Leg Four: Cambridge & Boston

Because our 7th anniversary is on the 27th, I can't bear the idea of spending that day traveling. So I persuade David that one more day in Boston would be relaxing.

Before leaving town, we have breakfast at Sylvester's in downtown Northampton, which is simply a requirement. The restaurant has been around 20-something years, but the building was the 19th century home of Dr. Sylvester Graham, of graham cracker fame. He was a crazy old quack, but his namesake cafe serves the most amazing apple pancakes and turkey sausage. The meal does not disappoint. It's weird to be there with Jarrah--in my mid-'20s, I breakfasted there three or four times a week--just me and the newspaper. I think it might be the only place I've ever been a regular.

It's a gorgeous day for the 90 mile drive to Boston, except that a certain someone is over it (she keeps asking what time our plane is leaving) and freaks out when I refuse to turn off the K-Tel Hits of the '80s CD I'd received from our reunion committee. She wails and shrieks for nearly two hours. I'd hate to see how she'd react to disco!

We're staying in the Harvard Square Hotel in Cambridge, and indeed, it is smack in the middle of Harvard Square, across the street from the Charles Hotel, the super-swank lodging where I had one of my best temp jobs ever. The hotel is clean and functional, and our room includes a queen and a twin and a partial view of the hustle and bustle below. I would definitely stay there again--I didn't see anything remotely near the price in such a prime location, and there are yummy Bath and Bodyworks products that I promptly stuff into my suitcase.

It's hard to convince Jarrah to leave the room after she discovers the mini-fridge--when we check out, I find most of her toys frozen solid inside. But Boston awaits, and armed with our 7-day "T" passes (we'd purchased them at the front end--aren't we smart?) and traveling light, we head to the Public Garden and a ride on the famous Swan Boats.

When we emerge from underground, the sky is looking dangerous. Trying to stay optimistic, we grab a to-go snack (we'd skipped lunch) and head towards the center of the park. Now the sky is steel gray and the drooping trees whip around. As we approach the pond, we see the boats, lashed together and out of service, and a small crowd gathering under the boathouse awning, where we quickly join them. Readers, good thing we brought snacks, because a minute or two later, the sky splits like a ripped sail and the rain slams down, drumming across the pond, the paths, the bridges, and blowing us to the center of the shelter. A crack of thunder follows that sends Jarrah's fingernails into my thigh, where they remain for the next 15 minutes or so. When it becomes clear that leaving would mean being drenched to the skin all the way back to Cambridge (we have no umbrellas or jackets) we stay put, enjoying the center of a New England moment. About an hour later, as New England storms do, the sky lightens, the rain tip-toes away, and the sun comes out like a furtive apology. We stroll the park as before, only now Jarrah had knee-deep puddles to slosh through, especially when I ask her not to.

We reach the Make Way for Ducklings sculptures, exciting for Jarrah, and for me, because when I first saw them in the late '80s, I didn't know the book. Jarrah and I crack up every time one of us says "Pack, Lack, Mack, Ouack and Quack" so there is a lot of that. We walk across Boston Common, the gold cupola of the Statehouse winking in the late-afternoon sun. Then we enter the T at Park St. to head back to Cambridge.

One stop before Harvard, the doors stay open and the announcements about delays at Downtown Crossing begin. Time ticks by, and commuter crowds pack us closer and closer together in the center of the car. Finally, I wig (I'm seriously claustrophobic) and command David and Jarrah out of the train. I promise that we are a very short walk from Harvard Square, where we're meeting Sue and Andrew for dinner. (They're so sweet, driving in to have a goodbye dinner with us.) It's actually a 20 minute walk, more like 30 with Jarrah. Did I mention we did this entire trip with no stroller? Which meant David's shoulders got a frequent work-out. We start hoofing it towards Harvard (arguing because we can't figure out if we're going the right way--the GPS has become the new signifier for the lost tourist, replacing the map) and after about 10 minutes of walking, the sky opens up again and we continue our walk in the driving rain. Jarrah, amazingly, doesn't complain, and I attempt to be brave, but you know you're wet when it's 85 degrees outside and you're shivering. Rain sheets down my face into my eyes, nose and mouth, and my new shoes squelch with every step.

Finally, we reach Bertucci's, where Sue and Andrew have been waiting, and a blast of A/C greets us as we come through the door. Brrrrrrr. Luckily, our hotel is across the street, so I hightail it back to the room, grab clothes for David and Jarrah, and return under an umbrella. Sue is much less of a baby then me--they'd also gotten drenched, and she doesn't complain.

But oh, the joy when I return, cozy and dry and enveloped by clouds of garlicky air! Bertucci's is a pizza chain, but it totally rocks. Even the rolls and dip while you wait inspire swooning. The pizza is audaciously good, and the toppings extensive, like roasted garlic and caramelized onions. I have a glass of pinot grigio and within minutes am feeling no pain. It is a perfect anniversary dinner, and Jarrah is over the moon when she sees Friend again. They paint themselves with flour and oil and shriek a lot, and the three adults are left to our own devices.

After dinner, Sue reveals the secret of L.A. Burdick's, a famous handmade chocolate shop--so famous that I've seen their truffle mice in In Style magazine. Their signature item is pure melted hot chocolate that is served almost like a shot, though I savor mine in small sips so my pleasure sensors don't go haywire. We also try the teeny-tiny hamburgers that are actually different flavors of the fluffiest meringue with mousse fillings of chocolate, lavender, lemon and more.

It's hard to let them go, and also sad to realize--strolling through the busy streets to their car--that this is our only perfect summer evening in Harvard Square, and tomorrow at this time we'll be on our way home. Where did the time go? We slip into the Harvard Coop, which has the most amazing children's book section, but a certain, ahem, potty emergency sends us scurrying back to the hotel room by 9:00 p.m. Such is the life of toddler parents.

The next morning is sunny with a light wind, perfect strolling weather, and we walk to the the giant Au Bon Pain across from Harvard. This is a Boston chain with the most delectable baguette sandwiches and French pastries. We eat a simple carb breakfast that couldn't be more divine, and admit to each other that we're getting a little tired of elaborate meals on the road. Next we walk to the Curious George bookshop, co-founded with series author Margaret Rey, and Jarrah has to be dragged away when realize we have to pack up and check out if we're going to have any more adventures before the airport.

The bad news is we need a place to park the car (and a whole bunch of luggage.) David has the idea to drive out to Cambridge Place, a mall that was known as Lechmere in my day (can you see why they might have wanted to change the name?) because they had a parking garage. Lechmere is also walking distance from the Science Museum, which means we can hopefully get on the Duck Tour, which we've been trying to do since our Marshfield leg. Packed tightly into our Escort, we depart Harvard Square.

We hurry over to the Duck Tour stop, and Jarrah and I wait with a passel of school groups for David to return with the news that they are all sold out until 5:00. Foiled again! Now we have a bunch of time on our hands, so we hop on the T and head back downtown. This time, the weather smiles on us, and we're able to get right on a Swan Boat for a leisurely turn around the Public Garden. It's very pretty, and again I wish we weren't going home. The Swan Boats are pretty cool because the driver actually peddles it with his feet, even though it seats about 20 people.

After that we are ready for lunch and look for a cafe on Newbury St., but apparently things have changed because we walk and walk and all we see are designer clothing boutiques and no food anywhere, which I guess makes sense because you can't eat if you are going to wear those clothes. Jarrah is getting cranky, so we hop back on the T to Lechmere.

Back at Lechmere (I just like saying that) we are really hungry now, and settle on the food court and some pretty decent Thai food. We carry our cardboard boxes out to a faux-lake at the back of the mall, which is really rather pleasant. Afterward, I send David to the Mac Store while Jarrah and I duck into H&M (we still don't have it in San Diego!) to try on heart sunglasses and gold hair ornaments, which we model with supermodel panache to the pounding music.

We dawdle, but Boston really has a remarkably convenient airport, and before we know it we're at our gate. Though we buy a bunch of Au Bon Pain goodies for our six-hour flight, it still doesn't feel like a decent dinner. Jarrah sleeps for nearly two hours, but it's so hard to get comfortable on planes these days--even for a three-year-old--that she wakes up crying with frustration at one point. After we get her settled on David's lap with a blankie and pillow, she sleeps most of the way to San Diego. I am pretty much glued to Life of Pi, but definitely feel very excited to sleep in my own bed.