I promise! This one will be more successful than my ill-fated Gdansk blog. I lost track of the blog and now that trip is a sore subject. So let it go, imaginary person, reading this and commenting on my lack of consistency.

Anywhoo, I recently went to Boston for a week on my lonesome. Just me and every bit of technology I could fit in hand luggage because I’m too cheap to pay for baggage. I’m flying across the Atlantic, Norwegian, of course I’ll need a big bag.

Well… I didn’t. So suck it, Norwegian (sorry guys, I’ll be nice in a minute). I have an awesome overnight bag and I don’t need your cabin space.


My Drop Dead overnight bag

Minor back story, I was woken up one day by a WhatsApp message from Holiday Pirates (best place to book your holiday, hands down) claiming that you could get return flights to America from £160. I was dubious. And half asleep. But mainly… dubious.

As much as I love Holiday Pirates, there are a few times when you go to the page and it’s flights from London or Manchester, which are of no use to me. However, I was curious.

So I fell for their neat little trick, clicked through the pages and found that there were actually flights from Edinburgh, which roped me right in. I was intrigued (it was an emotional rollercoaster). So I put together a speculative trip and waited for the price to double with taxes and fees and probably some sort of financial tribute to Tyr, Norse God of the Sky.

It actually turned out that there was none of that (sorry, Tyr). And it looked like it was going to cost me £202 for return flights to Boston (well, Providence… I’ll explain that in a bit). That was it. Pay the money, free and clear.

I had a think about when I wanted to go and there was no other choice for me but Halloween.

We’re just catching up to the zeal with which our cousins over the pond celebrate that holiday. Even though it started over here (Samhain, Google it… or just click that?), America has taken it and kicked it up a notch, ‘Murica style.

I booked it, I was flying the end of October and coming back early November.

There was also some faff with finding somewhere to stay but, I’ll be honest, Anna sorted this right out for me and saved my holiday.

The rest of this will be mainly pictures. This isn’t a novel, it’s a blog


My bus ticket on the trusty 100 route in Edinburgh


These people were far more eager/organised than me

I did panic a little bit at this point. You have to get something called an ESTA when you fly to America from here. I, in my infinite wisdom, left it ’til the last minute and never actually got confirmation that I would be able to fly.


I managed to check in all on my own! I’m a grown-up!!!!

Panic averted, or the airport was laxer than I anticipated? Either way, I was en route.

I did stop for a pint in the airport, but it was uninteresting and I was stressed. This is the second time I’ve flown on my own and I’m still not sure what I’m doing.

Also, I’m tall, brown and I hadn’t shaved in a while. I was on edge

Moments before my phone died... so no wing shots, no leg room shots, no idea where I was going after I landed. Classic me

Moments before my phone died… so no wing shots, no leg room shots, no idea where I was going after I landed. Classic me

I arrived in Boston at about 10pm in the evening (their time). No idea what I was doing, a rough idea of where I was going and in a completely different city.

See, the reason the flights were so cheap was because they didn’t fly to the destination they pretended to.

Instead of flying to Boston, we flew to Providence (50miles away). Not too big a deal, had I done any research into how I would bridge the gap between those two places. I had not.

Luckily, either the staff at the airport were very friendly or there were a whole bunch of idiots just like me because I was directed to the train station and even told how to board… I know I napped on the plane but did I really look that stupid? Apparently so…

I had enough battery to either take a picture of a train station or get directions. I regret nothing

I had enough battery to either take a picture of a train station or get directions. I regret nothing


This was the point I realised, oh yeah, I’m in America

While I remember, there are 2 people who basically saved my life when I arrived in Boston. One was Brian, a computer technician who lent me his phone charger while we were on the train and gave me directions to the subway.

The other was Brian (it seems to be a really popular name) who worked in the subway and thought I sounded Australian.

I corrected him, but I also complimented him on his choice. Never guess English. If you guess English you will piss off the Scottish, the Welsh, the Irish, the Northern Irish, Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, Americans, anywhere but England were they speak English. You can tell an English person they sound like they have any of those other accents and they would just politely correct you. The other way around? Prepare for a tirade. And no one can prepare for a tirade.

Anyway, Brian gave me a bunch of leaflets on things to do, some detailed directions to where I needed to be, carried my bag to the train and waved me off. If you’re ever in Boston and find yourself talking to a tollbooth operator called Brian (I’m pretty sure he had a moustache), tell him Luke said hello and thanks.

Back to the journey


I love it when you call me Big Poppa

I did not remember the directions Brian#2 gave me. They were detailed, so very, very detailed.

I got off at the stop he told me to and looked around to see if there was anything which would remind me of what he said. There was not.

So I walked. Well, I started to walk. Remember, my phone was dead. I didn’t have the internet to give me directions or tell me how far away it was to my AirBnB (it was 8 miles… I genuinely thought I could walk 8 miles at 11pm in a vague direction and not die).

My taxi driver/saviour. Not called Brian, which was refreshing

My taxi driver/saviour. Not called Brian, which was refreshing

I gave up. I had walked 4 miles, which is commendable, but I gave up. I saw a taxi and I took it as a sign that I should get in that taxi. I’m pretty sure that’s how taxis work.

The taxi driver graciously waited for me to get into the house before driving off, which was awesome of him. I wasn’t entirely sure which one was Charles (the guy whose AirBnB I was staying at) house, despite the level of details he went into when he sent me the check-in instructions.

Turns out, I found it.

I went to my room, which it turns out I did not take any pictures of other than my Instagram Stories.

It was really nice. The bed was insanely comfortable, there was a lovely view and the bathroom was over the hall. An extraneous detail, but it’s there now, deal with it.

I loaded up American Netflix on my Ipad, put on my PJs, hopped into bed and poured myself a nice glass of Jefferson’s Bourbon, which I picked up on my ill thought out 4 mile hike.


This was $25. Do you have any idea how angry that makes me? An awesome whiskey for £18. Stop whining, America. Your drinks are cheaper than ours

And then I went to sleep.



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