Art, history and pampering in New England’s capital
Boston: the genteel city of academia, tea parties, clam chowder, Matt Damon, and for me at least, electric eels. I had come to Boston on a long weekend – a bit of sales shopping, sight-seeing and relaxing in this history-steeped city. Yet also to confirm something that had been a bit of a mystery for many years: I had first come here as a surly 14 year old. In a bid to steer me away from the shops, my mother had taken me to the city’s aquarium where there was a way of comparing one’s electricity to that of an electrical eel. Most people registered a mere flicker; mine shot up to the maximum. Since then, this event has taken on mythological status – and been used to blame most data and technology disasters in my household. Eighteen years later, would I possess the same incredible charge?
I was based in the smart Mandarin Oriental, in the city’s Back Bay. Conveniently located next to the Skywalk look-out tower, this was first port of call on an action-packed weekend. From here you can see the city in all its glory – the sea pockmarked with islands – some of which used to house orphanages or PoW camps during the war, and some of its 57 colleges. You can see its many churches, green spaces and the odd high rise, but Boston is not showing off – it doesn’t need to. With its imposing Victorian terraces and grand mansions, you can see why it is a favourite amongst Hollywood producers: Mystic River, Good Will Hunting and The Departed were all set here.
Known as one of the great walking cities, the Mandarin to the harbour is a pleasant 45 minute amble. The Boston Common park is beautiful – all weeping yellow willows and dainty bridges – and makes a lovely picnic spot. I watched as the generally sober set (no freaks of the sort you see in New York here) ambled through what is the oldest public park in the United States, and looked at lovers boating on the river. I also saw a Giselle lookalike running – mid winter – in teensy shorts and a vest top, before I realised that perhaps it was in fact the Brazilian supermodel herself, who lives a stone’s throw away, with husband Tom Brady of the New England Patriots football team.
Beacon Hill is one of the most beautiful areas of Boston, its grandiose Federal-style houses built at the end of the 18th century. I took a peek into the warmly lit rooms of the graceful houses as I passed by. This is the New England of old money – all family crests, busts and elegant floral displays on the marble mantlepiece. Even the gas lamps on the streets are straight out of central casting: red for a phone box, white for a street light. The shops on Charles Street are, as with similar chi-chi areas the world over, full of beautiful things you never knew you needed: doggy ephemera, vintage Aspen skiing posters and Laotian handwoven throws.
More user friendly shopping is to be found near the hotel on Boylston and Newbury Streets. Here, boutiques such as DVF, Betsey Johnson and the excellent jeans shop Scoop, sell to tourists keen to take advantage of the city’s no sale tax rule (on clothing under $175). The hotel is also next to the Prudential Center and the Copley Place, both large malls, the latter of which boasts a Neiman Marcus and all the designer boutiques (some of which are repeated on Newbury Street).
Downtown with its soulful Irish and Italian neighbourhoods, has a different vibe. It is also where you can find some great food. The ramshackle, packed-to-the-rafters Daily Catch is a Sicilian joint utilising the great fruits of the local seas and is designed more for the trencherman in mind than the delicate lady diner. Squid ink pasta comes black as a miner’s forearms, covered in a rich, tomato-chilli sauce and groaning with fat mussels.
After a day of walking, dinner was spent at the hotel’s Asana restaurant: this was one of the culinary highlights in a weekend of, generally, less than brilliant cooking. Even the two hours of power walking didn’t quite justify the size of the wagyu beef and truffle chips, but it was delicious.
Saturday was a chance to relieve the aches and pains in the spa. I’m not usually a fan of tinkling bells and the more “spiritual” side of spa-ing, but the New England Treatment, using local herbs, marshmallow and calendula, was firmly on the practical end of pampering and the massage was deep and therapeutic.
Later, I took a wander to the excellent Boston museum of Fine Arts, which was showing Degas’ Women, and was disappointed that the Renzo Piano extension to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum hadn’t opened yet (definitely one not to miss now that it has).
A walk along the esplanade, teeming with MIT students discussing the likes of string theory and atomic combustion with their exercise buddies, was surely the most intellectually stimulating power walk I’ve ever had and led me conveniently back to the hotel.
The next day was spent soaking in the sites of Harvard campus (occupied by anti-Wall Street protestors so sadly closed to the public) and marvelling at the bonkers Frank Gehry MIT building that was showing a mini exhibit of the larks students get up to, such as putting police cars on top of Romanesque buildings. We also took an illuminating tram ride tour to learn about the city’s history.
That evening we sampled the revered Boston Symphony Orchestra. Partial to the odd adagio, I thought we were in for a treat, but realised it was comedy night instead: the debut of composer John Harbison’s Symphony no. 6, complete with electric guitar and punchy libretto. After laughing at what we thought were the appropriate intervals, we looked upon the enraptured crowd (mostly under 30, beardy and bespectacled, chins being firmly stroked) and realised – in horror – that the joke was on us. Still, luckily for us musical traditionalists, Beethoven came next.
After a fun-filled day I wanted some fast food, and had read on a food forum about Sweet Cheeks, a new Soul Food restaurant bang next to the Fenway baseball stadium. It was heaving, and with reason: delicious pulled pork and chicken served on trays, washed down with jars of tasty cocktails. Along with the Mandarin, this was the best food I ate in Boston.
My resolution to then head over to the Harvard campus and bluff my way into a frat party was vanquished by severe jet lag, but other more adventurous members of my party headed that way and ended up partying in Central Square’s Middle East and other grungy music venues, until the early hours.
On my final day, I took myself off along the coast, passing pretty commuter towns such as Salem and Swampscott – at Marblehead I sat by an abandoned lighthouse for a bit of fresh air before the flight home that night. I had managed to pack an immense amount into a weekend and the best part was that all the London cobwebs were well and truly gone.
My last stop was the aquarium to test my magical powers. What I had remembered was quite different: there was a metal plate you could put your hand on, and if you had any electricity at all, the light would go on. Needless to say, everyone’s flashed red. I wasn’t so special after all, and those data mishaps sadly cannot be blamed on anything other than my kack-handedness. Still, I thought, at least my enjoyment of Boston has matured. Rooms start from £265 on a bed and breakfast basis at Mandarin Oriental Boston. To book, got to www.mandarinoriental.com or call 00800 28 28 38 38.
British Airways offer three nights from £619 per person, for travel until 31 March. Includes return British Airways flights in World Traveller (economy) from London Heathrow and room only accommodation, based on two sharing. Book by 21 Feb. Visitba.com/boston or call 0844 4930758.