New York City 2005 : 19 August | 20 August | 21 August

Friday, August 19 [top]

It actually takes great effort to remember how many times we have visited New York City. I remember coming with my mom when I was much younger. Then, there was a trip back in August of 1998 to look at property and consider the prospect of moving here so that Dave could acquire a new client (happy to report that we've since declined that offer and life has been all the better as a result). Then, there was another August visit back in 2000 with our friends Shawn and Valerie Sullivan (including a visit to the World Trade Center, which would crumble to its most gruesome death a short year later). Then there was one more trip in August 2002. I don't know what it is about New York in August but I'm starting to detect a pattern.

Every time we've visited, it is always a different experience. The first time was like the country mouse visiting the city. Boston is so incredibly dwarfed compared to New York. The next visit was as a chicken-shit Bostonian balking at the idea that I would move to a "town" where being a Red Sox fan would hurl me into the throngs of the minority. The next was with another couple in a much more social light than normal. 2002 was a somber visit, witnessing a grieving city struggling hard to repair itself after one of the most tragic events in American, and indeed world history.

Then there was today. It would seem that the forces of good or evil tried like hell to keep us from coming here. After previously flying and training into the city, we chose to drive most of the way and train just outside of New York. It would be a couple hours before we could even escape the metro-Boston area. A tractor-trailer rollover caused an 1.5-hour, 6-mile traffic jam near I-495. Once past the 495 atrocity, we drove on through Hartford and New Haven where we noticed it started to rain (on par with our traveling curse, where it rains whenever we are on holiday). The rain kept up in pockets throughout the day.

Once in Stamford, we parked our car, purchased our train tickets and realized with one minute to spare that we left our mobile in the car. I hoofed it top-speed back to the car, retrieved the mobile, hoofed it back to the terminal and hopped on the train waiting obligingly on the track. We pulled out of Stamford, shortly after which the ticket collector “graciously” orders us off at the next stop. I couldn’t imagine why we were being expelled. Apparently, we unknowingly hopped on an Acela Amtrak train using the same track as the Metro Line that we should have been using. We were discarded like rotten fish at the New Rochelle station feeling particularly foolish, where we waited for the proper Metro train. One finally came about 20 minutes later finally bringing us to Grand Central Station.

We're at the Doubletree Metropolitan at 51st and Lexington. We've got a charming little room overlooking someone's rooftop veranda that you would see in movies like "Brothers McMullen" or "Kate and Leopold."

Once settled and refreshed, we began out usual power walk covering over 80 blocks of about 6 miles. We walked down 5th Avenue through Greenwich Village walking into bookshops and admiring the charming brownstones. We ventured through East Village that looked less than attractive with its run-down buildings and homeless folks on every street corner.

We chose to have dinner at an old reliable, The Stage Deli, a popular eatery on 7th Avenue where they have sandwiches named after celebrities. And as expected it was great. I had some pierogies and Dave opted for the chopped liver sandwich--don't knock it until you try it. We walked off dinner past Rockefeller Center to the Ess-A-Bagel for a coffee and delicious dessert.

One disappointing thing this time around in NYC, was that this city has taken a turn for the worse in terms of appearance. When Rudy Giuliani was mayor, there was a pride in the city, the streets felt secure when there was a policeman keeping watch on every corner and there was practically no litter anywhere. Nowadays, cops are fewer, people are ruder and the streets are far filthier than they once were.

Well, it's off to bed to recoup for another day of power walking, hopefully to visit Central Park and the Upper West Side or any place the wind takes us. Keeping my fingers crossed that the elements behave tomorrow as well.

Well, I guess I can officially say that I've worn out my own welcome here in NYC. Two days and many idiosyncrasies later I've found myself sufficiently disillusioned by a city that once so intrigued me.

I'm on an MTA train (a proper one!) at Grand Central Station waiting to depart the Big Apple and head back to our car at Stamford and ultimately home. "Home" or the concept of it never seemed so appealing to me until now. Sure, it sounds a little harsh, but our last day in New York leaves us with a bad taste in our mouths.

But first, I should proceed in a more chronological fashion, i.e. Saturday 20 August.

Saturday, 20 August [top]

Saturday was a little more enjoyable. We got up, had a nice little breakfast at the Broadway Diner on Lexington Avenue. I had a delicious blueberry muffin and Dave some eggs, lox and onions. Quite different already from what were planning for breakfast that morning. Dave had a craving for bagels and I, donuts. In a city known for its homemade delicacies, we were stunned to discover that there wasn't one homemade donut joint in our part of town or anywhere near it! So, we settled for the Broadway Diner, which was a pretty smoky alternative.

Breakfast was quickly finished and then it was off to the Upper West Side for yet another power walk. We walked up Central Park West and to the Museum of Natural History. We had actually been here before and it seemed that we hadn't forgotten much of it. I will admit that this MNH has it all over any other MNH including D.C. and London. This one isn't geared towards the 10-year-old who has seen "Jurassic Park" over a hundred times. This museum actually incorporates a lot of the research work it conducts into the exhibits. In fact, one of the major shows there this time involved the studies researchers and scientists were conducting beyond the skeletal remains of dinosaurs to determine how they got around, how fast they traveled, how they protected themselves, etc. But, I guess, that why they would charge you the ungodly admission price of $21 as opposed to the big goose egg in D.C. and London.

After MNH, we cut into Central Park around the Jackie O reservoir and over to the East Side. Not much to see here except all the fancy designer stores on Madison Avenue like Herrera, Valentino, Vera Wang and Versace--where I would expect it would cost about $500 for a toothpick.

We did, or rather Dave did, manage to catch a glimpse of something rather unexpected. We passed a normal-looking white-haired guy wearing sunglasses, walking out of a building on Madison Avenue. In a fairly discreet voice, Dave says, "Hey, that was Steve Martin." I simply grunted, "nahhhhh." I'm thinking that we couldn't have possibly passed Steve Martin, until I realized that I was in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I turned around as Dave squawked, "I'm telling you, that's Steve Martin!!" loud enough for the entire street to hear. Just as I had fixed my eyes on the guy Dave was referring to, he turned around to attend to a lady friend who was apparently with him. I knew, then, that it was Steve Martin when he caught us gawking at him. Both shamefully embarrassed, we belched an "oh my god," and meekly turned around to continue down Madison Avenue. Only in New York...

After a brief munch break of some Izze, scones and sushi at Dean & Deluca, we headed back over to the West Side to catch an afternoon show of "Broken Flowers" at the cinema. Even the movie turned out to be a disappointment. A nice performance by Bill Murray (albeit nowhere near his excellent bit in "Lost in Translation" or the classics like "What About Bob" and "Groundhog Day.") but it wasn't the poignant, groundbreaking commentary that I had read in all the rave reviews it got.

My "dogs" were killing me by the time we had back to the room to wash up and change for dinner. The marathon walks were uneventful and seem to uncover only the same buildings block after block. By this time I was feeling that I had seen all there is to see in New York as an aimless wanderer. Unlike London, where there is something interesting around practically every corner, I kept fighting the urge to hop in a cab and just "get" to wherever I needed to go. After Saturday, I had pretty much conceded that any future visits to New York would have to be for a reason, be it a show or concert or exhibition. The filthy streets and insufferable people have tainted the image of this seemingly endless city for me.

Dinner, on the other hand, was brilliant. Feeling adventurous, we wanted to try something a little off the beaten path. We found ourselves at Al Bustan, a Lebanese place on Third Avenue. Neither of us knew what to expect having never tried Lebanese cuisine. We sat down, ordered a bottle of wine (blanc de blancs) and enjoyed their appetizers while we looked over the menu. They served marinated olives (which Dave, of course, devoured) and a bowl of what looked like a light red fruit. I took a small bite and did a double take over what certainly did not taste like fruit. It turned out to be turnip pickled in vinegar, cinnamon and jalapeno. It was sour but had a flavorful aftertaste. We then ordered moussaka (eggplant and onion), which went well with the wine. Then came the Sawdat Dajaj. Thank heavens I had a buzz going with this one because I don't think I would have just dove in knowing what it was: chicken livers. But once I did, I was amazed at how wonderful it tasted. Whatever it was cooked in had an explosive flavor that seemed to emerge even more as I took in more wine. Sufficiently buzzed, I enjoyed my dinner of Kibbe Bill Suniyah, which turned out to be like a Middle-Eastern version of Memere's meat pie. It was baked ground beef with a mincemeat and pine nut mixture in the middle served with a cool yogurt, cucumber sauce. Dave had a mixed grill of chicken and some of the juiciest lamb I've ever tasted. The chicken livers turned out to be the pièce de résistance but the entire dinner was fantastic.

As a nice, little after-dinner treat, we walked up to E. 60th to put our name on the 2-hour waiting list to get into Serendipity 3...yes, a 2-hour waiting list. We decided to kill some time back at the hotel room, watching TV and letting our fabulous dinner digest to make room for our long-awaited, late-night dessert. At about 10:30, we left and head back out to E. 60th.

Serendipity 3 is a little hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlor that, I expect, has taken off as a result of its feature in the John Cusack-Kate Beckinsale flick, "Serendipity." Once past the hordes of people waiting to get a seat, you get a cute, little table next to all the kitsch and chotchkes on the walls. For example, from our little nook we had a great view of the gift shop merchandise, which included vintage photos of Manhattan, old soda fountain and interestingly enough, Trailer Trash Dolls, complete with cigarette butts, Daisy Duke short-shorts and pregnant bellies. Intriguing.

We were delighted to partake in the phenomenon that Serendipity is known for: the Frrrozen Hot Chocolate. Yes, you read that right and yes, it is quite an oxymoron and no, that is not a typing error. However, I'm not exactly sure where the "hot" came into the picture but it resembles a Hot Chocolate about as much as a Slurpee. It is simply an intriguing blend of a bunch of different kinds of chocolate thrown together with some ice and served in a big ol' bowl with a mountain of whipped cream on top. The taste is a delight but has addictive quality. You take one sip and you almost immediately must go in for another almost immediately. That’s a big heaping serving of Brain Freeze.

Thanks to the movie, this place has now become a tourist trap. Although we enjoyed our Frrrozen Hot Chocolate and are able to proudly say that we've tried it, I think I can say with confidence that there really is no reason for us to go back...a sad, common tale for a lot of things in New York.

Then came Sunday...with a vengeance.

Sunday, 21 August [top]

It was one of those days I equate to those I have back home where I feel like I should have stayed in bed under the safety of my blankets. Due to our activities the night before, we woke up a little later than normal (about 9am). We showered, packed and checked out of the hotel to discover that a horde of tourists must have checked in the night before. There seemed to be crowds of people on every corner and on the hottest day of the weekend (of course, the sun comes out when we leave--travel curse is present and accounted for); it bordered on unbearable. There seemed to be a market on Lexington Avenue (similar to Portobello Market in the Notting Hill section of London) where vendors set up little tents and tables to sell bobbles and other little nothings to whoever pass by. We chose to partake in some breakfast. We walked over to 57th and 7th, to the Brooklyn Diner. The little diner seemed to have gotten some great reviews as they were all plastered over the glass of the windows and doors. Both being diner junkies, we figured it was a good idea. Then we sat down and perused the menu. $15 for eggs and toast. We immediately understood why a diner was looking suspiciously empty on a Sunday morning at 10am. We dropped our menus and made a quick getaway to the bagel place next door.

"Pick-A-Bagel" was a far more catastrophic experience. This closet of a place was packed with tourists. We got in line not knowing bugger-all what they had to offer. One of the many non-English-speaking order takers asked us what we wanted. Okay, the entire menu was down the line, well out of our vision. What in the hell do you have? Feeling particularly peckish, I was ready to ask the order taker to recite the menu to me. =P So, we finally get our breakfast and attempt to find a sliver of a spot to consume it. I ordered an onion bagel toasted and received a raw, plain bagel. And what's more, it was topped with an unpalatable kind of cream cheese that most assuredly did not come from a cow. Having only successfully digested about half of our breakfast, we admitted defeat and resolved to have a decent lunch in a couple of hours.

We walked down 7th Avenue towards Times Square where the number of tourists seemed to have tripled from the day before. I can only imagine the chaos that brews at this place on New Year's Eve. Much happier watching the chaos on TV in my warm, quiet home. Wow. I just sounded like my father.

After a quick coffee break at Starbucks, we headed towards Grand Central to get a train schedule to plan our ride home. As we got closer, faced with the mob of tourists mowing everyone else over, both of us suddenly seemed to want to leave New York City as soon as we possibly could. We retrieved a schedule, wrote off lunch and decided to go back to the hotel, get our luggage and hoof it back to GCT as soon as humanly possible. Traipsing down Madison Avenue through the crowd of what seemed like a predominantly Indian population, we realized that they were preparing for some Indian parade. The chaos was only going to get worse. We knew then that we wanted out of New York.

I know it seems from my diatribe that this time around I would actually detest this city, but I admit it has is charms. Charms aside, it is not a city to get lost in. One wrong turn may find you down a seedy street in an unfavorable part of town.

New Yorkers are far more “pleasant” than Bostonians. Cab drivers are notorious for their treatment--or mistreatment, rather--of any other member of the human race. If you so much as set your toe off the sidewalk when they have a green light, they will gun the gas pedal to the floor and probably secretly hope that you will jump in front of their car so that they can get some entertainment as they see your terrified face hit their windshield.

Perhaps it is unfair to compare New York to London as much as I do. But after visiting London shortly after New York and subsequently revisiting New York only 2 years later, I'm now quite aware of how complacent we, as Americans, have gotten. With one world tragedy under our belts (happening in our lifetime and in our own backyard), we are expected to pull together as a nation and become stronger. Now, it seems that we are a laughing stock to the rest of the world and our fellow Americans are divided over our involvement in the Iraq War. A commonwealth once aware of our fragility and making the attempt to get along and maintain brotherhood is now reverting back to our old selfish ways, only now we're doing it on gasoline that's costing us $2.57 a gallon in our SUV's.

This wasn't supposed to be a commentary of political differences but visiting two of the most powerful cities in the world after 9/11 seems to have sparked a light in me. London now has Tube attacks to deal with, but from my view of their little island, it doesn’t seem to be tearing them apart. When I visited in 2003, they were still vigilant and feeling threatened and at the same time, strengthened by attacks that happened in another country.

What happens now? One thing is for sure: New York will never look the same again. Only there will I find a jerk driving an SUV, taking an illegal u-turn while I'm crossing Park Avenue, throw me the reactional equivalent of sulfuric acid and then proceed to roll down the window and call me a "white-ass faggot" while completing his illegal u-turn. Only in New York.

~Fin~