TC and I decided to do our own thing for the half a day we had left in NYC. We packed everything ready for the flight, left our bags at the desk and ventured out. TC to do more shopping and me to visit the West village and lower west side. The downside of course was that most of the stores in NYC don’t actually open until 10 or 11. It was a chilly morning, I had a pile of postcards to write on and I was in desperate need of a coffee. I thought what better place to find an old fashioned American coffee house. Except I couldn’t find one anywhere so I stepped into a Starbucks where I warmed up with a latte and cream cheese bagel while I scrawled messages home on the stack of cards before me. Curiously I couldn’t find a post office.

After breakfast I set out exploring the lower west side. I came across the record store my friend had described but it didn’t open until midday and I had more I wanted to see. I walked back up through the village and imagined what it must have been like to sit on the stoop in front of a brownstone during the 60s, 70s or 80s here – the time of Dylan when the times really were a changing. I wandered the meandering lanes – the grid that encompasses moist of Manhattan slowly peters out here. There are parks that act as makeshift squares, surrounded by low rise brownstones. I walked through streets where vintage Beatles T-shirts sell in Op shops just metres from trendy boutiques. There is a sense that urban renewal is creeping in but that a strong old guard was keeping it at bay. If only it were possible at home where apartment blocks have spread like a cancer through the important places of my own history. Here in New York’s West Village, the gentry have moved in but they haven’t taken over, content to partake in the village lifestyle longtime residents are so desperate to keep. [I Shall be Free – Bob Dylan from the album The Freewheeling’ Bob Dylan. It reminds me of one of my favourite Tim Robbins movies – Bob Roberts. if you’re politically minded and you haven’t seen it – do.]

I flicked through the second hand T-shirts and op shops as I travelled north towards the meatpacking district and the high line. Along the way I passed one of the city’s hospitals, which had a makeshift memorial fence outside for all the people who lost their lives following 911. It was one of the few remaining shrines (apart from the ground zero construction site of course. As I wandered further west to the river I found my first Manhattan petrol station, with a full view of the river. Contrary to Australia where everyone wants to live on the water, the harbourside in Sydney, the banks of the river in Brisbane or the artificial lakes in the ‘Berra, in Manhattan everybody wants to live by the park and no one wants to live by the river. Consequently the prime riverfront real estate is covered by warehouses, workshops and ‘gas’ stations. Once I found the petrol station, I also got my first glimpse of the now opened high line. I followed its path above the meatpacking district, overflowing with modern steel and glass shopfronts carrying way-out-of-my-price-range and dress-size designer wear. Eventually, next to a carpark, I found the entrance to the high line. Originally a line used for transporting goods (and particularly meat) off of cargo ships and into the meatpacking plants, the highline sat decaying until someone a few years ago had the bright idea to turn it into a park. Really it’s more of an elevated walk along the river, with a bit of shrubbery and native grass and a few seats here and there. What they have done well though is reference the rail lines in the furniture. Most of the seats are made from what look to be old sleeper. There are portions of the line imbedded in the gardens and the boardwalk and the iconography of a rail line is carried through to the treatment and shape of the boardwalk itself. The other good thing about the highline is that there is a perfect view across the Hudson River. As I meandered along the line I followed a path that took me through buildings as the original freight line would have done. It was a clear day with a spectacular blue sky and a clear view. I think I actually managed to get a little bit sunburnt. And yes sunburn in NYC is something that could only happen to me. Eventually I came to the end of the line and headed back through the meatpacking district to the village. After all this was our last day in the US and there was still plenty of room left in the extra expandable suitcase we bought. [Wilma’s Rainbow – Helmet – my introduction to math rock but what I remember most when I think about Helmet is the very sweaty Helmet T-shirt that belonged to a friend – which I managed to leave on a train while in a post- concert haze. Hope at least it went to a homeless person.]

As I wandered back along the same path, the shops that had been closed had now sprung to life. 11am is the time the sleepy West village opens for business. First stop was a little op shop with loads of gear with really reasonable prices, run by a couple of really nice and helpful Hawaiians. I got the sense that the place was a bit of a focus for the local Hawaiian community. That was the thing about the village. To a large degree it felt a lot like a village. People stopping to talk to each other in the street and being on a first name basis with the store owners. I was disappointed not to find anything that took my fancy in the store. Next door was another treasure trove specializing in T-shirts and denim- some new and some awesome vintage shirts. Unfortunately nothing vintage grabbed my interest but I did pick up a Hell’s Kitchen T-shirt. I’ve seen it before – I’m sure someone I know has this T-Shirt and it’s been bugging me for days. I was running out of time – TC and I had set a deadline of 1.30pm to be back in the foyer of the Chelsea Hotel so we could make sure we were at JFK in time for our 4pm flight. And there was one more stop I was really keen to make… I had seen a fab black and white checked coat in the two storey op shop we discovered near NYU. And after two days of deliberating, I decided I couldn’t live without it. The very help shop assistant waited patiently while I did my final deliberating and then off I dashed to squeeze my remaining purchases into the suitcase. In stark contrast to the shop assistants in boutiques and upscale op shops at home, I have found the assistants in the US really helpful.

When I arrived in the hotel foyer, TC already had the bags open, repacking to accommodate his new (model kit) purchases. Once packed, we hightailed it for the subway and then the long island train line to the airport.