Day Three: Experience life as a Hah-vahd student.

I had planned to spend my Monday at Provincetown, but found that the previous day’s hike to the ocean had fulfilled my immediate need for beach time. Instead, I found myself craving a visit to Cambridge, where I would live out my long-denied fantasy of life as an Ivy League student (foiled by my own lack of confidence in high school and a high school guidance counselor whose sights did not extend beyond Midwestern Catholic schools). Anyway, my day began with a long walk in 90+ degree humid weather, ending with the thought: “I’m on vacation—why should I suffer in this heated hell?” I was lucky enough to snag a cab near MIT that someone else had called, but never retrieved.

I emerged from the cab near Harvard Square and, after checking a map to regain my bearings, stepped down the stairs into Casablanca, the lunch spot about which I had read:

Casablanca is a semi-Moroccan place that has been a part of the Harvard community’s dining landscape for years. I read about how the place had to close down during a theatre renovation, then reopened in a slightly remodeled form. From my newcomer’s perspective, it seemed not to have skipped a beat. The wine was delightful (I could get used to having a nice glass of white mid-day, instead of in the evening!) and the chickpea crepes were tasty. It was nice to find that what might have been a dark below-ground setting was actually brightened significantly by a room-length skylight through which I could see the sky and the building next door.

This meal’s eavesdropping (the dinner companion of the lone diner) centered on two pairs of folks. The one nearest to me seemed to be a father/daughter duo, with the daughter enthusiastically explaining to her father the joys of the IPOD. The other pair seemed to be a long-retired male faculty member and a woman who may have worked with him before his retirement. He eagerly and quietly devoured her tales of departmental politics and goings-on.

Because the atmosphere was so wonderful in the restaurant and energy level was temporarily dampened by the nice wine, it was with a bit of reluctance that I reemerged into the heavy outside air. I meandered over to the vaunted Harvard Square, where I admired the lawn, the buildings and the lively atmosphere of a place filled with people, both young and old, even after the school year had ended. Here are some of the things I saw there:

Twenty-something guy with pipe (it’s small in the photo, but I’m not making it up!), apparently reveling in the feeling of being a part of the Ivy League World.

Building donated by Al Gore’s family?

One of the many buildings under construction, as if they had just waited until the moment the last final exam was completed, then launched into action.

Seeking coolness, I ducked into the Fogg Museum, one of Harvard’s many repositories for art (because once you have the higher education thing down, why not build several stellar art collections):

It is one thing to have great art, and another entirely to display it in a simple, yet gorgeous setting like this:

I tried to develop my photography skills sans flash, sometimes succeeding:

and sometimes not so much:

A bit blurry, but still cool, I think.

These were among the other wonderful things I found:

Very, very old column tops (that’s exactly what the curator’s posted comments said—I swear!

Interesting-looking room with a hanging cross.

I love the colors and lines of this one.

Statutes by a master and his acolyte.

And a Picasso, for good measure!

Reluctantly departing this wonderful space, I reentered the outdoor Harvard world:

To aid my return to the heat, I popped into an ice cream shop about which I had read. Their homemade offerings were diverse, and I chose a mix of French Vanilla and Marmalade. Quite lovely, it was! I also enjoyed hearing the counter girl recall how, earlier that day, she had created a lemonade mix of a drink about which the customer had raved . . . funny how little moments like having made someone so happy with something simple really stick with you.

I then caught a cab to the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, a lovely cemetery (of course) that was supposed to have gorgeous gardens as well. The cab driver was awfully perplexed, both about where the entrance was and why I would want to go there. As we drove through the winding roads in an effort to find the main entrance (I wasn’t plunging in without a map, mind you!), he said, “I don’t like spending time in cemeteries . . . it makes me think too much.” We finally located the main gate and, impressively detailed map in hand, I was off.

I found acres of deep beauty to explore. The pastoral setting of the cemetery, its lush gardens, its ponds, all with an overlay of imagination-triggering history, was wonderful. These pictures speak for themselves, I think:

Mary Baker Eddy (founder of Christian Science) liked nice things.

That is a devoted baseball fan!

A faithful friend.

Restful water’s edge.

The one grave I was sad to have missed was that of Oliver Wendell Holmes. I did not see him on the list when I chose the areas I wanted to visit and, by the time I realized he was there, it was ridiculously hot and I just didn’t have it in me to trek back to that remote corner. This remains one of the few regrets from my vacation.

I hiked to the top of the Tower hill in this cemetery . . . a brutal climb but worth it for the view, which was great even on this overcast day:

I have to continue with my Saturday, and this entry has reached epic length, so you will have to wait until my next entry to hear about how I was rescued from this Tower hill!