posted on Friday, October 07, 2016

Littleton


We had the usual adventurous night at the Boston hostel. I was sharing a little dorm room with five other guys and well prepared by past grim experience I had come equipped with a pair of indispensable ear plugs. These proved not up to the task as I still woke up to various snores and groans making their way past them. The real fun part started around 5:15 when the first mobile phone chime sat off on a gentle but loud lullaby. Pleasing at first, the blighted melody lasted good ten minutes and triggered a search for the culprit. From my top bunk position I started noticing people crawling on all fours trying to figure out direction, location and nature of the instrument and ways to silence it. It was all in vain, the carillon went on unperturbed, announcing joyfully that it was time to get up.
The only person sound asleep was Brad from Austin Texas and it was clear that his alarm was not going to wake him up. The general commotion ended when unconscious and half asleep he somehow managed to silence it, bringing sighs of relief. Ten minutes had hardly passed when another chime went off and another one while Brad was gently asleep. On the fourth round there was a sense of doom and despair and even the so far quiet Chinese bloke started cursing loudly in mandarin while I couldn't stop laughing at it all.
Youth hostels consistently deliver good stories to compensate for the lack of sleep.
Boston was bright and sunny and cycling around most of the morning I got a glimpse of its charm.
Bronte and the judge were proudly setting off.
I always wanted to be able to say 'I have gone to Harvard' and as it was on the way, I paid MIT a visit too. Not all was well in Harvard. The leafy college yard bustling with tourists and proud looking students carrying loads of books, was rattled by a protest march with loudspeakers. You know the type that goes along the lines that whatever they wanted they wanted it now sort of thing... no patience whatsoever.
The countryside loomed, with a string of idyllic villages but little to keep the inspector busy. It was interesting to see Walden pond where Thoreau wrote his most famous book and lived for two years testing self sufficiency and peace. Nearby Concord was also worth a stop with its history of battles for independence and literary heritage. Foliage was having a bad day in Massachusetts, maybe feeling a tad shy by his passing. Harsh as it seemed he cycled on unperturbed and awarded none.