approachable

What is it about me that makes me look
a) like a local
b) friendly?

There must be something, because several folks have stopped, sometimes mid-driving down a four lane highway, to ask me where things are. On Saturday, while I waited in Harvard Square for Keri to walk with me to the regatta, a young couple strolling by inquired about how to get to the Charles River. They seemed embarrassed, as they should have been, because all they had to do was follow the hordes of brightly-colored crew teams. But I was pleased to oblige and thrust my hand in the right direction. Sidenote: it was a fun regatta, ordering coffee with the Georgia Tech team at Peet's and canoodling on the bridge with an attractive Dutch team from Amsterdam. Such diversity, except we decided that the only requirement for joining a crew team must be attractiveness.

Others have asked what you would expect in this town: where is this or that school? I've been asked where both Northeastern and Tufts are, and sadly, I couldn't answer either. And then there are those who ask where "Boston" is. That happened yesterday when a mini-van pulled up to where all five of us were waiting to picked up by the bus to go to church. We exchanged understanding glances when we saw the license plate reading "South Carolina." Distraught that they didn't give us a friendly lift, though, as we waited half an hour in the unfriendly cold.

Then there are the satisfying ones, the questions you know only a true local can answer. That happened this morning. "Where's Kimball Road?" they asked, yelling at me from their car. "Four blocks that way," I responded, pointing west. They thanked me and sped on their way. So glad that's a bus stop on my route home.