I’m back in the usual speaking world after nine days of silence. And I have little desire to write. But … I thought I’d say a few things:
I walked into Dunkin’ Donuts this morning. I wondered if big coffee chains in North America (such as Tim Hortons in Canada) still had signs saying you can only sit here for twenty minutes. Dunkin’ was different – fifteen minutes.
(Sigh)
I find the word “loitering” particularly nasty. In my home of Ghent, Belgium, you’re welcome to visit with your friends for as long as you like … sipping your cappuccino. It’s what the world is meant to be.
***
Last night I returned to a Mediterranean restaurant in Boston’s North End. I had a delicious meal there before my meditation retreat started. After the retreat ended on Wednesday, I’ve been telling people on buses about the glories of the Moon Restaurant. Locals had never heard of it.
I showed up yesterday after Google Maps gently reminded me that it was “Mood”, not “Moon”. The owner Fatima and I had a good laugh. All that lost business!
***
I sat on a bench this morning watching the flow of humanity. One young couple caught my attention. She was black and he was white. Their hands loved each other.
I noticed the skin colour difference but there was no impact. Their relationship outshone everything else.
I thought of the past. In the 1960’s there would have been big reactions from passersby. We’ve come a long way.
Splorin’ in the North End of Boston … old, Italian, European, lovely.
Hanover Street is full of restaurants that are open to the world. Huge spaces that sometimes are windows … and life from the street flows in. This photo is from the Internet:
Here’s one from my real life, on nearby Salem Street. Minutes earlier the two tables were full of happy people but I didn’t ask to take their photo.
The restaurant is Mood, run by Fatima and her husband. She grew up in Saudi Arabia. Her smile filled the dining room. It rubbed off on Dave and me, and all the diners surrounding us. The group of us had a fine old time.
And the flavours! Tagliatelle, sea bass and asparagus. Subtle and remarkable.
***
Then there was St. Leonard Church. I sat in a pew twice … meditating and watching people. It was a miracle of pastel colours and curves. I felt at home.
In a somewhat less spiritual vein, as I gazed at the beauty I felt food stuck in my teeth. Being an organized human being, I was carrying my floss. But you don’t do that in church, Bruce!
I supposed I was right. But then an inspiration … I’ll wait till the church is empty and then I’ll do my thing.
12, 9, 7, 10, 4, 1, 3 …
It was never empty. So I soldiered on with tight teeth.
Outside was the St. Leonard’s Peace Garden. Twice I gazed upon the Virgin Mary. She glowed.
It’s the next day. I’m sitting in Logan Airport, about to meet three of my fellow yogis. We’ve arranged to share a van to the Insight Meditation Society two hours away.
Before the retreat starts, I’ll include a couple of pics of IMS. After that, it’s radio silence for nine days. No TV, Internet, music or reading. And I’m fine with that.
I was sitting in the lobby of the Boston Marriott Long Wharf Hotel, waiting for my friend Dave to show up. A gentleman moved slowly to the couch across from me. He had trouble sitting down. Once there he closed his eyes. There was a long scar on his knee.
When he came back to his surroundings, I said hi. We talked about his home … Massachusetts, and mine … Gent.
And then his wife sat down. Their room wasn’t ready yet. She told me that they live an hour away but came to the Long Wharf for a two-day retreat. Husband isn’t very mobile right now so the hotel offered the chance to be near the water and all the boats. Plus near Francesca’s, one of their favorite restaurants.
I silently gave thanks for my continuing ability to wander the pathways of life.
Then they melted into each other … and I took their picture.
***
Dave and I meandered through the old streets. In the daylight, we came upon an immense flag. I find any country’s flag to be beautiful, and this one sure was. The hopes and dreams of a nation.
Interlude:
I’m writing this from a bench in Boston Common, a huge downtown park with a splash pad and a woman wearing a white dress and straw hat, sitting with her friends. Straight out of Gone With The Wind.
Okay … I’m too tired to keep writing. Tomorrow morning I’ll tell you about more Boston people, and then it’s off to Barre, Massachusetts for the meditation retreat – nine days of no Internet, nine days of silence.
Yesterday’s arrival in Boston was momentous, and not in a good way. I wonder what the word really means.
Of great importance or significance, especially in its bearing on the future
So if these three happenings were yucky, the future is not that they’ll never happen again, but how I deal with them down the road.
1. I was tired after the two flights – ten hours in the air. In Boston Airport, it was immediately clear that I had no phone service. And I was too out of it to see that “BOSwis” was the airport’s WiFi. I fact, I bet the sign really said “BOSWiFi” but I didn’t have eyes to see.
Also, apparently no Data Roaming from Belgium. Couldn’t find any message about it. So I was flying blind. My Airbnb host “Melanie” had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport but I couldn’t figure out how to contact her. Later I heard a voice in my head: “Well, Bruce, WhatsApp would have done nicely.”
I spent nearly an hour this morning on the phone with my Belgian Internet service provider. Janice was so kind … but I couldn’t piece together her instructions, or what had gone wrong. In a lovely spurt of niceness, she e-mailed me the instructions so I wouldn’t have to remember the words of her voice.
She adjusted the coverage that I was getting … and here I am sitting with oodles of data.
2. No luggage. The first flight, to Munich, left Brussels an hour late because of weather problems. My layover of 1:20 turned into a sprint of :25. One result was that Lufthansa left my luggage in Munich.
I sat for many minutes at Carousel 4, watching suitcases traverse their loop, just not my suitcase. Ten or twenty passengers shared my fate. The Lufthansa rep did his best to be helpful. “Coming tomorrow. Right now, leave the Customs area and go to the Transfer desk. Another Lufthansa agent will take your info so hopefully your luggage will be delivered to your home tomorrow evening.” So there was hope within the sigh.
I left the meeting travelling light. Rather than find the desk right away, I worked on solving problem number three. By the time I got to the Transfer desk, the rep had gone home.
Happily there was a sign. I could scan the image to access a “delayed luggage” form, not requiring the Internet. So I sat there blearily, doing my best to answer questions about my suitcase. I wasn’t on top of my game.
Hopefully this evening I can shave and put on deodorant.
3. My Airbnb host and I couldn’t find each other. A neighbouring passenger helped me identify Logan’s WiFi. (Thank you, dear anonymous one) So at least Melanie and I could talk to each other.
Bruce: “I’m standing outside Customs at Terminal E.”
Melanie: “So am I.”
Bruce: “I don’t see you.” (We’d exchanged pictures)
Melanie: “I don’t see *you*.”
The fact was that we’d both assumed. My experience in airports is that once you’ve cleared Customs and got your luggage, you go through a big door that opens into a lobby. Behind a low fence are the loved ones, some holding signs. And that’s what I saw last night. I held Melanie’s photo and scanned faces. No one that looked like her.
Melanie’s assumption was that I would meet her in the parking lot because drivers picking up travellers were supposed to stay with their cars.
“And never the twain shall meet.” Well, you’ll be happy to know that the twain eventually met. We drove home. I fell into bed. And I dreamt of tomorrow … another day.
I’m in the departure lounge at Brussels Airport … looking around.
Almost everyone is intent on their phone – individuals, couples, friends, whole families.
Happily I see some alternatives:
Mom, dad, daughter, son … all eating, and talking to each other!
A young man sleeping on one of the lounge chairs
A 40-something woman sleeping, and looking cozy with a white down jacket tucked under her chin
And another sleeper, female I think. A blanket covers her head
A young woman holding a magazine in her hands, and reading it
And could that be a meditator way over there? Or maybe she’s just majorly relaxed, tired, etcetera.
All these lives, ready to lift off to Helsinki. Actually I’m sitting in the wrong lounge for Munich (Munich-Boston is later). I must correct that.
I wonder about these lives. I don’t know any of them. But when I look towards their eyes, perhaps I’m wrong. I do know us human beings, in all our variety and commonality. We ache. We exult. We grieve. We win. We lose.
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