Boston.
A Lincoln Navigator is a big beautiful machine. It is a city voyager, a luxury cruise liner. A lounge room built to coast the asphalt. It is so big and powerful that it is almost impossible to hear the bleating horns of any small Japanese vehicles being crushed underneath as we change lanes. It is unashamedly American and it is everything a car should be. Comfortable, safe, luxurious. Once behind the wheel it felt like finally being accepted into an exclusive London gentlemen's club. Every time I glanced into the back seat I expected to see portraits of Cuthbert Featherstonehall, Lord Livingstone or Winston Churchill smoking Havana cigars and drinking cognac. Ours was a rich burgundy with black leather upholstery, an inbuilt navigation system, power everything and side steps that folded back up into the chassis once all the doors were closed. This soundless and smooth little piece of perfect engineering served no other purpose than to say, 'Look at me. Look at my car. I can afford the law suit so back off before I shoot your ass.' We hired the car by mistake. The hire company had run out of small Japanese wagons (parts of them were probably still stuck to the Navigator's tyres) and so, for a 'small' fee, they let me upgrade. (By small fee, I mean the credit card shrank like a chip packet in the oven when it came to pay.) We were visiting Boston to catch up with old mates. Nearly 20 years ago Rory, Joel and Damian all worked and shared an apartment in Ramallah. One of my craziest memories is driving into Jerusalem to go to a bar and we've got the windows down with ACDC blaring. We get stopped at a checkpoint by Israeli soldiers with acne, big guns and American accents. Americans in the car. Americans out of the car. Damian and I looking at each other, noting the irony. Joel talking to the soldiers with polite, cold authority, like he's the one with the gun while Rory's asking where in the States they are from.The soldiers completely oblivious that he is making a political comment. Rory and his wife Lara opened up their house and made us feel like honoured guests. Joel flew up from Kentucky. I'm sure D., somewhere, cracked a beer. We used the car to ferry ourselves around Boston and thankfully, for the sake of the remaining lesser vehicles on the road, Joel drove us out to Cape Cod. Joel currently lives in Kentucky, believes in evolution and surprisingly, does not carry a gun. Well not a gun I could see at any rate. With all the 'savoir flare' that I remember from our days in Ramallah he negotiated the roads of Boston and surrounds with ease while constantly making droll cynical observations about the world, Australians and the other drivers. Rory and his two young boys, Kayden and Damian followed us out to the Cape and we spent a glorious day eating fried clams, lobster rolls, pork ribs, baked fish, burgers, onion rings and various other Bostonian delicacies, washed down with a variety of beers. Contrary to the popular Australian myth that American beer is only slightly better than a sick camel's urine sample, we happily discovered that the Yanks take great pleasure in a huge variety of beer. Over the next few days, Joel & Rory were keen for us to try them all. Indian Pale Ale made by a plethora of breweries was a staple, Mary liked it but I found it too bitter. Samuel Adams, one of the founding fathers of the nation and cousin to John Adams, America's second president, brewed a beer that is still delicious and we even tried a fruity beer with blueberries. I thought it was fantastic but Mary thought it far too strange. We even tried a beer called Pumpkinhead, that had cinnamon tones and was absolutely disgusting....beer we couldn't drink...who'd have thought it was possible! Anyway, I can confidently say, anyone who thinks Americans can't make beer just hasn't tried hard enough. Out at the Cape we visited Rory's holiday house and played down on the beach. We swam, played softball, football and swam some more.It is a beautiful part of the world. We floated on the tide towards the marshes. We floated on the tide out of the marshes. Safe, rip free, shark free, friendly beaches. I can understand why the Puritans chose the area to first settle America. Of course we missed the surf and although the Puritans no longer burn people who disagree with them we were all very careful not to make any comparisons to the beaches of Australia. Back home we get a skewered image of America and Americans. We see the America of New York and LA. We see a people who are brash, in a rush, fixated on guns, fame, quick results and glamour. Boston is not like that at all. My first impression was that it was normal. To give you some idea of what Boston, Rory and Joel are like I need to tell you about John Adams and the Boston Massacre. The Boston massacre was the catalyst that started the American War of Independence. Members of the regular army from Britain occupied the town. There were insults, a skirmish and some soldiers killed several unarmed citizens. Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin used this massacre to inflame the citizens of America to rebel against the Crown. John Adams, America's second President, defended the soldiers in a court of law, proving that the massacre was manslaughter, an accident and not malicious murder. Apparently, during the melee, someone rang the fire alarm and someone else cried out 'Fire!' and the boys with guns...did. In the midst of rebellion, John Adams, cousin to the brewer Samuel Adams, defends his enemy. A nation is born and right in the centre of things is this wonderful thing called justice (and a really good beer). Boston has that vibe. It also has lots of beautiful old buildings and a fabulous harbour, a brilliant and cheap public transport system. As well as lots of museums, universities, musicians, trees and lovely parks. I'm sure they help with the general good vibe too. The Navigator Lincoln is nothing like Boston. It is ostentatious, brash and looks like it should be owned by a twenty stone oil baron or a Baltimore drug lord but it does have seat memory settings so that when you get in the seat adjusts itself to the same position you left it. Old friendships are a bit like that and you don't have to be rich to afford them. Rory and Joel spent years trying to gain some sort of justice in Palestine. They are intelligent, articulate, acerbic and passionate about human rights, and good beer. Damn! I'm going to miss them almost as much as that big beautiful car. Cheers fellas. |
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