CAROUSEL HUNTING

When I go into Boston, I have a bad habit of walking great distances.  I do not quite know why I keep doing this, but it has helped me learn my way around the city a little better as I am severely directionally challenged.  Also, it provides some physical fitness, which I promptly cancel out by drinking ice cold beer.  This walking plus the addition of beer bring to light one final advantage to my wandering: I am getting to know where every public toilet is in the city of Boston.

In addition to knowing this, I have mastered the Waterfont area and Faneuil Hall via the Rose Kennedy Greenway.  The Greenway -- you know, the lovely lush green and landscaped areas that were tramped and destroyed by that whole Occupy Boston Movement. 

The place where the carousel is.

Now, I know darn well where the carousel is because my nephews rode it recently when they were in Boston for a visit, and I led them there.  Yet for some stupid-ass reason, three of us walking around cannot find it.  Well, let me speak my piece here: I am told that we may be searching for a new carousel, so I am confused by this whole thing.  Remember, I am directionally challenged to start.

This carousel, unlike others, does not have horses.  It has things that make sense to children and Boston, like foxes and lobsters and owls and whales.  My friend has been informed that it is on the edge of the North End at Christopher Columbus Park.  We are fascinated by the possibilities of weird New England creatures instead of ceramic saddled horses, so of course we are on a quest to find it.

We walk until we hit a construction fence, then we enter Christopher Columbus Park and look around.  We see the trellises, the archways, the garden, the lawn -- we can see all the way to the Harborwalk on the other side, but we cannot see any merry-go-round.  We see a young woman who is wearing a Boston Strong t-shirt and working one of the vending carts along the street.  When my friend asks her about the carousel, the girl denies knowing what the word even means.

We cross back over to the construction fence, a huge wire contraption with green material strapped to it and some random signs hanging off of it, and we sit in the benched area that explains all the islands.  We discuss the great possibilities of taking a harbor cruise and seeing the islands, which I did years ago and would gladly do again.  While sitting and looking at the large displays of the different islands and the things you can do there, my daughter, who is also with us, Googles the carousel.  The search reveals it is down near Pearl Street, the exact direction from which we have already come.

We walk back down the few blocks until we have passed where we first arrived, the place from which I would've sworn on my life that I saw something like it when we first arrived.  We re-Google the carousel, and this is when we discover that it is not a new carousel but a refurbished one. 

Aha!  This I know. 

So we trudge back through the throngs of people, the hot summer afternoon, and the Rose Kennedy Greenway, until we are face to face with the construction fence again and the Greenway ends.

What the hell.  Seriously. 

We hear people talking about the carousel, but it is nowhere in sight.  Damnation, I took my nephews here with my brother and sister and their families.  I know goddamn well that the carousel is directly across from the entrance to Faneuil Hall.  We spin around a few times until one of us, I cannot even remember who, finally decides to read the GIANT signs tacked to the fence: "Coming soon … the new carousel…"

Honest to freakin' gawd.  We were recently standing right in front of the fence for five whole minutes before we turned to go to those benches and read all those harbor island signs.  As a matter of fact, the bench on which we sat?  Perfect view of one of the many, many signs that say "Carousel … coming soon."

I have two evil thoughts at this point.  Thought #1 is why the hell are they rebuilding the damn thing during the summer and the height of the tourist season?  Thought #2 is that I want to rip the Boston Strong t-shirt off the girl standing less than twelve feet from the fence and sign all day long selling frozen lemonade, and explain to her that she has no right to wear Boston anything if she doesn't know shit.  My friend, being much calmer than am I, simply crosses the street, explains to the girl that a carousel is a merry-go-round, points to the GIANT sign that stares the girl in the face, and laughs about all of our ineptitude.

Meanwhile, we lift the ripped parts of the green material to stare through the fence at the not-yet-completed carousel.  What we can see, though, is really, truly incredible.  I cannot wait to see the finished product up close and personal to see all the new stuff on it.  Yet part of me will miss the carousel horses, who each had names and unique bridles and saddles to distinguish them.  As excited as I am to watch the spinning lobster and owl and fox et al, I sincerely hope they've kept a horse or two or three.

Is it worth the convoluted trip to see the carousel?  Absolutely. 

Do we walk six miles all over the Waterfront district?  Absolutely.

Do we stop and drink cold beers when we get back to our starting point?  Absolutely.

Do we feel like dingbats? Abso-freaking-lutely!

Did we have a blast in Boston?  The better question would be, "When don't we?"

I'll leave you with the annoying ditty that has been playing through my mind while writing this blog post:

Merry-go-rounds quickly turning,
Quickly turning for you and me
And the whole world madly turning
Turning, turning 'till you can't see
We're on a carousel
A crazy carousel
And now we go around
Again we go around
And now we spin around
We're high above the ground
And down again around
And up again around
So high above the ground
We feel we've got to yell
We're on a carousel
A crazy carousel …

               -----   Jacques Brel, from "Alive and Well and Living in Paris"

(My mother would be so proud; my siblings will want to kill me for reminding them.)