Boston with a teenager: Reluctant Education

Education, education, education. An old government slogan that applies to many households of school age children. Holidays should be a break, a change of scenery, but it’s always nice to throw in the odd educational experience. For a 16 year old who has just completed mandatory schooling, a solid dose of education was in order - so off we went to Boston to explore the Universities and the story of America’s break from Colonial rule. I was also keen to get the boy into the idea of independent travelling on a budget.

Our AirBnB was a twin room in a shared house in Revere; great value but well away from the tourist sights of the city centres. Revere is a firmly residential area of white clapboard houses adorned with patriotic tributes, sprawling shopping malls, and enormous roads - in short, what some might call the “real” America. The contrast of our small European city home to the suburban American sprawl was evident as we negotiated our way across 6 lane roads to a near deserted sandy beach barely half an hour from downtown Boston.

As is often the case in the United States, public transport difficulties ended up being a theme of the trip. We had installed the MTicket app on my phone to buy transport tickets, but couldn’t work it. However the MBTA Transit App was reasonably reliable, albeit that there weren’t a huge amount of buses to show us. We also downloaded Boston CityMaps, which gave us lots of adverts and a useful map of the subway; and Lyft, but didn’t use it.

We’d booked tours of Harvard and MIT as “prospective students”, which I suppose #1 son is. I’d always thought of him as more of a nerdy MIT type, and figured the tailored tour through his preferred faculties would be jolly interesting. However, whilst the charismatic student showing us round told us dozens of great quirky stories, it was Harvard that really grabbed his attention. The cool shady squares, ancient buildings (by American standards anyway), vast multi-storey library seemed to really inspire him. The bursary system really inspired me - Harvard and MIT give away over $100 million each in tuition fees every year! Harvard even pays for crazy overseas field trips all around the world. But I could see why the boy was inspired, Harvard has no modesty about appointing itself as the world’s most eminent university, and confidently asserts itself as such. The canteen is good (and cheap) too. Boy was inspired to do a bit more work for sixth form - mission accomplished.

A scientific friend had told me that we needed to visit the Science Museum, which contains the world’s largest van der Graff generator. This seemed a good plan for the rain forecast that afternoon. I had images of my own school science lessons when van der Graff generators turned our 1980’s expansive hair into quite an alien form. However this generator was actually developed to demonstrate lightning. You can miss the rest of the museum - this really was the thing. Played out in a purpose built theatre, the audience protected by a vast birdcage-like Faraday cage surrounding the central stage, the show demonstrates a phenomenal range of sound and light effects from the sparks generated. A bizarre highlight was playing Star Wars music through differently tuned generators as sparks flew between them.  The boy is too old to be a thrilled child, too cool to be interested in the Physics, but was as thrilled as I was, and as fascinated as all the other ages in there. 

While the rest of the family basked in the hottest British day ever, the rain in Boston continued the next day, so we invested $63 each in a one day Boston City Pass which gave us free entry to dozens of indoor and outdoor venues across town, including bike hire. This accelerated our tour through the aquarium, Paul Revere’s house, the Prudential Tower to look out across the neat rows of Brownstone Houses towards Fenway Park and the hills beyond, across Harvard Bridge (curiously measured in “Smoots” by some amusing co-MIT students of the diminutive Mr Smoot who was used as a measuring rod for the occasion),

The unexpected highlight was the museum of Contemporary Art (MCA). Neither of us are artists, or remotely appreciative of art. I find Modern Art to be a very hit and miss affair, sometimes we’ll see something that we really like, but have no idea why. And so it was in the MCA, in the form of a permanent exhibit in a large room with various immense screens showing films taken simultaneously in a large house, in which people are jointly playing a piece of music in a weird range of locations within the house, various states of dress and undress, obviously different instruments and singers, but with the music perfectly synchronised. Walking round the gallery is like walking round this old house with the music all around you. We stayed there a while soaking it all in.

Next day the rain had gone and a beautiful clear day dawned. Following some basic research of Public transport, we plotted a trip Northward to Rockport.  This took us through absolutely stunning scenery with names utterly incompatible with their British namesakes. Manchester had huge clear blue lakes on both sides of the train tracks, lined by magnificent houses with vast green lawns reaching down to the shores. Gloucester and Chelsea meanwhile looked more like... well British Manchester really. Rockport itself seemed rather genteel when we arrived. Plenty of Art Galleries lining the main streets attracted the wealthy elderly crowd more than the teenage son and his dad crowd. However we had a jolly tasty seafood lunch, and proceeded on to collect a pair of pre-booked kayaks to paddle out across to some of the islands in Massachusetts Bay. The wildlife was surprisingly abundant, there were areas of big fish jumping out of the water (although I’ve no idea why), and hundreds of birds diving from the rocky shores. We stopped at Stratsmouth Island which was occupied solely by a retired couple who were restoring the lighthouse on the island. It was a fascinating tale, there was no running water or electricity when they arrived, so they had rigged up rainwater traps and solar panels to make the house habitable as a holiday let.

Our final day involved a proper day’s sightseeing, walking Boston’s famous “Freedom Trail” incorporating places of significance in America’s battle to shake off the colonial oppression imposed by the British Government. As Brits, we have a civic duty to express some cynicism about romanticism of some of the stories. It’s really not clear why Paul Revere is revered more than the other chap who  rode another horse through the night to warn of the British Advance. But that aside, the route is well planned, clearly marked for self-navigation with or without an explanatory leaflet, and at around 3 miles on both sides of the river - is easy to walk in half a day looking at the sights. Many visitors overlook the North side of the river, but that’s a shame as the view from Bunker Hill gives some real perspective to the City, and the old dockyard is fascinating. Back on the South side, and as someone who originates from close to Boston, England; it’s surprising to me to see the names of South Lincolnshire villages on street names and gravestones.  We finished the tour in Chinatown, where we ordered some fantastic Dim Sum, familiar tasty Cantonese food in enormous American portions!

The one thing that our One Day City Pass didn’t cover was the Boston Tea Party Museum, so we took ourselves there after lunch. It’s a bit enthusiastic for my muted British tastes, and much too enthusiastic for a self-aware British teenager, but it really is very well put together. All visitors are assigned an identity of a colonial rebel, and start in a protest meeting led by charismatic actors representing some of the heroes of the rebellion. The party then processes out onto a tea clipper and ceremonially dumps the tea into the harbour. The tour guides really were excellent, staying in character but answering any questions thrown at them with a wealth of knowledge of Boston’s history. The escalating rhetoric between the rebels and Crown was well illustrated through “paintings” of King George and Sam Adams having a heated row, their words based on actual correspondence between them. An understandably different slant to that taught in British Schools, and a welcome educational finale to the trip!

Edinburgh Fringe, Live Stand-Up Comedy with teenagers

"My name is Stits, Gloria Stits. That sounds like a line from Oliver." This quote from an improvised spoof James Bond themed stage show was Probably one of the more memorable lines from our week at the Fringe. The best thing about shows like this being that they're rib-hurtingly funny for me and my teenage boys, without the more adult content of most stage comedy. The range of shows is stupendous, starting at all hours of the day and night, with dozens of categories by age suitability, genre, type of show, location, and times to select. A convenient App accompanies the phone book sized Fringe Guide to lead visitors to the optimum show for the moment.

Our kids are disappointingly sporty. Arts are really not their thing. None of them act or play musical instruments. So their enthusiasm for the worlds biggest arts festival was a little muted. Despite some enthusiasm from the boys for super-hero themed shows, and from our 8year old daughter for crafty stuff, the overall sense of anticipation was mainly around the possibility of Scotland playing a friendly at Murrayfield (I lied about that one).  But luckily with some bribery, and the choice of a show each, they were willing to give it a go.

The boys both went for super-hero things - one a comic lecture on comic-book heroes, and the other a hysterically funny debate between two stand-up comedians about whether Star Wars was better than Star Trek. Fantastic stuff - here was a whole pub basement full of nerds who knew more than they did about whose father killed whose brother in whichever episode. My highlight was my daughter's decision for her and me to run away to join a circus - in the form of a circle skills workshop. This started early one morning before the real shows started in the same big-top style circus  tent. This was part of a general children's area close to the University known as the Underbelly, with a large inflatable upside-down purple cow-shaped tent as its centrepiece. It's all a bit surreal.

Aside from the organised shows are street performers every few yards, mostly with superb crowd participation.  I was unlucky enough to play the role of "Englishman" In a slightly uncomfortable trick about our colonial heritage; the boys were an unexpected backdrop for a slightly odd dance think about climate change.

Any visit to Edinburgh leaves you coming away thinking that we really need to return to see the city itself away from the Fringe. There is plenty to see. When it rained we dipped into the National Museum of Scotland, and later on the fantastically scenic castle. When the sun came out we took in the incredible views from Arthur's Seat, passing the Scotttish Parliament on our return. We dined well, as well as soaking up the culture of a deep fried mars bar (popular with the teens) and Haggis (much better than I remembered it). We arrived for our train home in plenty of time to laze around Princes Gardens with our luggage and a picnic, rolling down the steep slopes under the splendid backdrop of the castle on its mount. 

This was a very short trip, only 5 days, but so much packed into it. We saw dozens of shows, mostly free entry where the audience pays what they think it's worth. By the time we flopped onto the train home we were exhausted. Trips, glorious trips.

Malta, Sunshine, History and Seaside on a budget

Most families travel on a budget, and sometimes that budget is tight with the demands of all the family. Our mission for summer 2015 was to book a week for the 5 of us in 5-star hotel with guaranteed sunshine for under £2,000 including all travel and most of the food. With the help of Ryannair’s route map, we rediscovered Malta. We had stopped off there in the days before children, vowing to return after an all too brief run around a tiny part of its amazing history.

And this history is visible history on a monumental scale – with bloodthirsty tales through the crusades, and pretty much every War affecting Europe and North Africa since. As the home of the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet since 1800, it was besieged by the Nazi’s and Italians until 1942, and became the most bombed place in the world, ever. The destruction of the the stunning capital city of Valletta (since entirely rebuilt) and fortitude of its citizens earned Malta the George Cross, an honour of which the island remains very proud. This piece of history is excellently recounted in the Lascaris War Rooms under parapets of Valletta. We were shown round the welcomingly cool subterranean corridors by a guide who never wavered from his view that Britain really is the greatest country on earth (apart from Malta). The reality of Europe of War is brought alive in this network of rooms, where Eisenhower and Montgomery planned the invasion of Sicily, and where hundreds of military planners lived and worked throughout the war.

Moving further back in time, Malta’s place in the British empire from 1800 is re-enacted daily by a superb group of enthusiastic historians in Fort Rinella. Dressed in Victorian military costumes, they provide genuinely interactive demonstrations of signalling, weaponry, and cavalry attacks which all our children were encouraged to actively participate in. There can be few opportunities in the EU today for 10 year-olds to don a pith helmet and fire a Victorian Musket, but this is one of them. Being about half an hour bus ride from Valletta, and therefore slightly off the beaten track, Fort Rinella feels like a hidden gem, right from getting off the bus and being unable to see it concealed in the hillside; to being one of only three family groups there during our visit.

And so the history goes back, through the Maritime History, the Knights of St John, the great siege of Malta, Normans, Arabs, St Paul, Phoenicians, and even further to Stone-Age settlements. But this is a holiday rather than a history tour, the rest will wait for another visit.

Back to the original specification. There was sunshine, lots of it. This is the Southern Mediterranean. Malta has a few beaches, but we didn’t head to them as we could jump into a clear blue sea from a series of little platforms and steps from the hotel. The hotel pool was welcomingly cool, good enough to spend a few relaxing days there without venturing beyond its borders. I had the impression that most of the guests never left the hotel complex at all, which seems a tremendous loss.

We slightly exceeded the £2,000. Ryannair flights were just under £200 each, but by upgrading to a suite big enough for the 5 of us, the cost on a B&B basis stretched above £1,000. However eating out was cheap and plentiful. Our hotel was close enough to stroll for 10 minutes into St Julian’s, which (beyond the more obvious drunk British teenagers on the seafront) provided plenty of excellent family friendly restaurants. There is a strong Italian influence on the food, with numerous “proper” pizza restaurants and a range of gelato bars. We also wandered along the beach one evening to a local bar which seemed to be full of families, where we ate a delicious meal of seafood for around EUR 5 – 10 each.

So sunshine, yes; £2K budget – nearly.  Extras for interest – completely exceeded. Malta is definitely a place to come back to, both to see the rest of it, and to see it again through the eyes of the children as their ages and interests change.

Three generations boys adventure trip II: Peak District and Caves

Buoyed by the success of the earlier 2012 trip to the Peak District, we decided to return 2 years later, but with the addition of a few friends this time. Each son brought a friend and each friend brought a father, making 3 men and 4 11 and 12 year old boys for the first few days. We stayed in Eyam, taking over the family rooms in the coach house adjoining the excellent Youth Hostel. This was a brilliant decision, we had a 4-bed room, and the other 2 families had a twin room each, with a shared bathroom. It was perfect for coming home muddy each evening, and waking up after a good nights sleep, at a phenomenally low price. Eyam itself, famous as the plague village which shut itself off from the world during the Black Death to protect neighbouring villages, was a 10 minute stroll across the fields down the hillside. Once again, the Youth Hostel provided breakfast and packed lunches, the excellent pubs of Eyam filled us up in the evening. 

 

We stopped at Carsington Water on the way up for an hour of kayaking. It was the first time that we had all got together, so bonding in wetsuits while soaking one another with oars as water beaters was a superb start to the trip. There is something marvellous about water for all ages. Strangely - everyone seems to be equally good / bad at kayaking, its a kind of natural action that anyone can pick up. This was exactly what we needed at the end of a tedious trek up the M1. From there it wasn’t far on to Eyam.

 

We had made arrangements with the excellent team at Pure Outdoor to provide activities over the weekend. They were extremely helpful on the phone in advance with suggestions, so we had high hopes as we arrived at their outdoor centre early on Saturday morning. After a thorough run through the options, I was outvoted on my plan to abseil off a railway bridge as we had originally planned. Instead we would spend the morning rock-climbing on Stanage Edge, and the afternoon “Weaselling”.  

 

Early adolescence is the stage where not only do boys start to realise that their fathers are not the majestic sporting heroes they thought, but they also overtake us in terms of sporting ability. Nowhere is this more apparent than rock climbing, where progress up a sheer cliff is dependant entirely on the ratio of strength in your fingers to overall body weight. That is to say, athletic skinny boys make a better job of it than middle-aged men with large feet and beer guts. All of the boys felt they were skilled climbers based on their experience of climbing walls. However a cliff face is a different matter entirely. Now the purpose of the ropes and the importance of the safety briefing were very real. But the actual effort involved to pull yourself up from the thinnest of cracks in the rocks is immense. Its also immensely satisfying to achieve progressively harder climbs. And from the top, the views are incredible, and so much more earned than walking round the cliff as on Trip I. The inevitable bloodied knees and bruised shins just added to the sense of achievement.

 

Weaselling didn’t sound like such a fun concept to me, but I was very wrong here – this was one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip, and the part where there was more laughter than any of the other bits. Essentially this involves scrambling over and under the enormous rocks that have cascaded down the side of Higger Tor. Sounds very simple, and it is if you have the physique of a 12 or 13 year old. However manoeuvring my belly between the narrower gaps and crevasses proved very challenging.  There were a number of occasions when it seemed the rocks were attempting to give birth to the adults in our group, although its not normally the baby that makes those noises. Each time we emerged from another gap, in any direction, we were greeted by another awesome view of the countryside, and a gang of four giggling boys.

 

Day Two was the challenging event 5 hours spent underground, working our way through the Cave known as the “Giant’s Hole”, with such a range of physical and technical challenges I sometimes think back and wonder if we really did it. The route begins very easily where some early 20^th century entrepreneur concreted the floor and blasted any obstacles out of the way. Then the fun starts. We abseiled down a deep hole through a waterfall into pitch blackness – thank goodness we had done so much abseiling on the rocks the day before. We then passed through the “Crabwalk” – half a mile of twisting through a crevice narrower than me (but again – wider than the boys) culminating in “The Vice”, which was as easy to get through as it sounds.  The route then goes through a series of steep climbs and descents, some scrambled, some on ropes, and mostly through very cold water. Eventually we got to the “Giants Windpipe”, a 20 metre or so stretch where the roof of the cave is about 18 inches from the floor, and its half filled with water. This was quite a challenging crawl, and our instructor John kindly rewarded us with a very welcome cup of Hot Vimto at the end of it. From there, it seemed a fairly straightforward scramble, climb and abseil back to the start. The pub that night was a very welcome sight!

 

Next day, our friends left us, and Grandad returned to join us for a few days walking.  Mountain climbing was off the agenda this time, so we followed the Monsal Trail and Tissington Trail. These form two of the old railway lines across the peaks which have been restored as foot and cycle paths. The routes are extraordinary, from the days when no expense was spared in building viaducts and tunnels to follow a straight line on a map regardless of the contour lines in between. Some of the tunnels are up to 400 metres long, but fully lit, which gives them a magically eerie glow. Much easier than crawling through the Giant’s Windpipe anyway.

 

This was an ideal adventure trip for boys who old enough to know that their dad’s aren’t cool, but young enough to get some pleasure from our company when we’re doing something active and fun. Most of the activities were things where they could really prove that they were better than us, and that;s oddly satisfying for all of us. The tricky thing was going to be… how do we beat that one?

Three generations boys trip I: Peak District

Multi-generational holidays are apparently one of the biggest growth sectors in the travel industry. I can't really see the appeal of travelling with extended family. Too many people to involve in the detail of eating, sleeping, travelling and days out. However we tried it on a small scale by eliminating women from our trip, and it was so much fun that we repeated it twice more.

The formula was simple, I would drive with to my parents home with all the children, swap my daughter for my father, and carry on the journey into the Peak District. We rented a marvellous B&B in the turret of a house close to Edale, with a room on each of the 4 floors - one for the men, one for the boys, one sitting room, and one dining room.  Wholesome English breakfasts were thus sorted, with the landlord additionally making enormous packed lunches for our daily striding over the mountains.

Grandad time is marvellous for boys of any age, even with me in the party. We trekked over Mam Tor in the early evening, seeing the where the road had plunged down the hill with a few cottages, killing the occupants. As darkness and mist descended, my father terrified the boys with the ghost stories of the victims, and those that had met the ghosts when lost on the hillside. We staggered on through the mist.....

Next day was rather clearer, and seemed ideal to tackle Jacobs Ladder and cross the bizarre peaty landscape of Kinder Scout. I was expecting Jacobs Ladder to be a hearty climb for all of us, but small boys have infinite energy of course. They kindly carried our bags up the steps at quite a pace, waiting smugly for the old men at the top. The enormous lunch then vanished inside us as we looked down on Manchester. For reasons not entirely clear, boys listen to Grandfather's telling of the great Kinder Scout Trespass above my more interesting stories, and on that stunningly clear afternoon you could see what a marvellous day out that must have been.

Then it's compass time across the featureless landscape at the top of Kinder Scout.  The peat bogs sucked down the heavier amongst us, while my youngest son seemed to float confidently over the top.... until he didn't, and sank down like the rest of us. Eventually we could see down into the valley of Edale again, and carefully descended the steeper side of the mountain, not terrifically aided by bifocal lenses. A magnificent pub dinner topped off the day.

And so it continued over the next few days - another day - another mountain - and another view of the others side. We looked down on the beautiful views above the forest across Derwentwater, another opportunity for a Grandad story, this time about the Dambusters. We strode along Stanage Edge viewing the spectacular views of the valley below. We ate very well, 3 times a day. We played wholesome board games in the evening, like scrabble, draughts, and monopoly. We had lots of fresh air, and we all slept very very well!

Most of all though, we talked to each other. We learnt lots about each other and from each other, solving most of the world's problems. This is the positive of a multi-generational holiday, it was a lovely celebration of each other's company.