Our wild ride through downtown Boston.

We have just returned home after two weeks on the East Coast, and while riding on the train to Washington D.C. I wrote the following:

After a very pleasant day visiting a cousin in Ipswich, my husband drove us back to Boston where we were staying.  As we approached the city at dusk, the smooth freeway rose upward over the streets and curved to the right carrying us towards a spectacular view of a full moon hovering over tall skyscrapers.  Then we crossed a bridge with the moon shining before us like a beacon.  I kept trying to get a photo, but to no avail.  Bill was driving our little rental car very fast and the scenery kept changing.  Quickly we were on the city streets merging into an onslaught of rushing cars.  Bill had to navigate the streets and look for street signs to find our way back to the hotel while I was watching out the window with delight as the Boston streets whizzed by.  I had not been able to do any sightseeing during the previous three days, so this evening ride was my only glimpse of downtown Boston and the financial district. 

The moon continued to shine overhead darting between buildings as we sped down the streets, turning corners, crossing bridges and stopping at traffic lights.  I wanted to capture the moon in my camera but there were only fleeting moments before it disappeared.  The few photos I caught were only blurs, but I kept trying.  After we drove around the area for awhile, I noticed I was seeing the same scenery repeatedly.  We crossed the bridge over the river several times in both directions.  The Boston Commons went by my window more than once and names of streets kept reappearing.  Around and around we went, turning this way and that, flowing onto one-way streets, and following the other cars like a herd of cattle being driven by an unknown force.  At the same time, Bill's expletives became louder and more frantic and my glee dissipated.  I figured we were in trouble, lost in a maze with no direction or way out. 

Bill shoved the map at me, telling me to find the streets we were passing by, but I could hardly see the little print and could not find the street names.  I knew where we should have been heading, but I could not find our place on the map.  Several times I begged for us to stop so I could get my bearings and figure out where we were.  At last, we pulled into a dead-end street and I found our position, but I didn't know which direction we were facing.  Bill kept thinking we were driving in the wrong direction and I kept yelling "Where's the St. Charles river?"  The traffic slowed next to a park and I saw a young man strolling by with ear nubs in his ears, apparently listening to his I-pod.  I frantically called to him and waved out the open window.  After I waved three desperate times, he turned and looked at me.  "Where is the River?" I said.  "Do you want to go to the River?  he replied.  "No, I just want to know where it is," I yelled.  He pointed to my right, and with a sigh of relief, I said "Thanks."  We were going in the right direction towards the Hotel.  Bill then turned right around the Park onto a one-way street and thought he made another mistake, but I had the map and told him to turn left on the next street.  He turned left, then left again going in the opposite direction.  With map in hand, I found the street we needed and told my frustrated driver to turn right up ahead a couple of blocks.  This time he turned on the correct street and suddenly our maze unraveled--we were out.  We were on our way to the hotel--What a relief.  Next trip I'm bringing my GPS.