As you may or may not know, I’ll be leaving mid-August for a new adventure…spending a year living/learning in France! Specifically, I’ll be spending 3 weeks in Paris before heading down to Aix-en-Provence for a year.

I’ve recently reached a point in my life where I feel completely new…I’m really trying to think of this experience as the beginning of something wonderful, a sort of ‘new life’ for me.

So, in the spirit of novelty, I’ve created a new blog, where I’ll be chronicling my time abroad, things that inspire me, and any musings that strike my fancy.

Please check it out by clicking here!

At Wellesley, as in much of the greater-Boston area, Marathon Monday (the Monday of the Boston Marathon) is a big deal. The Wellesley Scream tunnel, at the course’s halfway point, is a raucous stretch of Wellesley women screaming, shaking bells, and otherwise creating a bit of noise to encourage the runners on. We were even featured in the New Balance advertising campaign for the marathon:

THE ONLY THING LOUDER THAN THE VOICE INSIDE YOU SAYING, "KEEP GOING," IS THE SCREAM TUNNEL AT WELLESLEY.

Marathon Monday is a big deal, but a scream tunnel does not a marathoner make. Or so I thought.

About two months ago, I was sitting on the bed in my parent’s hotel room in Boston perusing through campus announcements on my computer when I ran across a message asking for students interested in running the marathon “alone or as a team” as guides for a blind runner. The runner was 67 year-old Charlie Plaskon, a retired grandpa who, in his “spare time” runs marathons and completes Iron Man championships. It was an offer that shook me, but an opportunity I might have passed up had my parents not encouraged me to go for it. Forget that I didn’t run, like, ever…and so I sent a message stating that, although I wasn’t the most adept long-distance runner (to put it lightly) I would be happy to run a few miles with Charlie should it be needed.

Charlie was quickly in touch with the group of us that offered, a team of about 10 Wellesley women and faculty members. I didn’t think much of it, but tried to start running, on treadmills and around the lake.

For someone who is used to sporting events that last little more than half-a-minute, training to run even a mile without keeling over is hard. Harder than I thought. So much harder, in fact, that a week ago, as preparations for the guide runners were solidifying, I backed out. My training, I thought, wasn’t where it needed to be, and the last thing I wanted to do was huff-and-puff for two miles and detract from Charlie’s incredible experience and accomplishment.

Obviously I didn’t know Charlie very well; he wasn’t about to let me off the hook that easily. “I am 67 years old and have eyes that don’t work; my training is never at the level I want it to be.  Yes, the marathon is a serious thing, and I started as a huffer and puffer, and you could never detract from my experience,” he wrote in an e-mail. After responding that I thought I could run two miles with him on marathon day, he replied “I’m proud of you.” It was a shocking statement: Charlie, proud of me? What did he have to be proud of me for…he is the one running the marathon! But his infectious positivity was clear, and I knew that this was an experience I had to see through.

Marathon Monday came, and my friends walked me to the place where I and four other Wellesley women were to meet Charlie: we would be guides for the second half of the race, and many in the group were planning on completing the whole 13 miles with Charlie. I was planning for 2.3, just to the end of Wellesley.

From the minute Charlie ran up to meet us, he had a smile on his face. The excitement was palpable even through the exhaustion which was also manifesting. It was hard to believe that Charlie and his guides had just run 13 miles because they had more energy than me! We switched “Guide Runner” tags with the previous guides and began running.

It was a beautiful day, blue skies and a wonderful temperature. The energy of the marathon was infectious and lifting…the spectators cheering, the other runners around you, it was incredible. Before I knew it, we were out of ‘the Ville’ and heading towards my two mile destination. Soon we passed it…and I wasn’t quite ready to quit.

Charlie kept calling out to make sure that I was still hanging in there, and after about two miles, asked that I switch with one of the runners tied to him. I laughed, joking that “he needed to keep an eye on me, not the other way around” but it was, in part, true. My shins felt tight as I ran, but other than that, I was feeling fine.

A few minutes later, Charlie asked me how my shins felt. It was so strange, almost like he was reading my mind. “Really tight,” I told him. “I can tell,” he replied. “I can hear the way your feet are hitting the ground. Don’t put your feet so far out in front of you and push off with your toes more.” Amazingly Charlie was guiding me.

At mile 17, four miles from where I started, I made the decision to stop. It was hard: I wanted to keep going with Charlie and the other ladies and see it to the end. Part of me thinks that I could have gone the whole way, but unfortunately, I had to get back to campus for another class. As I told Charlie that I was leaving, he smiled and thanked me. Then I watched them run off into the single-digits, only nine miles to go.

Charlie Plaskon is an amazing man; kind, caring, and so upbeat. To think that he is all these things and blind is what amazes me: his positivity in the face of something that might knock down anyone else. It’s a reminder to me of a lot of things: happiness, accomplishment, and the act of not giving up so easily. Charlie completed the marathon and helped me run four miles with him in the process. As my guide to the Boston Marathon 2011, Charlie gave me an experience that I am deeply grateful for and will never forget.

The guides at mile 13!

A Wellesley guide, Charlie, and I at mile 17, my finish line.

In a word: yes, it is different and sometimes the differences are more apparent than others.

Like in Salem, I usually don’t have to deal with the crashing sound of snow plows outside my window at 7 a.m.

When people on the West Coast find out I go to school in Boston, the response is usually a combination of a sourly-contorted face and the exclamation: “How to you deal with the winters?!?!?!”

Last winter was mild, a fact that I point out to the concerned rain-dwellers everytime the situation is mentioned. This winter is turning out to be, well, not so mild.

Last week a foot of snow dumped itself onto Massachusetts, and only one of my classes was canceled. Today, hiking through another storm, none of my classes were. Yes, the East Coast certainly is different, because life doesn’t shut down when there is snow. Life definitely goes on (in contrast to the time that a dusting of snow left I-5 in gridlock for hours, and it took my brother seven hours to get from Salem to Portland).

I’ve been drinking a lot of tea lately (more than usual, if that can be possible) and I think it might be a symptom of the white-world I find myself a foreign part of…there’s something entirely soothing about drinking a hot cup of tea while listening to one’s radiator clank-for-dear-life trying to keep the room warm (usually it succeeds all too well).

We grumble as we walk ankle deep in freezing crystals, lamenting our decision not to attend the University of Hawaii. But, in truth, it’s nothing that a big down coat and a piping-bordering-on-scalding (based on the “if it’s warm in your mouth, your brain thinks it’s warm everywhere, right” logic) can’t render beautiful.

Don’t worry about me rain-dwellers. I’ll be fine.

Here’s more to more beautiful fall days, courtesy of the Boston Globe.

I’m all for progress of industry, but I for one think I’d miss the kick-back relaxing atmosphere of a coffee shop should all cafés begin to take this turn.

Bird's eye of Back Bay (Image by wili_hybrid via Flickr)

It’s been a whirlwind past few days in Boston! After arriving late Thursday afternoon from Chicago, we hit the ground running: upon arriving in our beautiful hotel (the Lenox in Back Bay) my parents promptly unpacked, while I promptly got my sea-legs back under me by riding the T from Copley to Harvard to visit…my boyfriend! It’s so exciting that after what feels like an eternity apart, Ben and I are firmly back in not only the same time-zone, but nearly the same city (an almost unheard of occurrence in our plagued-by-long-distance-relationship).

We woke up late(ish) Friday morning, and walked down Newbury Street, right past one of my favorite little restaurants, Stephanie’s. Pointing it out to my parents, they insisted that we stop for a late-breakfast-early-lunch meal. After some delicious grub, we proceeded to walk up Newbury, through the Public Garden and the Common, up through the Financial District, and down to Long Wharf. The weather was absolutely perfect: mid-70′s, sunshine, light-breeze, literally the kind of weather you joke about because it’s almost too suitable for everything. At Long Wharf, we checked out the Aquarium and the films playing at the IMAX (which will become applicable later) and went on a 45-minute harbor cruise, departing from Long Wharf out to the U.S.S. Constitutions, better known as “Old Ironsides.”

Harbor cruise

Beautiful skyline

After the harbor cruise, we rode the T back into Back Bay, and had dinner at the Atlantic Fish Company, which did not disappoint (their bread alone would be enough to keep me coming back, not to mention their out-of-this-world seafood selections).

Saturday was shopping day! Mom and I made a pact with Dad in Chicago: if we didn’t do any shopping in Chi-town (forgoing the Magnificent Mile was a task comparable to one of Hercules’ seven), we would be alloted one entire day of shopping on Newbury Street, sans complaining from Pop-Coran. Saturday was also a beautiful day, and I had wonderful luck (and I mean wonderful) at H&M, probably one of my favorite stores. It was so fun to peruse the countless racks of styles there; the fall lines were definitely in, and it was interesting to see what’s going to be in style this season. So far, it’s looking like lots of neutrals and blacks (of course), with chunky sweaters, tight skirts, and vintage-inspired dresses. It all felt very Mad Men-esque, and in honor of my icon, Joan, I had to partake in what it had to offer.

That night, we ate at Mama Maria in the North End, a restaurant I’ve been dying to try since practically my first visit to Boston.

That night also happened to be the night of one of the famous feasts, the Feast of Saint Anthony. The North End was absolutely packed with people all milling about, standing in the streets and outside of shops and restaurants. The energy was fantastic, but it also meant an inhumanely large line outside of Mike’s Pastrys, and, sadly, no almond macaroons for me.

A tourist trap, maybe, but also home to some of the best almond cookies I've ever had.

Sunday we rode the T into Hahhhhvahhhd to visit Benjamin and take him out to brunch. It’s so crazy thinking that he is actually going to Harvard, but also very impressive, especially when he starts spouting off fun random historical facts about the university. We had brunch followed by an unoffical tour lead by Benjamin to the highlights of the campus. Along the way, we stumbled upon a poster sale, where I snagged two posters (Van Gogh’s Cafe Terrace At Night and a world map) to brighten the walls of Claflin 22. My parents had a fun time wandering around the campus, and I think Ben had a really nice time showing off his new stomping grounds to them.

Brunch

Hahhhvahhhhd libbbhhhahhhyyy

"Whispering arch"

Sunday night, mom, dad, and I had dinner on Newbury Street, this time at an Indian restaurant called Kashmir. I love going out for food like Indian food because, since it includes flavors not typically found in my everyday palate, it’s always a surprising taste-spectrum. The food was absolutely exquisite: delicious curries, lentils, spinach, tandoori, and nan (although not as good as the roti made by Laks Jagnanden, Erin (Chicago-bride)’s dad). It really was a magnificent dining experience, al fresco on a warm-night, hands covered in exotic sauces from using nan as a means to remove every last drop of flavor from the plate.

Glistening, from the hot night and the hot food

Al fresco on Newbury

Yes, we look like nerds. Yes, we're ok with that.

Monday’s highlight was a trek back to the Aquarium, to see SeaRex 3D on the IMAX screen. SeaRex was a 41-minute movie on prehistoric marine reptiles. My dad and I have one word for that: awesome. After we got suited up (or glass-ed up in this case) we were more than stoked to be transported back into time to see really cool big reptiles swim around in prehistoric waters.

While I could have done without the 3D (honestly, the glasses are annoying, and all that ocular-focusing realllyyy makes my eyes hurt after about ten minutes) I thought the movie was really interesting, both informationally and graphically. I can’t believe that there used to be reptiles around 100 feet long swimming through the water, or that the southern part of Colorado used to be a semi-tropical sea; that’s the cool thing about science: it takes you to worlds you never could believe would be true.

After the movie, we met up with Ben (he surprised me by not being busy with orientation stuff!) and had dinner at one of my mom’s favorite Boston-spots, the Purple Shamrock, an Irish-pub down by Faneuil Hall that has a $13 lobster special with coleslaw and fries (and that is speaking Petra’s language).

Faneuil Hall muggin'

Today, we conquered the Eastern-seaboard, using a GPS and our own directional prowess to navigate the rental car from Boston to Salem to Gloucester to Rockport. Tomorrow, I’m meeting Rachel at 8:30 AM outside the housing office at Swells to take blatant advantage of her skills being a Supplemental Instructor to move into our dorm a few days early (I owe you one Rach!). I’m so excited to see her and equally excited to get things moved into Claflin 22…I have a feeling this is going to be a year of epic proportions.

1. The Second City: Sunday night, the day after the wedding, an exhausted yet willing group of us made our way to the Second City, a Chicago comedy theater famous for serving as the “jumping-off” point such greats as Chris Farley, Steve Carrell, John Belushi, Bill Murray, Mike Myers, Stephen Colbert, and numerous others. I was excited to see if, perhaps, similar comedic talent would be exhibited during the show, titled “The Absolute Best Friggin’ Time of Your Life.” I was not dissapointed; the show consisted of three acts, two which were sketch-comedy (think SNL) and a third that was totally improvised, which is where I felt the actor’s true talent really shined. Laughing is up there with food and dancing on my list of passions, so it was really fun for me.

Pop-Coran

Me & Mommy

The rest of the gang

Photobomb!

The Second City e.t.c Stage

2. Architectural River Cruise: On Monday, we (my mom, dad, and I) signed up for an Architectural River Cruise down the Chicago River narrated by a docent from the Chicago Architectural Foundation. Since my mom has a degree in interior architecture and has always been passionate about architecture and art, it was really interesting to sit next to her and hear her running commentary. The docent had a lot of interesting information about the city and the buildings along the river (Chicago was home to the world’s first sky-scraper, and it’s called the Windy City not because of the wind, but because of the fervor with which Chicago ‘wind-bags’ lobbied for the World’s Fair to be held there) and it was nice to be on the river on a beautiful, sunny Chicago day.

3. The Skyline: This is kind of a two-part-er in my mind, the first concerning the John Hancock and the second concerning a beautiful vista from across the lake. After the Architectural River Tour, we walked up Michigan Avenue to the John Hancock building (Chicago is totally biting Boston’s style on this one) the fourth tallest building in Chicago. We met up with Erin and Jason (bride&groom) and Donna and Linn (the people who graciously allowed both the wedding to take place at their home and for our family to invade stay at their home instead of at the Hilton in Evanston) for drinks on the 95th! floor of the building. The view was incredible and slightly terrifying; the best part was the floor to ceiling windows that extended into the women’s bathroom and allowed for incredible sky-watching and photo-ops.

The view - from the bathroom!

Wouldn't you know...I'm afraid of heights...

After drinks, Donna and Linn took us on a drive partially around the lake, just enough to be able to look back on the beautiful skyline of Chicago as the sun was setting.

4. DeKalb: Wednesday in Chicago was a really great day, except that most of it was actually spent outside of the city. We arrived at Union Station (the Chicago one…they aren’t very original with names, I must say) around 7:45 AM to catch the Metra train out of the city and to Aurora, IL (Wayne’s World fans will recall that this is most excellent) to meet up with my dad’s youngest brother, Uncle Dan, and visit his family (my cousins) that live in DeKalb. Before getting on the train, we had breakfast at this chain café/restaurant in Chicago called The Corner Bakery where I had the absolute best oatmeal of my entire life, and I don’t even like oatmeal that much. Really, it was incredibly delicious, creamy, thick, wonderful, and they put awesome things on it like dried cranberries and toasted walnuts. Unfortunately, they do not exist in Boston (yet) but if the whole journalist-gig doesn’t work out upon graduation, I’m definitely franchising this place out everywhere. The metra-ride to Aurora was nice (kind of European-esque, minus the lack of anything really old) and visiting Uncle Dan and Aunt Deb + the cousins was really fun. Since they live in DeKalb (not exactly a vacation destination) and we live in Salem (also not exactly a vacation destination) we don’t really see them much, so it was nice to catch up, see their house, and grab lunch (mom and I had our first italian beef sandwiches, a Chicago staple, and really delicious). We then rode the metra back into Chicago, walked around Millenium Park, and had dinner at this pan-Latin restaurant named Havana, where I had, legitimately, the best chicken tacos I’ve ever had in my entire life (and I’m a Latin-food-phile, so that’s saying a lot). I think the shredded chicken must have been seasoned with cumin or something, because it had a really interesting, smokey, almost curry-like flavor to it. I want to attempt recreation, or charter a private jet to fly me back every weekend so I can munch on these delicious morsels.

5. The Snack Bag: Alas, Thursday came, and with it, our departure from Chi-town. My dad insisted on bringing a snack-bag that had been given to us at the wedding (think Dorritos and Famous Amos cookies) so mom and I told him that he would be responsible for carting it around O’Hare (and through security, where he had some problems with the fact that there were water bottles in the bag…nice one, Dad). Mom and I found the sight of a 6-foot grown man toting a pastel-pink bag with silver ribbons on it so comical, we had to document it.

The snack-bag clears security after a minor water-sanfu

The pink is so becoming with his luggage-ensemble

I had a wonderful time in Chicago, but it is refreshing to be back in Boston, a city that I know and love deeply. Off to shopping with mom on Newbury Street and dinner in the North End tonight! Have a wonderful Saturday, everyone.

- Father Alfred D’Souza

"Friends for over 40 years, ballroom dancers Mary Hall, 85, and Gerald Kavanagh, 80, practice on a warm spring evening in Bendigo, Australia," courtesy of National Geographic Photo of the Day (photograph by Bredan McCarthy)

Beantown by sea!

It’s so good to be back!

The end of August finds me in Chicago (perhaps more specifically, Evanston), post-wedding, contemplating love in the ‘burbs. After Saturday’s wedding, it’d be hard not to spend time thinking about the act of marriage, or perhaps more importantly, the act of love itself.

The wedding was a beautiful affair that took place in the gorgeous backyard of friend’s of the bride and groom in Evanston, IL. Even though we arrived Friday night to clouds and, later, thunderstorms, Saturday afternoon proved to be breathtaking, with calm turquoise waters lapping serenely on a picturesque length of sandy Lake Michigan shoreline.

Who wouldn't want to get married with this kind of view?!

Brother and mother of the bride

Erin (bride) and Jason (groom)

The actual ceremony was short but elegant, featuring readings on the art of love and marriage and heartfelt (and improvised, nonetheless!) vows from both parties. I know that if it had been my own wedding, I probably would have been sobbing too hard to think of anything to say other than “I’m so happy and isn’t this view/weather/day/outfit/flower arrangement so perfect” so I give Erin and Jason credit for speaking candidly; it made the fact that the vows and love were heartfelt so obvious to those in the crowd, and I found it to be the most touching part of the ceremony (which is saying a lot, because the whole thing was pretty darn touching).

If the ceremony was touching, the reception was raucous, and only in the very very best way possible. I had so much fun, dancing and eating and being merry. If there’s anything I might love more than weddings, it’s dancing and eating, so any event that combines all three earns an A+ in my ‘Book of Fun-times’ (yes, I keep one of those, in my nightstand right next to the Tylenol).

First dance

Brick sized slab of butter = my kind of party

The lovely couple!

First dance

My beautiful mother

Daddy and I cheesin'

And, of course, no party is complete without 'The Casper Slide, Part II' (cha-cha real smooth now...)

Lovely time, so glad to have been a part of it. Boston on Thursday! Chi-town to Boss-town, doing the East half of the country right.