Day Two: Start with the Italians, then head for the water.

My day began in the North End, where I located the ever-to-be-fondly-remembered Modern Pastry shop:

Hand-talking Italian men lingered over coffee, discussing the evils of the bottled water fad. As is my wont, I eavesdropped on them . . . while devouring my first-ever cannoli (with a lovely crisp but fresh shell loaded with the most decadent sweet ricotta filling ever) and a nice big café latte. I listened in while two strangers, a modern and intellectual-seeming 30-ish woman and a crusty middle-aged fisherman, bonded over their cannolis. He even tolerated reasonably well the instance in which she said, after he asked the young counter-girl if she would be wearing a bikini at the beach, "She isn't there to be ogled by the likes of you!" The fisherman defended himself mildly, then tucked back into his cannoli. Such is the magic power of those cannolis! Another exchange I overheard was this:

Fisherman: “Is Billy back in town?”

Baker: “No . . . not yet. Have you seen him?”

Fisherman: “I saw him the day she threw him out.”

Strangely, this was to become a theme of my vacation, in which I overheard multiple tales of women throwing men out of the house. Another occurred on Manhattan's D Train to the Bronx, which I was riding en route to a Cubs/Yankees game. Two guys about my age were standing right next to me, having this discussion as if they were totally alone. The blonder of the guys told a sad tale in which his wife had left him a note telling him to gather his things and leave. He seemed all at once surprised and not surprised about this turn of events. The cause of the situation was somewhat unclear (at least to me), but his friend did offer him a spare room for a few weeks. My curiosity was piqued after hearing these stories, leaving me to ponder whether this is a modern trend or a reflection of the places in which I lingered (and eavesdropped) during the trip.

Before heading out to catch my northbound train, I took a quick snap of this charming illustration hanging on the shop wall, of an artist painting a still life of a canolli:

(If you're wondering, it says, "Roberto . . . Il Pintore di Cannoli.") This perfectly captures the feeling one has at Modern Pastry, of being in the presence of a great achievement in the form of a delectable pastry.

Contentedly full of cannoli, and with a boxed gift of the taste treat in hand, I settled in for a relaxing train ride heading north from Boston, where I had the pleasure of meeting up with a friend in Beverly, MA, for an afternoon of fun. We drove up the coast to Glouchester, and found this cute downtown area that includes this diner straight out of a bygone era:

We were disappointed to find the intended lunch place closed, but happened upon (with the help of a couple we encountered, who were similarly disappointed to find the restaurant closed) this lovely lunch place called Alchemy. There we drank wine and ate a fabulous lobster pie:

Sadly, I was unable to eavesdrop at this place because no one one sitting nearby. But our conversation was interesting enough in and of itself to keep me entertained. Antiquing was of course a part of the plan, and while doing that, we observed this budding artist:

A threatening rain made beach plans not seem like a good idea, so we substituted a hike near this pond:

which led us to this gorgeous view of a meadow overlooking the rocky approach to the Atlantic Ocean:

My day ended, as many days do, with watching the Cubs game—again with the impressively knowledgeable Sox fans, but this time at an interesting Boston brewery with a fine product.