Arrival in Boston

Well there you go an Englishman abroad, finally!  After escaping the Chrimbo market back home, and setting off at 11:45 for the States, I arrived at Boston Logan at 6pm, whereby I ran into the first problem, immigration.  I'm my own worst enemy at times, but really it does help if you read both sides of the document you need to fill out to gain entry into the USA.  Maybe the kindly officer, female, was utterly bemused by the sight of the intrepid travel virgin, incapable of ticking boxes, that she finally let me through after I'd filled in the required number.  Of course, I being I decided to declare the bags of contraband, which then held up proceedings some more, the contraband was four bags of coffee beans, six packets of bread yeast, and the killer of all murderous contraband...vanilla sauce powder.

Clearly the US Immigration & Customs were dealing with a less than intellectual member of the human species, and no doubt correctly assumed that a man who truthfully declares he's bringing vanilla sauce into the USA poses no real security threat.  Of course I'm an innocent man, who's only criminal offence is being a man, which he naturally blames his mother for, well she's responsible for the chromosome lottery that has a silly moment.

Finally I managed to get through all the hurdles that officialdom deems necessary, to be met by a lot of people at the arrivals gate.  That's the thing really, people meeting people for countless reasons, the majority no doubt enormously pleased to see their friend, relation, or milkman returning from his holiday in much warmer climes, which isn't very good for fresh milk, but he's ready to be back at work after a good rest from the endless cups of tea he's drunk before going away.  That aside, I wander through somewhat bemused by the attention being paid to the vanilla sauce, maybe they don't have it in the states, to be met by my dear friend S, who, unbeknown to me, is holding a camera and lets rip with the viciousness of an uzi hell bent on blinding me with its barrel flash.  My first words, uttered freely in the arena that is the arrivals hall was 'bastard', which a young lady thought was highly amusing, as did my friend.

I arrived to the joys of a Boston winter, slightly mild for the time of year, but with an abundance of snow, most of which had been shoved to one side by a macho pickup truck, immensely helped by the yellow snow plough blade attached to the front.  It all seemed a bit overwhelming, landing in a land where the language is a variation of your own, and one where there are doubts as to the sanity of your virginal status.  This isn't helped by the fact that every documentary, hollywood movie, TV series and news reports coming from the USA is heavily laden with a bias towards gun totting mayhem.  Perhaps, in future, there should be a health warning issued on every media product urging caution when viewing the contents.  Thus far, within the space of an hour of having my feet planted firmly on American soil, I'd certainly met the seriousness of the official world, as seen and practiced through American eyes, but people were polite, happy to talk, and perhaps contrary to popular belief far more open than is appreciated.  My one real concern was the language barrier, my own, not having been in an English speaking country for the last eight years, and a language restricted and largely curtailed by its limitations of use in a career I've come to love, teaching the language of my birth, English.

But hope always springs eternal for virgins everywhere, and if one has misgivings due to the foreboding messages of a world that should know better, one can't be blamed for accepting the good graces of your real life hosts with a little more relish than is romantically acceptable.  As I live in a world that spends an enormous amount of time willing its own destructiveness, the sights and sounds of politeness ring ever truer to one's aging ears.  I could be ever more cynical and think that every polite word expressed by someone has a motive beyond its innocence, and maybe that's often the truth, yet somewhere deep the 'thank you' has a sense of value and worth, that is perhaps priceless and far too often abused by some of its practitioners.

On that note, it's with hand on heart that I thank 'S' for having made my present adventure possible.  I've no doubt I'll be saying 'thank you' to him on many occasions over the next few weeks, but as always it'll be voiced with the appreciation it deserves.

As a final word I'll keep writing the blog as and when I get the opportunity, keeping you up to date with my travels as a virgin abroad.  For now, wherever you're reading this, keep smiling!