“Steve, do you realize we’re standing at the junction of King and Queen Streets?” Larry Meehan asked in his typical animated tone. “No, Larry. Actually, I thought we were dining at a seafood restaurant,” I muttered. “This is the heart of Colonial Boston,” he would say to me, even more passionate. “Where it all happened!” Every conversation I had with Larry Meehan was peppered with some historical tidbit about his beloved city. Sure, he often spoke about the success of his wife and boys, biking around Martha’s Vineyard the week after Labor Day, when most of the crowds were gone, all the new hotels and restaurants that were popping up all over the city. And he couldn’t resist teasing me about my next Sabena Belgium assignment. One of the first stories I ever wrote was on a store in Faneuil Hall that sold detritus from the city, like seats from the old Boston Garden or a century-old street lamppost. “Is this for Sabena magazine?” he would say with a smile years later, referring to the now defunct inflight magazine.
Larry Meehan was the head of media relations for Boston’s Convention and Visitors Bureau. In the past 23 years as a travel writer, I’ve dealt with PR from cities and countries across the globe and few, if any, were as genuinely fond of the locale they were promoting as Larry. He loved the history of Boston and was so dedicated that he persuaded me to start a local New England Writers (NEW) group with him, to get the word out to travel and food writers on all the topical events happening in the city during the course of the next year. Those meetings resulted in at least two dozen stories for me and countless other stories from the other writers.
Then Larry found out he had cancer and I started seeing him less and less. He didn’t want to burden me with his illness, he told me over the phone. So I started writing letters to him and he would send letters back, drawings on the side, stemming from the days before the Boston CVB when he was a graphic designer. In December he died far too prematurely at the age of 60. This afternoon, there’s a tribute to Larry at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library. Of course, I’ll be there. But I wish he was there with me, telling me some anecdote about JFK’s life aboard a Navy ship or Jackie O’s wedding dress on inauguration day. Life moves on in Boston, but with the loss of Larry Meehan, there’s a huge void that’s impossible to fill.
From Quito’s new international airport, it’s over an hour drive to the heart of the city (a $28 taxi fee). The Andean metropolis stands at an elevation over 9300 feet, ringed by volcanic ridges. It’s a sprawling city that fills up the valley, but once you reach its core, you’ll find impressive colonial squares and Spanish churches dating from the 1500s. We stayed on the oldest street in the city, La Ronda, that dates from Incan times in the late 1400s. It’s a narrow winding street lined with restaurants, cafes, and music clubs that once attracted the city’s noteworthy writers, poets, and musicians. Today, locals fill up the street on weekends to dine and listen to music. We stayed at a wonderful property smack dab in the middle of the street called La Casona de La Ronda. Rooms were spacious, designed with contemporary Ecuadorean art, overlooking an inner courtyard. Outside, La Ronda Street was a festive scene while inside this tranquil retreat welcomed us every time we flew back into Quito on our travels. 
To celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday, 15 members of the Leavitt family headed to the outskirts of Portsmouth, New Hampshire and spent this past weekend at the historic 
If you’re interested in a quick fall jaunt to Mystic, Connecticut, skiing at Park City, or feeling that Jamaican warmth some time this winter, 
Guest Post and Photo by Amy Perry Basseches
One of Florence’s best-kept secrets is taking place right now. The annual