I arrived back at the hotel around mid-afternoon after dropping my colleague off at the airport. My sole contributions to the day's business meetings had been to introduce myself and hold several photocopied documents above my head. Determined not to let any more of my time in Boston go to waste, I got changed and hit the town.

I headed east from the hotel, in the general direction of downtown. I was in search of a camera shop we'd passed on our way to the Four Seasons so I could buy a small travel tripod. After that, I had no destination, no plans, and not the faintest clue of what to do with myself.

I eventually found myself walking through the Boston Public Garden. It is billed as the U.S.'s first public garden, but really it's just a bunch of lawns and flowers packed with tourists. If you're into American history there are some statues of dead people. The swan boats (huge pedal boats that slowly navigate the small central lagoon) looked vaguely interesting -- if only for a chance to chat with one of the cute boat captains. In the end, though, they were just too kitschy for me. Ultimately, I left the Public Garden feeling rather unimpressed. Vancouver's Stanley Park has infinitely more character (and a slightly smaller tourist density).

I next found myself heading west on Newbury Street, desperately searching for a pleasant cafe to rest my aching feet. You see: my brother, the lady's man that he is, has informed me that members of the fairer sex pay close attention to how one's feet are shod. Being a practical sort of fellow I'd never been much for fancy footwear, but recently I'd felt that perhaps it was time for an upgrade in the lower areas of my wardrobe. To that end, I stopped at Nordstroms on the way to the airport and picked up a shiny new pair of walkers. These were actually great travelling shoes, made with thick black leather and cut a little higher than normal for extra ankle support. Unfortunately, that thick black leather and extra ankle support was causing a colony of nasty blisters to form on each foot.

Newbury street is extremely trendy. The trendiness oozes out of the restaurants and galleries and collects in puddles on the street, and you really want to watch where you're walking or you'll make a mess on your shiny new black shoes. The shopping is absolutely fabulous -- everything from Armani to erotic bakeries. The big chain stores are here -- Banana Republic, Gap, etc., -- but so are lots of ecletic little art galleries and antique stores. There are cafes everywhere, too, packed into basements and attics and spilling out into fancy tables on the sidewalk.

Sounds like an interesting place, right? Well, it was just a little too pretentious for my tastes. The Armani Cafe was the cream of the crop: slick Italian waiters (all cloned from a single cell, I'm convinced) with high cheekbones and strong chins (complete with cleft) served cookie cutter model wannabees talking on cellular phones. I gave up on the Newbury Street experience and wandered back in the general direction of my hotel, in search of some reality.

One of the great things about Boston, being an old city, is the great architecture. The Trinity Church is just one example of many beautiful old churches that are scattered throughout the Back Bay. By the way, the Back Bay is the neighborhood containing Newbury Street, the Trinity Church, and my hotel (among other things). It's a fairly wealthy old district and is built on a huge landfill that used to be a great big bay. They built a dam on the bay, to control the water levels in the Charles River, but when that didn't work they figured they'd just keep adding dirt. Forty years later, the Back Bay was born.

The square in front of the Trinity Church was hosting a small farmer's market. I took some pictures of Boston's finer fruits and vegetables then parked my butt on the steps of the Boston Public Library, across from Trinity Church, and watched the world walk by.

I stayed by myself on the steps for a half hour or so, enjoying the sunshine. I wasn't alone per se -- the steps of the public library are a popular meeting place -- but I was starting to feel isolated. Several attractive women had found similar perches nearby, but, alas, I couldn't work up the nerve to approach any of them. I could feel that slippery spiral of loneliness starting to build. Deep inside, I knew I wouldn't be the one to approach a complete stranger. What I was waiting for was someone to come up and talk to me. Unfortunately that didn't happen, so I retired back to the hotel.