All in a New York Minute

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I've said this before, but I really do dig New York. And boy did I see a lot of it today. We woke up to some better and slightly warmer weather just in time to take an incredibly cold shower at our hostel. I actually ended up using the bathroom sink for the majority of my cleansing time in an effort to streamline and minimize the amount of cold water I got on me--yes, it was that cold. I felt like a seasoned traveler though; not only was I staying in a hostel, but I was showering in a hostel sink. I love it.

After Keith and I finished getting ready for the day, we walked down Lenox to the subway and went all the way downtown to Battery Park in order to see what we could of the Statue of Liberty. We got there a bit before noon, and got a decent look. We didn't even think about going to Liberty Island though, since we only one full day in the city and the line would have taken hours and hours to get through. Battery Park is a decent size park, and the line for the ferry seemed to take over the paths as it wrapped all around the southern tip of Manhattan. I wasn't too bummed about not going to see the statue. I was able to go up to the crown of Lady Liberty back in the day on a family trip--we took a ferry from the New Jersey side and I distinctly remember waking up far earlier than any teenager wants to get up on vacation, but we didn't have really wait in a line like the one I saw today in Battery Park. Those people were devoting a whole Saturday to Lady Liberty. I don't even know if you can go up in the statue anymore thanks to whatever restrictions they keep imposing all over the country. And that's a shame. But the platform level is pretty cool, I remember.

After meandering around Battery Park a bit more and looking at some of the Navy memorials they have amongst the trees and flowers, we mapped out our day in my notebook. We had it planned so we'd basically work our way uptown in a fashion to see what we thought would give us a good foundation of NYC life. Most of the things we planned were pretty touristy--Keith was enjoying his first time to NYC and I'm by no means very familiar with the place despite being here a month ago... it's just so big! But I dig it.

We made our up to see the World Trade Center site, the first stop on our schedule. I can't tell you how sobering that sight is. Nearly five and a half years after the fact, there's still a gaping hole in the ground and a somber air in the surrounding blocks. We started on the south side of where the twin towers stood, looking through the viewing fence at the huge construction site that was Ground Zero. People had left flowers along the fence and written words of love and remembrance on the plywood construction walls around. It was all surreal. Around the corner from the fire department facing the construction was a large, bronze mural depicting firefighters attempting to quell the burning buildings and dedicated to those "who fell and those we carry on."

It was really surreal, walking around where the WTC used to be, especially when half the tourist trap shops around town I went past still have post cards with a skyline that includes the WTC. We walked up and along the east side down to the new subway station on the north end incorporated into the construction and got to see the rebuilding process a bit closer than we were able to see on the south side. It all looked a mess. I can't imagine what the place would have looked like in the immediate aftermath and clean up stages following the attacks. It must have seemed like irreparable damage.

As humbled as we were by the World Trade Center site, we couldn't ignore the fact anymore that we were hungry, so we hopped on a subway to take us in the direction of food--more specifically in the direction of Greenwich Village. We got off on 14th St. and walked around a bit until we found MacDougal Street where lies the Caffè Reggio, a cafe that boasts itself as the country's oldest coffee shop. It was really wonderful. There wasn't enough outdoor seating, so Keith and I took a small marble-topped table inside. As cool as it would have been to sit outside along the street, the inside of the caffè was just as pleasing. It was tiny and crowded, dark, and decorated with paintings and other little things that combined to give off an air that was at the same time eccentric and classic, quite like Greenwich Village itself. The food was amazing, too. Despite not being a big pasta eater, I ordered a manicotti palla ham or something (basically manicotti with ham and marinaira on top of it) and loved every moment of it. I could get used to eating pasta if all pasta were like this. I also had a chai latte that was satisfying as well. I almost felt like I was in Italy, although I really don't have any experience to compare that with (yet).

We paid our bill, and walked around the corner into a record shop to browse the collection. There was a good selection of titles--Beatles, Stones, the Kinks, a huge jazz section--but most of the records looked more used than Keith wanted them. It was cool to be in a shop like that, one with more vinyl than CDs. I almost felt like I was from a different generation. But maybe that's just the Village. Maybe.

When we were walking down MacDougal we of course went past Washington Square Park and heard some jazz there, so we decided to go back if they were still there after we ate. Upon our exit from the record shop, we still heard the saxophones and bass, so we made our way to the square. The park itself is very picturesque, a perfect blend of everything you think of when you think of city parks. Among the monuments scattered around the trees and bench-lined pathways, we walked past people of all kinds playing chess (including a young girl beating a older bum, who was becoming increasingly upset with that fact), were approached about buying some drugs, sat next to sunbathers, and heard our jazz. But this jazz wasn't just a street musician playing his horn in hopes of a few dollars, no, this was a whole ensemble of musicians with an apparent regular weekend schedule in the park. And they were good. Between the two saxophonists and the trumpet man playing at times two trumpets, there were plenty of solos made by the drummer lady and the upright bassist who had on the coolest "jazz" pants that looked like a cross between karate wear and parachute pants. They played a few numbers while we were there before this professor piano man came to join the troupe. It was all so perfect, sitting in the park with every walk of life (and I mean every walk of life pretty much) listening to the original American art form, watching the musicians get so into their music. Of course, a bag made its way around the circle of onlookers so that a monetary appreciation could be made at will. For whatever reason, it was a bit awkward to me to watch the trumpet man (who was apparently the leader of the band) count the money and divide it between the musicians. For some other reason, it wasn't as awkward when a few of the musicians friends came to see them and were greeted quite fondly in between songs. Maybe then I could see them on a more personal level and see that they were all just trying to get by. You'd have to any way you can in New York, and it couldn't have been more evident when we left Washington Square and walked through more of residential Greenwich Village to Chelsea. Some of the buildings off the street were stunning, and looked like they would take a lifetime to pay off for the average American. I want to live there.

For those of you who know me, or have read previous entries to this one, know that when in Chelsea, nay, New York, I'm bound to stop at the Chelsea Hotel. One of these days I'm actually going to stay there a night or two, and one of these days I'm actually going to reside there (I hope). The hotel was as awesome as ever, and for a few minutes, I just sat on a hydrant across the street and stared at her. I wish we had more time in New York because I would have loved to explore Chelsea a bit more, especially at night, but we had a few more miles on our list and could see some dark clouds looming in the distance. So, we took our necessary pictures, I looked once more at the sunflowers on the railing all over the Chelsea, and we were off to see the Flatiron Building two blocks east on Fifth Avenue. I was a bit disappointed that the round clock that bears the words "Fifth Avenue Building" seen in most pictures with the Flatiron was shrouded in construction so I couldn't get a good pictures of both, but it was still nice to be able to stand next to Madison Square Park and get a good look at the very narrow end to the building. It was also nice to be able to sit in Madison Square Park for a good amount of time and people watch. And even though I knew it before, it really dawned on me then how many New Yorkers have dogs--mostly small dogs, but some bigger ones. Everybody has a dog, and they walk them constantly through the city and its parks. There were some real cute ones too and we even saw a bunch of puppies in a street window on Seventh Avenue that made everyone who passed them say "aww, I want a puppy," myself included.

When we felt rested up enough, we left the park and walked uptown to see the Empire State Building. We actually ended up going up to the 86th floor observation deck for the fun of it. The line wasn't too bad, and it was worth it when we got to the top. It may be cliché and extremely touristy to go to top of the Empire State Building, but you can't deny the view it gives you of the city. When you step outside to walk around, the expanse of the city and its sheer size makes quite an impact. We were first greeted with a view of the East River and Long Island and even some pigeons that we fed some popcorn to, and as we made our way around the perimeter we were treated to birds-eyed views of all the buildings. I even picked out the Chelsea Hotel from the slew of structures just before the dark clouds we could see forming while we were in Chelsea came down and started to rain on us. And when you're 86 floors up in the air, rain is cold and hard! The majority of people ran inside to safe cover. Keith and I stayed out there for just a bit until the rain was too much for us too; however, we weren't inside long. We couldn't pass up an opportunity to look to the city without many people around also vying for a view. So we braved the rain and took a few pictures with both the city in the background and the rain pelting us in our eyes and a few pictures of the southern half of the city. It was actually quite humorous to be standing there, being pelted by rain and trying to take clear pictures. But soon enough, the rain let up a little and more people came back out and we made our way back down to 34th Street.

Because of the rain, time, and fact that we were pretty tired from walking much of New York, we decided to go back to the hostel instead of going to Central Park to rest a bit before going back out for a late supper and night time activities. So we did. We jumped on about three different subways and went back to the hostel for a bit, rested (and in some cases bandaged) our feet, and then got up and ready to go out again. We were starving and wanted some pizza, so we took a few subways to get to Little Italy and found a place that was still open at 9:30 PM on a Sunday night. It was pretty good for pizza that was bought at closing time. While eating and watching the Mets and the Yankees on TV, we decided to hit up a jazz club in the Village. The walk there wasn't the best walk I've ever had in New York. About three blocks from the pizza place the arches in my feet seemed to give out and hurt, but we continued on to 11th and Seventh Ave. to find a bunch of bars and clubs to keep us occupied. We were originally going to go to the infamous Village Vanguard, but decided instead for a smaller club around the corner called Smalls.

Smalls was extraordinary. I don't know how it measures up to other New York jazz clubs (read: the Village Vanguard), never having had been to one before, but I don't care--I had a blast. Thus far, that was definitely the highlight of the trip (sorry Chelsea). If there is one reason I could pinpoint as to why I would want to live in New York, it would be the jazz clubs, and the fact that they're basically open until the police shut them down. And it's not because I'm a jazz junkie, but because of how real that music is, and how utterly borderless it is. It's riveting and dynamic, and something completely that seems to be incredibly personal to a good musician. It seemed to them, it was just them and their instruments, a private interview almost, or at times a challenge to see how much further the other could go. And yet, each individual comes together in this ensemble. Sitting in a tiny little basement club like Smalls, listening to five musicians pour their whole lives into their music, is so appealing to me. I watched the bassist and saw his fingers fly up and down the thick strings with his eyes closed and mouth forming "ooo" and "eee" while his head bounced to his own beat. He did all this while the saxophonist blew from the floor to the ceiling, which wasn't a large distance in reality but seemed to expand with every single note that came out of the instrument. The guitarist and the drummer were relatively mellow compared to these two, and so would be the piano player if it weren't for his secret and poorly masked glances to a girl at the bar that came to see him in between his solos. The whole time we were there I just became completely engrossed in the scene and the atmosphere and how the band called each other cats and just everything. I probably could have stayed there until 4 AM, but Keith was falling asleep due to extreme exhaustion. I was exhausted too--the energy in that jazz club just trumped it.

So we went back to the hostel, a bit sad that our night ended so early. Next time I believe we'll be able to slow down a bit more, having covered the basics today. Tomorrow, we have Central Park and then we ship off to Cape Cod for two days of relaxation on the cape. Can't wait!

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Photos

What is New York City without a little jazz?
Hot moving jazz musicians at a club. I loved how fast the saxophonist moved while blowing.