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While Boston wasn’t the first place my parents arrived to in the United States, I’ve always thought of the city as the start of our lives in this country. It’s where my dad got his degree, where my brother and I were born, and where my mom advanced her English beyond the canned simulacra of ESL textbooks—in Chinatown restaurant booths and in conversations with other grad student couples. Boston still feels like a starting point of sorts for us, and I was excited to visit once again from my current home in New York.
Seeking my own retreat from an unseasonably warm and frenzied Manhattan, I was looking for a night in—uninterrupted by flapping pigeons and car horns. When I first saw the listing for a two-bedroom yacht in the Charlestown Marina, I had a beat of hesitation. But I was sold by the name of the boat, Carpe Diem II. “Why not?” I thought (and what had happened to the first?).
The drive to Boston took me through the best bits of autumn in New England: there were scenes of golden foliage, well-coiffed dogs, and preppy academic types aplenty. I arrived about half an hour before my meet-up with Chad, my host. Though quiet, Charlestown was a port that felt awake in the afternoon, and I used the liminal time to give myself a quick tour of the Bunker Hill Monument and the northern head of the Freedom Trail.
Touching base with Chad was straightforward, delightful, and—for any prospective guests—necessary, per the marina’s rules for visitors. Beyond simply bequeathing the keys to the boat and the marina, Chad is generous in sharing his wealth of local knowledge, both in casual conversation and a well-maintained Google doc he co-wrote with his partner Holly. As a first-time boater, getting to chat with Chad eased me into my sea legs.
Once aboard, I started to get to know the homey and lightly masculine space. Honey-colored wood and nautical blue and white could be seen throughout the boat. And while some may find the choices in decor a little on the nose, Carpe Diem’s charm lives inside her shellfish throw pillows, vast collection of admiral’s hats at the faux wheel, and “Glad to have you aboard,” plaque.
Though there are a few odd quirks to living on the water (for instance, making sure you have the drain switch on while you shower, or else you’ll begin to brew a bath of your own filth), I was amazed by how complete the living space felt. The two bedrooms comfortably fit queen-size beds, and the master room even came equipped with a recently refreshed collection of travel books. The airy main room was drenched in natural light from the panoramic bay windows, and I spent a lazy morning photosynthesizing on the couch. It was second only to the main deck, a fairy-lit porch with thick-cushioned wicker chairs where I spent my evening finishing Min Jin Lee’s edition of the Best American Short Stories. As I got ready to head out for dinner—restaurant references courtesy of Chad and Holly—I decided to walk to the nearby Waverly Kitchen & Bar, a New American restaurant that makes a mean steak frites, which was balmy and meandering in the best sense of the word.
I wrapped up the night FaceTiming my parents at the edge of the marina, with just the gently rocking Coast Guard vessel keeping me company at the end of the dock. They’d never been to Charlestown during their six years in Boston, but flipping the camera to downtown’s glittering skyline opened a fount of fond memories. And just as they’d done for me so many years ago, I was able to carry them around, pointing at this and that as I walked through a city that felt like home.
