Widow's walk

A widow's walk (or watch) is a small platform with a railing on top of a house on coastal towns.

The street where I found my accommodation; notice the railing on top of the green house's tower.

The legend behind this architectural quirk is that sailor's wives would keep a watch for the return of their beloved on these platforms (or rich captain would watch for the return of the ships they have investments in). But apparently it's just inspired from the Italian architecture, where belvedere were an important finishing touch.

I prefer the legend.

(Wikipedia knows all about it: clic here.)

Skywalk Observatory

The Skywalk observatory is on the 50th floor of the Prudential tower (=skyscraper). It's a corridor following the outside of the tower with tall windows, allowing a 360 degrees view of Boston. One of the great things about visiting in February was that I had the place almost to myself: I think I saw 4 other people in addition to the attendants. 

An audioguide gave some explanations of what was in front of each window and its history. Of course, when they speak of the giant fountain that is an empty brick circle in the winter, it's sometimes a bit hard to follow!

They have a few wall panels and games about Boston's history of immigration.

After that nice walk, I went to explore (back down) the temple of temptation called the Cheesecake Factory... Let's just say that Key Lime cheesecake lives up to my expectations.

Yes, that's a golden lobster.

Laundromat

Nothing like waiting for your clothes to dry to do your shopping and catch up on blog writing. You feed your washing machine quarters, that's 25 cent coins, and if you have to pay your load $5, then you insert 20 coins. There is a machine to change your bills into coins. 

The weather has finally turned against me: yesterday evening the first snowflakes were spinning and this morning it's raining. Cold rain. Brrr.

So, my day yesterday... 

MFA

Or Museum of Fine Arts.

(The dryer is spinning.)

The thing with tourism in February, and on a weekday, the museums are empty. You can be alone with Rembrandt, although not with the Impressionists: there you have plenty of students or artists drawing. 

So I started with the familiar, the European painters. They have some nice things. And I met the lady who explained things to me at the Isabella Gardner museum: she was following a guided tour.

Their Impressionist collection is impressive: Monet, Turner, Rysselberghe, and also Renoir, Signac, Gerôme...

Then I went to discover the American painters. Actually, that's not exactly how they organize the collections: it was European art, and that includes furniture, tableware, and the recreation of a complete room. So the American art starts at the underground level with Mesoamerican and Native American art. Then Quaker furniture. 

Above, the art around the War of Independence (paintings of Washington, Paul Revere...), with the Bostonian painter Copley. (I'm not a fan of his style.)

The next level up, we arrive at the 19th century: Sargent figures prominently at this level. 

(I've got the TV with news and ads blaring in the laundromat... the presidential campaign ads are... please someone shoot the TV...) And the laundry is done! 

That was the period that spoke to me the most. Landscapes, portraits, scenes of everyday events...

I was a bit disappointed with the museum shop, though I found plenty of postcards, there were none about Native or Mesoamerican art. But they have butterscotch ice cream, with salted butter, so they are half pardoned.

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Yesterday (Monday) was a frustrating day. I went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, renowned to be quirky and interesting. I'll say stuffy and irrational, but I am biased. 

First of all, the name of the museum is on the side. When you are in front, a few discreet initials on the door are the only indication. So of course I went the whole way around before finding the entrance. 

The museum was built by Isabella to be the place where to exhibit her collection. It looks like an Italian palace, with a very nice courtyard (its best feature). The courtyard, well, it's more a cloister, is closed by a clear roof, making it more a greenhouse, which allows fantastically green and exotic plants to grow. 

The collections inside are thematically and chronologically arranged. What it means is rooms full of art pieces, be it paintings, statues, objects, tapestries, without apparent order or reason (actually, you have to have the audio guide or ask someone to get the explanation; I got it at the end). Everything is as Isabella choose to place it and the legacy is, of course, not to move things around. I hated it. I found extremely frustrating to leave a medieval-themed room to enter an Chinese-themed one, to have side-by-side an imitation of a Renaissance chapel with imported candlesticks and another Chinese room with here a bell and here a piece of mural. *Shudder*

(They have Flavigny anis on sale at the museum shop.)

So I went shopping to heal my soul, and of course the shops I had marked to go to were uninteresting. I was saved by the Boston Public Library, with its own courtyard and the cafe that served me a New England Clam Chowder that hit the perfect spot.

Boston Public Library

Colonials

Colonials are not people but houses. Most often in wood, they have stairs and balconies and porches and are painted in nice colours. The house where I rent a room is one such.

The ducks of Boston

So between Saturday and Sunday I've had two guided tours of Downtown Boston, the first through the bus tour, the second through the Beantown trolley tour.

Hotel by the sea

Beantown is the nickname of the city, from when they had a lot of people to feed and not enough food. There was a lot of bean dishes going around. (And according to the guide, the gave the Windy city competition for the nickname.)

The trolley is a reproduction of a trolley cart, a hop on / hop off thing where the drivers give you pointers of the area you are going through. Being the lone passenger at time, I had a more interesting discussion with the driver (come on, cricket. Even the American don't understand it.)

I used the trolley to go to the USS Constitution, then to go back downtown. I went to the public garden, which is on the other side of the street from the Common, and which reputedly has a tree from every state (including Hawaii). There are also ducks, of the feather variety and the bronze variety. I'll to put a picture after,  but pictures makes writing harder. The bronze ducks are inspired by a children's book, Mother Goose or something (I know, ducks and geese.)

The ducks, of the bronze variety

After that well I was near Beacon Hill and its mansions. They are brownstones, which means they were built of bricks and the occasional reddish-brown stone. The streets are still paved with red bricks, the lights are still fuelled with natural gas. The area is beautiful, posh, of course, and quiet as soon as one takes a side street away from Charles street, the big avenue that crosses Beacon Hill.

Brownstone

Brick pavement

After taking my fill of brownstones, I decided on new adventures: buying food to take home. Well, that wasn't that easy. I found the grocery store, first victory. I found more or less food to buy (I'm happy to learn that my ham is gluten-free.) At the checkout, I was stymied by the bagger:I'm not used to have my shopping bagged (doubled-bagged, actually) by someone.

But I found my way home and had a good dinner.