I woke up in Boston feeling less burned and tired, but without much of a plan. At one point in my life, my job had sent me back and forth to Salem a lot, and I had visited two unconnected friends in the city in the 1990s. One was the childhood friend I had stopped to see in Scarsdale on my way out, and the other was a friend I had lost track of by the late 1990s. I thought about her that morning, recalling my visit right after my college graduation, when we walked the Freedom Trail. I could remember none of it now, and the last time I could recall that we had contact had been 25 years before, just after she had moved to London. It made me a little sad, because she was a treasured and good friend. I decided to take in the Trail again to orient myself to historic Boston and see memories it jogged.
It was a glorious day, not too hot or cold, and after a stop at the post office, I enjoyed a decadent breakfast at Petsi Pie in Somervelle. Then I made my way to Boston Common, navigated to the public parking lot, and settled my car in for the day, a relief to not have to manage it while I wandered around the city. I meandered around the Common, taking my time to people watch and enjoy the day. I had no planned agenda when I landed at the Visitors Center. On the recommendation of one of the staff, I spontaneously decided to join the final tour of the day rather than guess at the historic sites on my own.
My guide was named Jeremiah Poope, and he was awesome. He knew his history, and made it enjoyable, with irreverent perspective on many of the revolutionary heroes. Strangers joined us to listen and I could have stayed with him all day. Unfortunately, the tour ended about half way down the trail, near the site of the Boston Massacre, across from Faneuil Hall. He provided us with recommendations as we moved into the North End–the heart of Boston’s historic Italian community–and off I went to complete the trail in what remained of the glorious afternoon and evening, perhaps stopping for dinner on my way back.
There had been increases in Covid cases, so I decided to skip a visit inside Fanieul Hall but, in the spirit of the day, glanced a National Park Service sign and went inside to get one of their site stamps. I poked through the souvenirs, then headed out to resume my journey on the trail. As I was heading out the door, I stepped back to let two women pass in front of me and made eye contact with the third person, who was holding the door. It was my friend Kakie. After over 30 years, she looked exactly the same. I called out her name and she was equally shocked. It had been a totally random day, but for whatever reason, I wound up at the same doorway at the exact moment she was holding it open for her two sisters. All three were in town to surprise their mom for her 80th birthday. She had settled in London in these last decades and was on a short visit over–the girls had gone out with some cousins to spend time in the North End before the cousins returned home. Both of us found ourselves on that spot in a totally random fashion and were stunned to find a long lost friend.
Her family headed off for drinks at a nearby restaurant, so Kakie and I stopped to catch up for an hour or so. Then we went to get pastries at Modern Bakery, where the line stretched for about 30 minutes. Apparently, there’s a rivalry between Modern and Mike’s, with Kakie’s family supporting Modern because of the way they assemble their cannolis. (These things matter; it’s cannolis. ) Her sisters and cousins still had to wait in line, so we sat outside drinking espresso martinis and catching up. Eventually, one of her sisters moved the party to her favorite North End restaurant, and we lingered over a decadent dinner and regaled them with stories of our days as students in Cairo in the late 1980’s, giggling endlessly as we had then. They even put me on the phone with their mother to explain why the girls had not come home for dinner as expected. I had last seen their mom during that first visit so long ago, but she remembered me. I got them off the hook with her, but did not manage to convince her to join us for dinner, which would have been wonderful.
It was a miraculous dinner. Of course, one of Kakie’s sisters paid surreptitiously and promised to let me host them when they make their way to DC. As magical traveling days go, it probably tops my list. The three women walked with me as I retraced my steps back to my car, and I saw them off on an Uber to their mom’s house, which was in the opposite direction. Thanks to social media, we are now connected in multiple ways, so it should not take another 30+ years and random stop at a crowded market to reconnect.