Following on from my earlier post I have to confess that the adventure did have its physical impact on me. Not that I am complaining as at nearly seventy I am hardly as resilient as I was when a lot younger. So my body and mind are taking a few days to recover, work out which time zone I am in, and whether I need to prepare myself for further challenges. 

Travelling on my own in such circumstances as Boston allowed me the freedom of not needing to worry about how the other person/s might feel in such situations, but there are also incidental and ordinary downsides of lone travelling. Although there were the extraordinary elements to the trip, there were also the ordinary ifs, buts and where's that you encounter when travelling, especially if you have not been there before.

I do not like dining on my own and only really go for places where I think I will not stick out like a sore thumb. But that means there are a lot of interesting looking places I am not brave enough to go into. Lone lunchtime snacking is easy, most are doing it. Evening dining is something else, or so it feels to me. This was so in Boston and Montreal but of the two evening meals in each of the two places only once did I come seriously unstuck. In Montreal there were some fantastic looking places which were humming with people, which was part of the problem for my sensitivities. 

On the last evening I opted for a restaurant not too crowded with singles as well as couples and small groups eating. I reasoned that it must be ok given the numbers, it looked clean and smart, and I went in. It was an Italian restaurant in Montreal, and I would have preferred French Canadian food, but there you go. Now I have to say that I have no idea what the other food being consumed was like but mine was one of the worst meals I have ever had. I opted for Cannelloni, one of my easy favourites because it is so reliable, but how wrong can you be. I wondered where it had been for the last month, on the roof maybe. It seemed to be composed of a hard meat core, a bit like a skinless sausage, loosely wrapped old pasta, partly covered in a glutinous cheese and tomato sauce, all microwaved to extinction. Oh and decorated with a sprig of what had once been basil but now was more like green printed grease paper. I have no idea why I did not send it back. Instead I persevered eating about two thirds of it out of nutritional need rather than pleasure. I paid and got out quick wondering if I was going to suffer later for the experience. I did not thankfully.

With Boston it was will I be able to do anything in a place dealing with such an outrage. Maybe I also feel a bit guilty being there at that time and thinking of my own needs. But there was a distinct feeling expressed, by those I spoke to, that the world of the city's normal activities had to continue almost because of what had happened. In a way that was best expressed by the three runners in the marathon who concentrated on that experience for them rather than the bombing. There were a heck of a lot of law enforcement people around, as well as army who were patrolling the underground system, from all sorts of different agencies, but they were relaxed as well as watchful which allowed the city to function much as I imagine it normally does. So I feel I was privileged to be there to witness that while wending my way round some of the city, enjoying the bright sunshine, taking in the feel of a fascinating place and a whole different way of looking at the revolutionary war between us. As for food there it was good, with the best/iconic bit being indulging in a lobster salad roll in the Quincy Market Hall.

One final food item, my failure anywhere to find a decent cappuccino.