Which Neighborhood is This Again? Boston Culture

“Thanks fellas, on your left here.” 

A man in a yellow raincoat pedaled past Kevin and I as we walked next to the Charles River.  He spoke in a heavy accent, calibrated by years of learned social behavior.  The Boston skyline rose over Back Bay, and sailboats pressed along the river’s surface.  Our enticing stroll brought us past historical buildings unlike I had ever seen in the United States.  In Colorado, a building from the 19th century is considered true history, yet that shows just how young the West is.  Homes from the 1700’s sat solidly around Boston, uninterrupted by the ghastly differences in life they have seen. The shuttered windows are held closed and the new paint makes it feel alive.  I wondered how many lives had thrived and flourished behind that paint. 

People are fighting for space here. The sidewalks are full of citizens and tourists.  The city inhabitants have held space on those sidewalks for generations.  They only move when it was absolutely necessary, and step over cracks they have watched elongate and spread.  Disobedience in the social realm is unheard of.  While a difference in culture is not outrageous, refusal to play by Boston’s rule is unacceptable.  

Parking spot savers are a prime example of Boston cultural rules.  There are no driveways in Boston.  The parking is all along the street, and is sometimes bought separately from living spaces, often for more than the price of a suburban house.  In less busy areas the street parking is open, with no reserved spots.  When the snow comes in October, it is there to stay.  Deep snow packs into parking spaces out front of people’s homes. Home owners must dig out the parking spot in front of their house, which is no easy task after heavy New England snowstorms.  After digging their spot out, people leave items in the empty spot while away from home.  Patio furniture, ironing boards, and signs are a few common items.  People that take the ‘free’ spots by moving spot savers are risking their cars getting keyed, windows broken, and tires slashed.  You don’t break the rules.

What is caressing a misplaced anger is attributed to the disintegrated value for human life that holds in big cities.  Packed cities, the irreparable harm caused by generations teaching their next of kin to worry when the neighbors speak in whispers and walk quickly down the side-streets.  Nobody questions the long lasting impressions given by relatives and close friends.  It is the way life goes.  

I imagine these rules are so common place that nobody questions them.  They are the norm, and day to day people hold them steady.  It is the life of a city, these types of expectations.  Like the man who is raised in a farm town, waving to everyone he passes.  The smiles that you give in small town America, and the wave to say thank you when a car allows you to cross the street.  The norms of each community is what gives it the culture, the feel , the ambiance.  That is why it feels different in one city to another, and one reason travelling is such a learning process.  The bewilderment of difference caused by an ignorance of a culture comes with a lack of understanding.  When I learn about a culture, I can identify with them.  When a city breathes uniquely, there is a reason.  To ask the question of why, and to try on their shoes for some time, gives me a grand new perspective on living.