2nd Block Holiday Memoirs

The steeple of the Old North Church loomed ahead of us as we wandered aimlessly through the North End of Boston. We strolled past the cafes and bistros of Little Italy, smelling the warm scents of fresh pasta and olive oil. We continued our wandering until we met the base of the church that played such a major role in the Revolution. It was here that we found what we were looking for--a cozy coffee shop perfect for three weary tourists.

I've always felt that you should visit the small hole-in-the-wall joints when traveling. Its the only true way to get a feel for the city. This is where you can sit back and watch the locals interact and learn all that they have to teach you. This was one of those places. Our ears were greeted by the sharp Boston accent the second we entered the room. The shop was small and dim, with a bar featuring pastries and latte flavorings and half-empty bottles of wine stretching down one side. The opposing wall featured the small round tables that you can only find in coffee shops.

The best of these was occupied by two old men, obviously regulars, who were playfully harassing the kid behind the counter. He laughed and returned their jabs with ease. Their easy banter made us feel immediately at ease. Removing our many outer layers, we quickly found a corner table and ordered warm drinks to fill our cold insides.

We sat in the small coffee shop, sipping our lattes and reliving our adventures of the morning. We laughed at other tourists wandering by the window in the freezing afternoon. We laughed with old men when one of them spilled his coffee and decided to swith to Budweiser. We took pictures in front of the wall plaque that read, "At this site in 1897, nothing happened." We warmed up completely in that cozy shop until it was time to head back out into the streets.

We bundled up against the biting winds sweeping off the Bay and, waving our good-byes and thank yours, headed towards downtown. Just two steps out the door, it hit us. Snow! It was snowing! Looking up, millions of soft, white snowflakes danced down from the graying sky to shower on us there in the North End of Boston.