A couple weeks ago I heard the word Sowa, and like every other person does, I played it off as if I knew exactly what it meant. Truth was—I had no clue. What the hell was a Sowa? A noun, verb, an extinct animal? But I lost my interest pretty quickly and forgot about the mysterious word.
But Sowa came running back. One random day on the Internet, while searching for fun activities, I stumbled upon a market hosted in the south of Boston every Sunday. Its name, of course, was SoWa. Light bulb.
A place dedicated to vintage shenanigans, more than a dozen food trucks and a fresh food market. Like, hello heaven. Safe to say this was one of the best Sundays I’ve had. (No offense to all the incredible brunch places I’ve been over the years). Good job Boston, you did well.