My family moved to downtown Boston in 1985. As a wide-eyed 14-year-old from Onehunga the shock was both cultural and culinary.
From my fifth-floor bedroom window, I could watch the antics of the uni students dancing on their fraternity and sorority house rooftops or playing gridiron on the streets below, even over fallen trees during Hurricane Elena.
![Krishna Botica went from growing up in Onehunga to living Boston as a teenager. Photo / Getty Images](https://www.nzherald.co.nz/resizer/v2/D7XQVLIZ7CPON3TJV32EX2544E.jpg?auth=57a03b6dd5b3765973954517ab5812e44b3d197ac618607a214fc7d9c69d53b4&width=16&height=16&quality=70&smart=true)
Finding a park was a 30-minute exercise any day of the week and it took another five minutes to execute the nine-point parallel parks to get in. My walk to the subway to get to school came with a warning… "Don't stop to talk to the vagrants!".
Orange juice came in a frozen cardboard package of concentrate and lunch at school was a hot meal from an army-like canteen. I came to love Cape Cod kettle chips a decade before they arrived in New Zealand.