Day 3 in Boston started slowly, with this strange feeling that the city was beginning to feel familiar… but without ever really stopping being surprising.

Walking through Old Boston felt like stepping into a living history book, except the book had fresh wind between its pages, distant subway sounds in the background, and red bricks beneath our feet. Without really noticing it, we were following the Freedom Trail, that red line drawn on the ground that crosses the city and connects the most important sites of the American Revolution. And honestly, it’s impossible to do that “just as a walk.” At some point, you realize you are literally walking through American history without even trying, as if it were completely normal.

What immediately stands out in this part of Boston is the architecture. The 18th- and 19th-century brick buildings are still there, perfectly preserved, solid, as if they had decided to resist everything, even time itself. Places like Faneuil Hall or the Old State House really give you the impression that the past isn’t “far behind,” but just there, right next to you, within reach. And what’s even more impressive is the constant contrast with the modern skyscrapers surrounding them. You look up and go from a colonial red-brick building to a sleek glass tower in just a few seconds. It sounds a bit strange on paper, but in reality, it works perfectly. Boston doesn’t hide its past; it puts it on display in the middle of its present.

But what makes this neighborhood even deeper when you take the time to feel it is everything it carries in the background. Boston is not only a city of the American Revolution; it is also a city of arrival. A city built by waves of immigration that completely shaped its identity. Walking through these streets, you inevitably think about the Irish immigrants of the 19th century, fleeing the Great Famine, arriving here with almost nothing, hoping for a better life. Many landed in Boston under extremely harsh conditions, often rejected or pushed into the poorest neighborhoods, yet they contributed immensely to shaping the city as we know it today. Their presence is still visible in certain areas, in churches, in names, in the city’s collective memory. There is something very powerful about realizing that beneath the streets we casually walk on today, there were entire lives of survival, rebuilding, and hope.

We walked without rushing, fully in exploration mode, just observing the details. The old windows with their uneven frames, the slightly worn wooden doors, the narrow little alleys that almost feel like stepping into another era. Even the churches, like Old North Church, have something almost cinematic about them. It’s the kind of place where you half expect someone in historical costume to walk out, or a bell to ring announcing a major event. And yet, right next to it, there are modern cafés, people with headphones, electric bikes, fast conversations… two worlds coexisting without disturbing each other, as if time has learned to layer itself instead of replacing itself.

Boston is truly a city that has kept its soul. And walking through it means understanding that architecture is not just buildings. It is visible memory, a way of telling stories continuously, even when no one is speaking. Here, every street carries something: the Revolution, immigration, struggles, departures, arrivals. And even without knowing all the details, you can feel it. You walk through it, and you sense that this city has lived. Truly lived.

Then we completely shifted universes with our visit to Harvard University. And there, it’s not just a change of scenery—it’s a change of atmosphere, of pace, almost of inner posture. The moment you step into Harvard Yard, a different kind of silence welcomes you. Everything becomes calmer, more composed, almost solemn. The grand red-brick buildings, the heavy wooden doors, the perfectly aligned windows, the classic architectural details… everything reflects both prestige and a very deliberate sense of tradition. And when you realize the university was founded in 1636, long before the modern formation of Canada or most North American institutions, it completely changes the way you walk through it. You’re no longer just on a campus—you’re inside an institution with almost 400 years of history.

Harvard is also known for being one of the most selective universities in the world. The acceptance rate hovers around 3 to 4%, meaning that out of tens of thousands of applications each year, only a tiny fraction are admitted. And it’s not just about grades: there’s an entire ecosystem of academic records, extracurricular achievements, personal stories, recommendation letters, where every detail matters. From the outside, it almost feels like another world—one that is extremely competitive, where every student already has an impressive background before even stepping through the gates.

And of course, there’s also the very concrete and slightly overwhelming financial aspect. Tuition alone exceeds 50,000 USD per year, and when you add housing, meals, and living expenses on campus, it can easily reach around 80,000 to 90,000 USD annually. That said, Harvard also has an extremely developed financial aid system: for many students, especially those admitted based on merit or financial need, the university can cover a large portion, sometimes even the full cost. That contrast is striking—a place that represents the absolute peak of global prestige, yet actively works to remain accessible through significant scholarships.

Walking through Harvard Yard, we moved slowly along tree-lined paths, looking at each building as if it had its own personality despite the strong architectural harmony. Some are imposing and almost intimidating, others more subtle, but all of them give the impression of belonging to something far bigger than you. The Widener Library, for example, is so massive it commands respect just by its presence. It is one of the largest university libraries in the world, housing millions of volumes. You don’t enter it like a normal library—you step into a true temple of knowledge, where every floor feels like it contains a different part of the world.

And then there is the famous John Harvard statue. Everyone touches it for “good luck,” especially the foot, even though there are multiple myths surrounding it: it may not even be an accurate representation of him, and the “lucky foot” tradition is largely a tourist invention. Still, everyone does it anyway, in a kind of quiet shared ritual among thousands of visitors.

What makes Harvard even more special is this constant contrast between academic seriousness and everyday campus life. On one hand, you know you are in a place where students may go on to become researchers, political leaders, entrepreneurs, or global figures. On the other hand, you see students sitting on the grass reading, laughing, drinking coffee, simply living their day. Some walk briskly across campus with backpacks full of books, others pause under trees without rushing. Everything feels extremely normal… in a place that is anything but.

And when I think back on it, this trip to Boston as a whole was truly such a beautiful little journey with my mami. It brought us so much closer, through the laughter, the long walks, the discoveries, and the quieter moments in between. But the truth also has to be said: it was an extremely draining trip. We walked every single day for long hours, sometimes to the point where we could barely feel our legs anymore, going from one neighborhood to another, from museums to visits, without really stopping. There were moments where we realized we had literally spent the entire day on our feet, absorbing the city from A to Z, from morning until night, with only quick breaks to eat or catch our breath.

And despite the fatigue, despite our feet constantly being in “please stop moving” mode, we had so much fun together that it almost didn’t matter. We laughed about the smallest things, got lost in the streets for no reason, commented on absolutely everything and nothing, and even the simplest moments turned into something funny or memorable. There was something very natural about traveling together, as if we had found a shared rhythm without needing to say much to understand each other.

Yes, we often had stomach aches from the American food—let’s just say the portions don’t believe in subtlety—but honestly, that was part of the experience too. Even that became another little story, another moment of “okay, we definitely overdid it again.”

And in the end, that’s what stands out the most. Not just the incredible places, the historic buildings, or the big visits… but the fact that we experienced it all together, in the exhaustion, the laughter, the endless walking, and the small simple moments in between the bigger adventures.

I love you mami xoxoxo