Manhattan Skyline - photo by MAG
This blog celebrated its one-year anniversary last week, and I had hoped to mark the occasion by finishing up the entries about my trip, but that didn’t happen. So, today I am going to highlight some of the best moments of my trip.
I loved all of the unexpected adventures I had in New York – most were the result of getting lost because I didn’t follow directions, but then that’s the best way to experience things – organically.
St. Anthony of Padua - photo by MAG
Some of the best finds were the day I walked from SoHo to 27th & 5th and got lost not once, but twice! That was the day I walked past The Shrine Church of St. Anthony of Padua on the corner of Houston and Sullivan and heard the most beautiful music floating out of the doors, into the street. I wandered in and found the organist practicing for mass while the partitioners sat in the pews praying and chatting with one another. There was something comforting about looking around and seeing generations of people gathered in a place that contains so much history; so many memories.
Not long after I left the church and ventured forth, I discovered the man cave of all man caves – Little Lebowski. The funniest part of the whole adventure was that at the moment I was discovering it, D. texted me and asked where I was. “I’m at 215 Thompson Street, do you know it?” I quickly replied. “No, what is it?” he texted back. “Dude, it’s the Little Lebowski Shop!” D. laughed and then asked if they give discounts for those of us who have been ordained as priests in the Church of Dudeism [both D. and I became Revs a couple of years ago, and we even have certificates to prove it]. I told him I’d go in and ask – so I did.
215 Thompson St. - photo by MAG
Roy, dressed in a bowling shirt and shoes, told me that he’d give me a 10% discount for being ordained as his eyes followed another customer out the door. “But that guy,” he said disgustedly, “that guy doesn’t get shit!” I gave him a puzzled look, and he explained, “He asked me for a discount, I told him no, and then he picked up a shirt and said he’d pay me $20.00 for it. I told him the price was $25.00. Damn tourists, they ruin the city this time of year, don’t you think?” I bit my tongue and nodded slightly as I turned to survey the store. Roy continued his hilarious running commentary by telling me about the history of the store, the movie and then offering suggestions about which t-shirt I should buy [I ended up with the one that has a picture of Walter, and the words “You are about to enter a world of pain”]. He gave me the discount and told me he’d give D. one, too, if he stopped by.
My next stop was the Museum of Sex on 5th Ave and 27th Street. Talk about an interesting place! The whole museum is full of..well…sex. But it’s not just porn, there are floors dedicated to comics, magazines, sexual products, sexual history, and the entire top floor was dedicated to documenting the work of burlesque performers. That was interesting because they don’t generally sit for still photos since their profession is about live performance, but this group of performers had collaborated with photographers to create still images that reflected the personalities of each individual performer. Some of the photos were breathtakingly beautiful, and some were downright shocking, but all of them were uniquely informative.
Around the time I finished touring the museum, D. texted to say he might be able to break away from work and grab a cup of coffee. When I told him I’d start heading back toward SoHo, he responded by telling me not to head back now since he wouldn’t be free for at least an hour – maybe two. I texted back, “Well, I’ll be walking, and you know how I am about directions and focus! Just text me and let me know if I need to hop the subway, okay?” D’s next text earnestly asked, “Wow, are you afraid of the subway or do you just like walking that much?” I laughed and replied, “A little of both, but mostly I love the freedom of being able to walk everywhere!”
I made it back to SoHo around 7:30, and at that point, D. was able to take time for a dinner break, so we headed over to Mexican Radio where we had some excellent fish tacos and I got to try D’s Negro Modelo – two thumbs up! After dinner, D. headed back to work and I walked from SoHo back to Jane Street.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art - photo by MAG
I spent the next day wandering around the Upper East Side, and visiting the Metropolitan Museum. I wasn’t up for the Alexander McQueen exhibit – mainly because I didn’t feel like waiting for hours in a line just to get rushed through the displays of his iconic designs.
One of my favorite exhibits at the museum was the exhibit of night photography. My favorite was Alvin Langdon Coburn’s “Broadway at Night” [c. 1911]. Under the photo was a quote from Coburn that read, “It is only at twilight that the city reveals itself to me in the fulness of its beauty, when the arc lights on the Avenue click into being…” Bernice Abbott’s photo “Nightview New York” [c. 1932] was also strikingly beautiful.
That evening I met D. for coffee and so we could say adieu since the next evening I had a ticket to tour the Manhattan bay by boat [thanks to D.’s eagle Groupon eye!] and wouldn’t be able to make it back to SoHo again. When I ordered a decaf coffee, the baristo behind the counter told me they were out of decaf because they were about to close, but would I be willing to accept a decaf Cafe Americano? [or something like that, I think]. I asked him if it was the same, and he assured me that every cup of coffee was freshly made, then lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level, he confided, “Everything is made with love here. Well, except the green tea – that’s positively malevolent.”
D. and I laughed pretty hard as the baristo went to get our drinks. It was kind of fitting that the coffee shop closed just as we were saying goodbye – no tears, no long drawn out promises to “see you soon,” just a quick hug and a smile, and then D. headed back to work and I headed off – in the wrong direction. Fortunately, the wrong direction meant I came across Rice to Riches, and was able to pick up some mango rice pudding to take back to the hotel for a late-night snack. And since J. loves the little portable plastic dishes the rice pudding comes in, I killed two birds with one stone!
My two favorite moments in New York came the next day when native New Yorkers proved their mettle.
The first moment occurred while I was walking up 7th Ave toward the fashion district. As I approached a corner in Chelsea, I found myself walking behind a little old man wearing a grey windbreaker and a Yankees ball cap. The old guy was kind of bent over, his eyes on the ground in front of him, and although he was shuffling, it was with purpose. As we approached the other side of the street, I could see a Chelsea mom [you know the type, white polo shirt – collar up – jean skirt, Top Siders] and her two kids on the opposite corner. The younger kid was blocking the old guy’s way, but the kid didn’t move and the old guy kept shuffling forward undeterred by the kid’s presence. At the last moment, Chelsea mom grabbed the kid and pulled him out of the way, and the old guy shuffled by without even looking up. Chelsea mom got huffy, turned toward the old guy and said rather loudly, “Well, you could have said excuse me!” And in true New Yorker form, the old guy turned his head slightly and shot back, “Fuck you!”
He didn’t miss a step.
The Harbor Tour boat - photo by MAG
The second moment occurred on the boat tour later that evening. I was texting D. photos of the scenery we were passing, when D. texted back, “I must tell you, these are some pretty boring pictures you’re sending me. The NYPD impound lot? Brooklyn? Where’s the Manhattan skyline?” I texted back that this was the Hidden Harbor Tour sponsored by the Working Harbor Committee.
Just as D. was lamenting the fact that he’d sent me on a tour of harbors rather than Manhattan, the tour guide started answering questions from the tourists sitting up on top of the boat. The first question was whether or not terrorists could enter the U.S. via shipping containers. The tour guide responded very seriously, “Well, if they do, they’re dead before the containers are opened. Next question?” I bit my tongue in order to hold back the laughter as I texted D. back and told him that not only was I enjoying the boat ride, but also that the answer to that question was worth the price of the entire trip. D. responded, “Well, as long as you’re having fun…” to which I replied, “Seriously dude, I’m going to have fun no matter where I am!”
Il Porto on Fulton Street - photo by MAG
After the boat tour, I stopped at Il Porto on Fulton Street and had a delicious salmon dinner while simultaneously looking at lower Manhattan and watching a soccer match on the bar television. Heaven, indeed. After dinner, I walked up Fulton to Nassau Street and caught the subway back to 14th Street. I walked now familiar route to my hotel where I packed my bags and prepared to depart early the next morning.
As the airport shuttle drove through the streets the next morning, I got a little teary. I didn’t want to leave New York. What I really wanted to do was go back to Michigan, pack up my things and just move, but common sense told me that was not a rational or reasonable choice, so I dried my tears and toughened up for the trip home. As I was checking my suitcase, the airline porter, a very kind fatherly man, asked me, “Why do those beautiful eyes look so sad?” I was startled that he’d noticed, and the tears began to well up before I could stop them.
What could I say to that? I wanted to let it flow and tell him how much I loved New York and how badly I was already aching to return, but that’s not something you say to strangers, so I took a deep breath and said, “I’m heading back to Detroit.” He nodded knowingly as he handed me my boarding pass, and told me not to put my scarf in my suitcase because it would be cold on the plane.
I love New Yorkers.
It’s taken me a long time to blog about my trip to New York. I’ve been back in Michigan for two months now, and while life has been busy, I think I know why I’ve been reluctant to wrap this up.
It means things are going to change – again – but I don’t know how.
New York feels a long way away, and some days I am so homesick for it that it hurts, and other days I can set it aside and do things that I love so I don’t have to think about missing the city.
This weekend J. is in New York, and she’s been acting as my “supplier” as she wanders the city seeking out all of the restaurants she’s read about in Gourmet and/or Bon Appetite. When I saw the first photo she sent, I knew I was a goner. It was a simple shot of a city corner, and my pulse quickened, my heart raced as I looked closely at the scene.
I love New York in a way that is not reasonable or rational, and no matter how long it takes or how many different avenues I have to take in order to get there – I am going to get there.
At the Strand Bookstore - photo by MAG
New York City will be my home.
One Year to Move 