friendly and helpful to each other. Mainers always seem to find one another as well. One year a family asked us for helped with the T. They were from Maine. They looked at us and thought we looked like we knew what we were doing. We did, momentarily, because we had just spent three days  navigating the T using maps and my husband's skilled sense of direction. (This trip, likely thanks to the French firm the city has hired to fix their public transport, we found more vested MTBA workers in the T to ask questions of--not many but one or two, which is more than usual.)

The folks that work at Fenway are, of course, friendly, so long as you aren't trying to run on the field. But I really couldn't wait to get home. We heard more F words and people yelling into phones on this trip than any other time.

I know Boston must have its own sense of community within neighborhoods and groups of likeminded people, but as in most cities no one looks at each other directly, no one smiles at you, and officials often seem annoyed when you ask dumb questions. Even though life in Maine is somewhat unvaried and small in terms of what there is to do and see (no night city life or regular sporting events), I do like that many people know your name including grocery clerks, corner store clerks and the postmaster, or at least they ask "How are you?" I regularly run into people I'm distantly related to, and while that used to sometimes feel socially claustrophobic, I'm realizing it's not a bad thing at all that everyone knows your story (the public version) and your name.

That's where community often starts--knowing one another, at least by name.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Living in rural Maine means having a tribe that cares about you. If you have a flat tire on the side of the road, folks stop by to help. Big cities may be fun to visit, but I'll take waking up to the birds singing and dew on the grass any day.

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