I left the Duck Tours and went east towards the downtown area, once again in search of adventure. On my way past the hotel I checked to see if I'd received a message from Susan or Christy. There was nothing waiting for me so I continued on. I cruised through the Boston Public Garden (again) and ended up at the Boston Common, a big park/open space next to the public garden. Boston Common is the starting point for the Freedom Trail, the most famous of Boston's many walking tours.

The Freedom Trail is a big fat red line painted onto the sidewalk. From Boston Common it winds north east through the Downtown area, passing through many of Boston's finer tourists traps, then crosses the Charles River and heads off to areas I didn't explore. It's a huge tourist draw, and I'm pretty sure that walking along it blew my cover. I tried to ignore the line and just pretend it was a coincidence that we were both heading in the same direction, but I don't think anyone bought it.

Shortly after the beginning of the trail the fat red line heads into the State House, where all the politicians pretend to work. I wasn't too keen on seeing the inside, so I walked around to the back, hoping to pick up the trail on the other side. Unfortunately, the red line was nowhere to be found. I had lost the Freedom Trail. I believe that's actually quite embarrassing. I wandered around for a while until I found the trail, then continued my tour.

The Freedom Trail links many important historic monuments, but as a Canadian with little knowledge of American History, I found little to interest me. Also, I had my eyes set on the Italian Festival somewhere off to the northeast. I sauntered along, passing through quite a few graveyards and other miscellaneous old places, before coming to Faneuil Hall.

Faneuil Hall is a historic building which now houses a museum, but it's the surrounding marketplace that draws the big crowds. The place is jammed with tourists shopping in stores they could just as easily find at home. Street performers abound, as do kiosks selling Boston souvenirs. I wasn't in the mood for either shopping or crowds of tourists, so I did a quick circumnavigation of the marketplace, grabbed some fruit juice, and continued along the trail.

My next stop was a great open air food market. This was more like it. Loud vendors were yell about their fruits and vegetables and generally being very rude in that pleasant east-coast sort of way. The place was bustling and crowded and had a great atmosphere. I walked through the market and under the freeway -- past a bunch of Big Dig construction -- and emerged in Italy.

The North End is Boston's Italian district, and it feels like another world. The skyscrapers and cement of downtown give way to red brick and narrow cobblestone streets. More than anything, though, what makes the North End special is the sense of community. I picked up on it almost immediately -- that this was a place where people came to together; where people felt like they belonged. I don't have a drop of Italian blood in me but I was more than ready to move right in. I grabbed a chicken calzone from a local shop (the best I've ever had, bar none) and started exploring.

My ultimate destination was the Italian festival, but I had no idea where it was. All the streets in the North End looked the same to me, so after doing several circles of the neighborhood, I stopped in at a local Dunkin' Donuts to use the loo and grab a snack. Boston is full of Dunkin' Donuts. The main attraction (I found out later) is not the donuts, but the coffee. I settled on a Boston Creme donut (but no coffee) and then hit the road once again.

The North End is absolutely jam-packed with tons of great restaurants -- or, at least, they looked great from the outside. I wasn't too hungry so I continued to walk more-or-less in circles, occasionally following the freedom trail, until I finally found what I was looking for: the Feast of Saint Anthony.

Three or four blocks were closed to cars and filled with food stalls. A few carnival games and other cheesy midway booths could be found, but for the most part it was mom-and-pop italian food: italian sausages, canoli, fresh shucked clams... everything looked great, but I didn't have much room after the chicken calzone and donut, so I held off for a while.

I stopped at one of the booths for some clams. An old couple was perched at the edge of the counter, sucking back shellfish by the half-dozen. Being unaccustomed to the ways of the east coast, I was a bit tentative. When the vendor asked what I wanted, I said I'd like just one clam -- just to see if I liked it. The old lady beside me snorted. "See if you like it?" -- like I'd just insulted the entire italian population of New England. I sucked back my clam and it was okay, but not great. Besides, I needed to save room for the italian sausage (again, just okay) and the canoli (pretty good). So, it turns out the food was not as great as I'd expected. But that's okay, because the atmosphere more than made up for it.

With evening approaching and the rain starting to come down, it was time to go. I found the fat red line on the sidewalk and followed it back the way I had come. Across from the street from the farmer's market near Faneuil Hall a band had set up. I'd never heard of them but they seemed to be a local favorite and had a few thousand people in the audience. I sat down on the steps, managing to put my butt in a puddle, and listened for a few minutes. They weren't my cup of tea and the wet butt was slightly uncomfortable so I continued on.

Just outside of the concert area I encountered a subway station. Should I do it? Do I dare travel as the locals do? I decided to tempt fate and, knowing that I'd probably end up penniless in some remote suburb, I descended to into the humid bowels of the city.

I was disengorged several miles later in an enlightened state. For eighty-five cents I'd travelled quickly and comfortably, sparing my feet more torture at the hands of the leather devils. I'd shortened my travel time by a good forty-five minutes. More importantly, though, I'd discovered that the Boston subway is full of beautiful women. That's no small statement considering that Boston, as a college town, is already full of young, attractive ladies. But the subway, for some reason, contained disproportionately high concentrations of beauties. I tried to fathom some socio-economic reason for this remarkable trend, but came up with nothing. I also considered just staying on the subway, riding back and forth, admiring the scenery, but decided that probably wasn't such a good idea.