First impressions of Boston

(Started 08.01.2012, completed 11.03.2012)

Mark Twain wrote once, that when you go to New York people ask how much money you have, when you go to Philadelphia they ask who your family is, and when you go to Boston they ask how much you know. He also wrote a few diary-like entries on his first impressions of Boston. In a shameless effort to steal his idea, and hoping no one notices it, I decided to write my own notes on my first impressions of the city.

I got to Boston on a Sunday (much like Twain), but I did so at dusk. It was the middle of the winter, and since I was coming from Montreal, I thought the weather would be far nicer than that to what I had gotten used to during my recent Canadian adventures. I ventured out of the airport with just a sweatshirt, and headed to the metro thinking the weather wasn’t so bad. After a few minutes of waiting at the metro station I realized that the weather was colder than I expected, and it wasn’t pleasant at all to wait at the station since it was not under ground, nor did it provide much protection from the wind. I had to unpack my gloves and hat to stay warm. Luckily the train didn’t take much to arrive.

It took me a few minutes when I got out at State Station to figure out my way to the hotel. There were a few people still wandering the streets, many of them Latin American. I had also seen quite a few Latin Americans in the metro. I thought it was funny, since apparently there were not many of them in the city (or at least that’s what the statistics on the internet had shown a few days before). The hotel suite was quite nice. It had a glass wall to separate the shower from the bedroom, which was kind of cool but made me think the hotel’s main purpose was not to host working travelers.

I had left my mom alone in my apartment in Montreal. Down here, there was no snow, but the wind blew strong and cold, and there was not many people wandering the streets. The buildings looked cold and indifferent. I put myself together and ventured out in search of a wifi spot. Perhaps, if I could find a Starbucks café and get one of the mugs I collected, the whole trip would have been worth it. I didn’t know how the following day’s interview would go. I could only hope for the best, but to tell the truth, some strange feeling of loneliness haunted me that evening.

The following day was quite better. The people at the company were kind. I had two tests, out of which I managed to do well in one and not so well in the other one. The interview parts went quite well though. Over lunch, I was asked if Mexican coke tasted different than American coke. Apparently they sell the Mexican one in the States, and they advertise it as special. It is special in a way: it has more calories.

After a rushed trip back to the airport, I barely made it on time for my flight. I was relieved to fly back. I was happy I’d been there. Maybe I would land the job.