east to long Island

On the way to JFK

On the train to the airport

By the time we arrived at the terminal, we were all ready to get back home. I had a freshen up plan when I arrived at the airport, which meant some extra repacking. Unfortunately the airport security people weren’t very happy about it. We packed up pretty quickly – I got the sense that if we didn’t there was a good chance we may not have made our flight because we would’ve been spending some time in a small room. Eventually when we did get to the check in counter, it took ages, we discovered Australia is one of the few countries where scanning your passport isn’t allowed. After what seemed like an interminable wait we got to wait again to go through the security screening point. Eventually we got through to discover that despite the US being a beacon of mass consumerism, there was limited airport shopping opportunities. We had arrived early to a) ensure we were through security in time for the flight, b) get some dinner before we flew and c) get some shopping in. And of course as soon as we arrived, we discovered our flight had been delayed. We went to do some limited shopping but there wasn’t much, except of course for some last minute souvenir shopping. The airport gift shop is even better than the hotel gift shop for random souvenirs – from MoMA gifts to NYPD paraphanalia. And of course lots of stuff plastered with the empire state building. [The KKK Took my Baby Away- Ramones – a three chord love ballad with a surreal dimension that reminds me of wandering through graveyards with the sticky sweet taste of Southern Comfort on my lips.]

Stocked with souvenirs, we thought it was a good chance to get dinner. Our internal flights with Delta were a bring your own snacks kind of affair. Eating in the bar come restaurant in the airport seemed like a sensible solution. It was a decent place to chill out while we waited… and waited. Dinner was pretty good for an airport eatery. Eventually we moved towards the gate to ensure we had a seat to sit in. One of the things that I noticed at the airport which I hadn’t noticed wandering around NYC was that there were quite a lot of Hassidic Jews. In the airport the men removed their hats and coats but still had a skull cap underneath.  After an eternity, we finally boarded for the first leg of the long journey home. Delta assured us the time would be made up in the air but as we checked the flight path against the time (and constantly revisited the estimated arrival time, it was becoming more and more likely we would miss the connecting flight. We asked the stewardesses what we should do and just as we were about to land there was an announcement over the PA for everyone to remain seated so we and the 12 or so other people bound for Australia, could make a run for it. We did, but alas when we arrived at the gate, the plane had long since departed – it wasn’t even one of those situations you see in the movies where the plane is just pulling away from the gate. It had pulled away, taken off and was probably half way to Sydney by now.

We followed the other seasoned travelers to the enquiries desk. Obviously there was no flight out until the next evening so they booked us a local hotel until the departure time the following day and gave us a number of food vouchers that were redeemable in the hotel or at the airport. There were some strange stories amongst our fellow travelers – the guy who was supposed to have a meeting and hour after he arrived – or the girl arriving in Sydney for her friend’s wedding later that day. It’s a 14 hour vtrans-pacific flight people. Surely you should build in some fat. Hell I fly to Sydney the night before so I don’t get fogged in! We left our luggage checked, picked up a survival pack (t-shirt, toothbrush etc) and found the shuttle bus to the airport hotel – the Westin. It was across the road from a series of typical LA landmarks – a Taco Bill and two billboards for weight loss remedies. We checked into what was a pretty comfortable room with all the trimmings including in-room movies. We were so exhausted we showered and turned in for the night, with the idea of chilling at the hotel the next day. [Josie –Blink 182 – probably my favourite Blink song – just a super sweet little love song.]

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.

It was the start of our second last day in NYC and we were on a mission. Shop, shop, shop. Now we had moved hotels, we could start accumulating things we wanted to take home in readiness for packing a second suitcase. We decided to start downtown and work our way back up. First stop – Century 21, the warehouse of designer clothes and shoes at bargain basement prices. First up shoes – and there was a disturbing lack of boots for a city just emerging from a snowy winter, especially when you consider Century 21 is a discount store. There were loads of strappy sandals, including Manolos and Jimmy Choos for less than I would pay for boots at home. I was tempted but then thought about it – there was no way I was ever going to wear a pair of strappy sandals no matter who designed them. Better to leave the space for some boots or sneakers. Then we ventured in Century 21 proper. Considering how fussy I am about the handbags I am happy with, I fund the perfect one within minutes and at less than $20. TC purchased some CK underthings and then got bored when I started getting excited about sox. We parted ways and I continued on my quest through several glorious floors of Century 21. As expected, the plus size clothing wasn’t particularly plentiful but I did succeed in finding a CK suit – the skirt was a bit on the snug side but that didn’t deter me. Some more rummaging and I made my way to the checkout counter. In the UK and Ireland), many of the Department stores (and indeed the souvenir places will let you charge your credit card in your own currency, enabling you to duck the currency changes. Century 21 is the only place in the US that appeared to offer this service. They also asked if I would fill out a survey, which I did and which will, presumably, result in me getting lots of emails for things I am unable to buy online. Like shoes. (Spoon Man – Soundgarden – Soundgarden always reminds me of the end of a long day and night at The Big Day Out – I think I had a different mondogreen for this one – and yes it was well before spooning became a part of everyday language in a snuggling context).

From Century 21, I made a desperate attempt to find Feliene’s Basement. Alas it seemed that Feliene’s would elude me – it was closed down in Boston, I had only 10  mins to check out the Baltimore store and now the NYC store didn’t appear to exist. I gave up my search and headed over to meet another friend on a street corner near the United Nations. He had taken a lunch break from work and had decided on a Japanese restaurant for us to enjoy. With a more convoluted entryway than the Burger Joint, It was clearly the sort of place only locals would be able to find. We walked through the foyer of what appeared to be an office building and arrived at what looked like a hotel or apartment building, itself near impossible to find. We then went around a corner down some stairs to the basement, through another door into a very large and funky Japanese restaurant. Let me be clear, at no point did I see a sign suggesting there was a Japanese Restaurant until we were actually in it. It had a fantastic menu and I opted (as I often do when such things are available) for a kind of sushi and all things Japanese tasting plate – probably similar to what we might call a Bento Box. There was Milo, there was Sushi, there were things with noodles and seaweed. It was scrumptious and enjoyed with more than one cup of green tea. My friend, who had consumed his favourite noodle soup concoction, left it to me as to whether we had dessert and of course I didn’t take much convincing. The only thing remotely Japanese on the menu was Green tyea ice cream. We opted for a chocolate pudding instead. In contrast to my other NYC-based friend, my lunch companion was well acquainted with  many of the places we had been so far – he often rides his bike to Coney Island as is rather well acquainted with the lower east and west sides and villages. He shared my disappointment at the closure of the CBGB closing store and gave me some West village tips, an area I still intended to visit more thoroughly when I went to rediscover the op shop. (Spastic – Henry’s Anger – back when nu-metal was actually new, Canberra’s Henry’s Anger were one of the best – hey they even made it to the ARIAs – they didn’t win but they were there. It’s a musical taste my lunch companion and I share.)

I bade farewell to my launch companion and headed across town to Times Square in the pouring rain to meet TC for our Toys R Us adventure. We wandered around until I found my fave part of any toy store… the Lego. Yes they did have the Architecture kits but it turned out they were actually cheaper at the Guggenheim. TC assured me we would be able to purchase them for less online from Australia. This turned out not to be the case band the kits aren’t actually available in Australia yet. Travel lesson 137: Never get dissuaded by buying anything you really want when you travel. Like tours of bands, they are something you may never get the chance to see again.

After Toys R Us, we headed to Macy’s where TC rested (until it was time to pay the cashier) and I was in plus -sized heaven. Loaded up with as many garments as the change rooms would allow, I got started. Half an hour later, the end result was a pretty summer print Jones of New York dress, a really nice grey and blue top for work and two pairs of CK jeans. And then my pretty woman moment (my first ever) my purchases were paid by a boy (sure I decided the dress was my birthday present and the other items covered hotel expenses TC owed but it made me feel a bit special, even if it wasn’t quite the “She has my card” “And we’ll help her use it Sir” moment, it was lots of fun. (

Where I failed, TC had not and took me on a direct route to Fieline’s basement. First stop the shoe floor. After much searching I had found the perfect pair of boots – flat, laced at the back and wide fit. Alas they were only available in Size 6 or 11. The clothing level proved similarly disappointing with lots of great clothes but nothing quite the right size. There is, though, one very good reason to visit Fieline’s Basement – the spectacular view of Manhattan from the front window. (Rockefeller Skank – Fat Boy Slim – More than 10 years on and I have never got sick of this track, despite the fact I was sure I would.)

From Feiline’s it was onward on a shoe quest – I tried on two or three pairs in the store next door and actually purchased a pair of comfy heeled Danskor Mary Janes (for less than $50 – the Scandinavian faves are usually in the $200 range at home). Then we found the Ecco store, where also for about $60, I scored a pair of leather, Goretex lined, incredibly warm and waterproof boots. Shoes in hand, we went looking for a pair of 501s for TC. We managed to find a slightly distressed pair he was happy with. Eventually there were more shops closed than open as we headed deeper into the lower west side. We decided it was time to head back with quite a few large bags in tow. It was also time to buy a new suitcase to take everything home. To add to the theme of mass consumerism that surrounds the US, most airlines allow you two 25 kilo bags. So unlike Europe, you don’t need to throw your undies overboard to get your souvenirs under the weight limit. After an unsuccessful search for a bag downtown, we dumped our shopping and jumped a subway to Times Square, where we found what we were after in the first shop we tried.

Our last night in Manhattan and all we felt like doing is finding food and chilling in our room. We found a nice little Indian joint just around the corner from our hotel and had the works – most of the dishes were different to the favourites we’re used to but it was delicious, the service was great and the bill was much less than a trip to Taj Agra. We settled in for our last night at the Chelsea Hotel and dreamed (well I did) of what it must have been like here in the 70s and 80s. (Walk This Way – Run DMC – these guys joined the Beastie Boys as the soundtrack to my uni days. The tape with Run’s House was ‘borrowed’ so many times that I gave up buying it in the end.)

The very dated UN

A provocative scul;pture… on UN soil

Le Coprbusier didn’t think about what would happen in the rain

A misty NY morning

The door at Tiffany’s

Joining the locals on the subway

Spanish Harlem

Guggenheim

Upper East Side

Downtown from the Upper East Side

And the rain came down

This is as close as I got to the Security Chamber

View from neutral territory

Chelsea Hotel foyer

The neon glow

Chelsea Hotel

A little piece of history

Chelsea Hotel

Hanging out in Chelsea

NYC is a cultural melting pot – where people of all races and creeds come together but also live separately in the incredibly diverse neighbourhoods that butt up against each other, divided by only a street in some places and not even that in the case of Chinatown and Little Italy  which are almost merging. Layered on top of this local phenomenon is that NYC is the home of the United Nations setup many years ago as a part of a Utopian vision of our planet’s future which has never quite realised its full potential. Nevertheless I am fascinated by the UN, the practical method of working towards a Utopian vision which I share, as well as being intrigued with the whole issue of separate sovereignty for the UN in NYC (like the Vatican in Rome). So while TC set off in search of camera stores, I headed east to queue for my UN tour.

First though we had to pack up our gear to store for the day before we checked into the Chelsea Hotel later in the day. We also decided to take the opportunity to visit the original, Audrey Hepburn endorsed, Tiffany and Co. Alas it was closed (TC was off the hook). It did turn out to be good timing though. The store has the most amazing steel door that you would never appreciate fully when the store was open. It was the first day of rain we had struck – it was quite heavy in bursts and very foggy. It made for some great photos from ground level with many of the buildings disappearing into the fog. My newly purchased rain coat also came in very handy. (Song to Woody – Bob Dylan – one of my favourite lyrical efforts from one of the greatest songwriters ever. Once you get to appreciate Bob’s warbling, there is a treasure trove of homage, satire and social commentary to be had.)

As it turned out, I picked the absolute worst possible day to go on a UN Tour. I should have known something was amiss when I had top go through the security screening in a Marquis at the front of the building. Not only was the General assembly chamber closed because of water damage, the Security Council Chamber was closed because of a meeting. So essentially my cut price tour ticket got me a tour of the UN corridors where I saw posters, a display of stuff that gets sent to refugee camps and a cardboard cut out of Ban Ki Moon, and entry to some trade chamber. What it did show was that the UN really did have its hey-day in the 70s when the Le Corbusier compound was constructed and has not since had the funding to refurbish it – the chamber I visited had a very orange corduroy theme. While I was waiting for the tour I visited the extensive gift shop (with jewellery and other high end wares from seemingly every country except Australia) and the post office. In case you’re wondering my purchases included post cards (sent with a UN postage stamp of course) and UN mints. (Lay Lady Lay – Bob Dylan – one of the songs you imagine Bob wrote in a New York squat in the 70s. Reminds me of rainy drives to the coast, not entirely sure why.)

Once I was done, I headed towards a camera store (B&H) that was near the first hotel we stayed at to meet TC. I took a course that weaved past Grand Central Station, The Empire state Building and The Chrysler Building. Lots of people told me I should make sure I saw Grand central Station because of its architecture and size. And while I can understand the appeal I found Union Station in Washington (and most of the train stations in Europe) much more impressive.

Our next stop was Spanish Harlem – TC had the address of a model shop and our best guess from the number (it was on one of the avenues that run north-south) was that it was in Spanish Harlem. I also wanted to have a look around at least part of Harlem, as there were supposed to be some hip and trendy (read Tracy’s version of hip and trendy, i.e. alternative) stores up in that area. When we came out of the subway station, it was clear we were a lot further north than the model shop (which turned out to be right in the middle of the Upper East Side). We were also in an area that was clearly not the Upper East Side. There were some housing commission flats to our left and some dodgy looking characters hanging around. I wasn’t really scared for my safety but perhaps a little bit uneasy. We decided to walk a bit further north and found a bit of a shopping strip full of the shops you see at market stalls in Australia. I went in a few looking for leather jackets for me and TC. They were all pretty ugly. I did, however, find a Calvin Klein dress for $10, although I suspect the label was probably the only authentic bit. What there wasn’t here was glitz. Bargain basement stores, the equivalent of Vietnamese bakeries and fried chicken shops littered the streets and as often as not the signs and the banter were not communicated in English. After a purchase of some random pastries (which didn’t turn out to be terribly appetizing and a visit to a fully enclosed automatic teller, we headed back to the subway and caught a train to the Upper East side. his area is directly adjacent Spanish Harlem but the two are worlds apart. The Upper East Side (like it better known Western partner is clearly where the money is in New York. Clean streets full of rows and rows of brownstone apartment blocks with potted plants at the door, canopies and in some cases even garden statues. It’s a pity we didn’t actually walk back from Spanish Harlem (which would have taken quite a while). It would have been interesting to see whether the change was gradual or sudden (although everyone I spoke to says it changes from one side of the street to the other in NYC. We found the hobby shop and TC made the first of what turned out to be a number of model kit purchases. (Working Man’s Blues #2 – Bob Dylan – The songs off Dylan’s 2001 album may not have the profile of his earlier work but they herald a modern re-awakening of the troubadour.)

From here we wandered across to what’s known as Museum Row, right along the side of Central Park. As we crossed what I’m pretty sure was Fifth Avenue, we risked life and limb for the perfect shot looking back downtown. As we didn’t have a great deal of time left in the day we eschewed the actual galleries themselves and did a tour of the museum gift shops. I’ve got to say, while I would have loved to have time for the Museum of Design, the one lesson I learnt going through Europe is not to pass up the chance to visit a Museum Gift Shop. In fact, when buying gifts when I have no earthly idea what to get, the museum gift shop is going to be my first port of call. First stop was the design Museum, a relatively new addition to Museum row, which we circled twice before finding the entrance. And because they wouldn’t let you take bags in (even to the gift shop), TC waited outside while I perused the deliciously decadent gift shop. I bought a very cool credit card sized and shaped cutlery set that can be bent for use.

We headed south to the Guggenheim. Of course it wasn’t just the gift shop that interested us here but the building itself. I actually found it quite amusing that the design museum was in something that looked like a turn of the century school campus while the most interestingly designed building in New York houses an art collection. The Guggenheim Gift shop rocked. Although I didn’t purchase it, I found the coolest Lego ever – Lego’s architecture series which features both the Guggenheim and the Frank Lloyd Wright Waterfall house. I was particularly enamored with the Frank Lloyd Wright kit. Given the usually high cost of museum gift shops, I resolved to check whether the kit was also available at Toys R Us. (Golden Brown – The Stranglers – for some reason, this is another song that reminds me of rainy days.)

It was pouring rain when we went into the Guggenheim but while the rain had got a little lighter, it was clear we were going to get wet if we continued walking back to the hotel. TC suggested hailing a cab but I was adamant there was a bust stop for the hop on hop off tour bus we had hardly used. While we were looking for a stop, it became clear we had entered the changeover for the night bus tour which only picked up at Times Square. We had also planned on a late night tour but realised the bus actually stops at about 8pm, which is unexpected for NYC. By the time we realised we were halfway to the hotel, miles from a subway station and there wasn’t a cab in sight. In the end we walked back in the rain to collect our goods and chattels from the hotel doorman. We got the doorman to hail us a cab to get downtown to our next place of residence – The infamous Chelsea Hotel.

The Chelsea was what it purports to be – a ramshackle hotel, full of character and history. It has been done up a bit to attract a less flea-ridden clientele but just enough so the character of the place remains. The bathroom was clean and functional and funky furniture had been added to the room but the doors still locked with an old school key and the chunks that had been taken out of the door jam by over enthusiastic artists or destructive rockstars remained. Our room was on the first floor – there was a lift but in using it your missed the glory of the wrought iron bannistered staircase. The room itself was huge by NYC standard and featured two walk in closets and a kitchenette in a cupboard that hadn’t been updated since the early 70s. The queen size bed had the most impressive leather bedhead I had ever seen and there was a couch and coffee table in the alcove of the huge bay window – like most mid-range NYC hotels the view was of a back alley, where it sounded like someone was practicing their drumming skills. (My Way – Sid vicious – My main reason for staying at The Chelsea Hotel is of course my obsession with Sid and Nancy – I just love a good old fashioned love story that ends in murder. Besides Sid and Nancy is one of my fave movies and The Sex Pistols one of my fave bands.)

Since we hadn’t stopped for lunch, we decided to have a mini-picnic with the Amish country cold meat, cheese, snacks and apple cake we had bought. We had initially planned a Central Park picnic but that hadn’t really eventuated and now the weather had turned. The food was glorious – just a pity we didn’t have a hope of being able to bring it home. After we finished we had quick showers and got ready for dinner. An old friend of mine was meeting us in the hotel foyer and taking us to a Mexican place not far from the hotel. The menu was a modern fusion of Mexican food – something that you don’t really find in Australia. We don Asian fusion well but with Mexican it tends to be the “El Paso” version of Mexican cuisine – if you can’t eat it with corn chips or stuff it in a burrito, you don’t get it. There were tortillas and dip on the table to start. The food was great, the conversation lively, especially for catching up with someone you haven’t really been in contact withy for many years. The discussion often turned to NYC so we asked our dinner companion a few questions we had wondered about life in one of the world’s most densely populated islands. This is what we learned – parking spaces are found quite some way from your dwelling, cars are used for leaving the island, cabs for getting around otherwise, neighborhoods do change dramatically either side of a street, the snow is very difficult to get around in, it gets very cold during the winter and lots of people just stick to their own neighborhoods. My friend who has previously lived in London, San Francisco and other large cities prefers San Fran to NYC as a place to live. After dinner we caught a cab back to the hotel and crashed after another quite long day. (Cherub Rock – Smashing Pumpkins – My second favourite Smashing Pumpkins track – perfectly captures snuggling up on a cold rainy winter (or early spring).

I want to live here

Brooklyn – for Earl and Prue

A NYC holiday by the sea

Waiting for that all American dog

rest in peace

The holy grail of punk… sort of

Pop culture graffiti meets street art

Brooklyn – that’s where I’m from

Desperately seeking TC…

Dog park

Arlene’s Grocery

Three Monkeys, Lower east Side

Now that’s a sideshow

Coney Island

TC rose early, checked on the Laptop rebuild and gave me the green light to start blogging again. yay! While I tried to catch up on the past few days, TC went for a run in Central Park. He arrived back a while late with a coffee in hand. Bless. Our first stop was again breakfast – we grabbed a bacon and egg roll from a diner around the corner. There are two things to note about the US version of this breakfast staple (well not quite as much a staple as vegemite toast but that’s still a rarity here). The first – like everything here, it comes with cheese – and it’s not cheese as we know it – it’s liquid cheese, a texture that’s just wrong. The second, it comes without sauce and even if you ask for sauce, barbecue (which is the right sauce for a bacon and egg roll) isn’t available.

We grabbed the rolls as takeaway and headed down below for our first interaction with the New York subway system. Despite the reputation of the subway, I didn’t find it any more unsafe than the Sydney rail network. The subway station just around the corner from the hotel took us directly to our intended destination – Coney Island. (An Open Letter to NYC – Beastie Boys – from the trio’s post-911 tribute to their home town – To the 5 Boroughs.)

First, however, we decided to take a pitstop in Brooklyn, suburban Brooklyn, to track down a comic book shop. Even though this was Sunday, Manhattan Island was still a bustling hive of activity. Suburban Brooklyn on the other hand, could have been Canberra – well apart from the Brownstones and Hassidic Jews. While Brooklyn certainly wasn’t littered with black hats, beards and ringleted sideburns, there were a few. Hassidic Judaism is an interesting religion just in terms of dress code. It’s one of the few that include a stricter dress code for men. You could walk past a je2wish woman in the street and not know you did while the men are always dressed in black suits, white shirts and with a black hat. Curiously when they fly on planes, they are able to wear just a white skull cap. Anyway Brooklyn wasn’t just about Hassidic Jews – it was about brownstones and what’s hip and cool in New York – Williamsburg or Billyburg as the locals call it and BoCoCa, our destination (and also the part of Brooklyn where Heath chose to bring up his little daughter, Matilda (which always makes me think of the mascot for the 1982 Commonwealth Games). We wandered through the railside semi-industrial area until we hit the vibrant part of Smith Street and its much lauded comic-book store. To our disappointment, the store was much more about comics and books than collectibles. And while comic purists may scoff to a second-hand dealer who collects model kits and other associated collectibles and a pop culture tragic, books weren’t exactly what we were looking to take home. After a gentle stroll on the sunny Brooklyn streets (three storey dwellings here allow the sunshine to drift through) we headed back toward the station to hop a train to Coney Island.

The elevated train meant we saw some spectacular sights including some local graffiti and an expansive graveyard. The series of plots took up both sides of the rail line for some distance and it was packed in tight. You got the impression that every few decades they started to try and squeeze just one more grave between those that already existed. I also noticed more than one person on the train either genuflect or look reverently skywards as we passed. As we neared the ocean (and Coney Island), the skyline once again rose – about a kilometre from the infamous boardwalk, we were surrounded by massive high rise apartment. At first they looked like housing projects but as we got closer they appeared more like 60s style beach apartments. We wondered aloud whether in the past people had chosen this destination for seaside holidays or whether this is where those from Queens and Brooklyn moved in retirement. As we left the station at the entrance to the boardwalk, was Nathan’s famous hotdogs, the Coney Island Institution, with the famous roller coaster, ferris wheel and space tower in the background. (No sleep Till Brooklyn – Beastie Boys – predictable – yes – a staple of my uni days – the Beastie boys are my contemporary yard stick for New York (well them and a whole lot of TV shows)

In all the movies, Coney Island is painted as a romantic 1930s style boardwalk replete with sideshows, fair-style food and rides. It is all of those things but a lot more dilapidated than a well-framed shot will show. Large parts of the boardwalk structure are being rebuilt and the new owners also have a plan to revitalise the area. With a bit of luck they realise the potential of a nostalgic, revived boardwalk rather than demolishing it and trying to recreate it or worse still turn it into some kind of beacon of modernity. People swim here too. The beach either has a severe undertow or New Yorkers have few if any swimming skills. Every 15 or 20 metres there is a break wall that extends well out dividing the swimming areas. We didn’t see any waves but there must be a lot of rocks or garbage because pretty much everyone was swimming with bootees. And most of them were older. You know the same type of people (apart from surfers) you find on any south coast beach in the early hours – and yes they were wearing budgie smugglers.(Rockaway Beach – The Ramones – Rockaway Beach is actually on the other side of the Island but this is the closest you’ll get to a NYC beach song.)

After a leisurely walk along the boardwalk, we headed back towards the souvenir shop where I bought my fave trip T-shirt – a navy blue Coney Island Candy apples T. From there it was on to Nathans to sample the wares – TC, who had already sampled more than one American hotdog, was salivating. I, too, was interested to taste a Nathan’s hotdog. I had enjoyed only one hotdog since arriving in the US – and Amish style dog with all the Dutch trimmings including Sauerkraut. I was going to have my Nathans dog the American way with mustard and ketchup and washed down with traditional lemonade. It was delish, and quickly devoured. From here we headed back to the station towards the east village and Tracy’s pilgrimage to things that once inhabited these well-worn streets.

First stop was the site of punk music’s armada – CBGBs. When I say site, I really mean site and site only. Two years ago when friends visited the recently closed CBGBs they got to go downstairs into the actual bar and purchase gifts (including my revered Save CBGBs T-shirt) from the CBGB souvenir shop. These days, the site is an art gallery. The basement bar is roped off and the awning from the now closed shop is on display in the gallery. Just up the street (after we did a loop of the surrounding streets), we found Joey Ramone Place and then headed north past the Bowery hotel. We rounded the corner to St Marks Place and felt like we had just stepped into a scene from Desperately Seeking Susan. As it was in the 80s, St Marks Place is street market central. Alongside street stalls filled with hats, scarves, T-shirts and sunglasses, there are punk boutiques (hello new American themed spinner ring) and the best collectible store ever. TC mused about going back to get a Spock kit but decided against it. I was very tempted myself – it would have been worth it just for the box! Further up the street we found New York’s most famous new stand Gem Spa. The sign outside said they made New York’s best Egg Cream (although, as with New York’s best burger, I’m pretty sure we have seen that on a couple of other signs). Egg Cremes have neither egg nor cream and are apparently a mix of chocolate sauce, chilled milk and salsa. Not quite sure that its salsa as we know it but never quite got around to trying one… next time. (Sheena is a punk rocker – The Ramones – The band synonymous with CBGBs – this song reminds me of Dave, who is such a Ramones aficionado that Richard Kingsmill called him when presenting a show about them. This reminds me of piling too many people in an old brown Valliant belonging to the only guy we knew who was old enough to drive and just cruising around.)

Around the corner was historical site number two – the former home of Love Saves the Day – now a restaurant. From there it was off through the park towards Charlie parker’s house. The dog parks within the park weren’t very inviting, all gravel and cement, and much smaller than my backyard. They were segregated too – dogs fewer than 23 lbs had their own playground but were also welcome in the big dog’s park. If Charli had’ve been there she would have to play with the big dogs. Both parks were packed on this sunny spring afternoon. From here we wandered back through the East Village and past historical site number 4 – the first house Madonna lived in after she arrived in New York.

Next stop was an early dinner at Katz Deli. We sat quite close to the mobile declaring the place Meg Ryan sat during that scene in When Harry Met Sally. Katz was packed and there wasn’t much chance to work out the ordering system. It’s an old school lunch tray system – you get a ticket which gets marked with each item purchased. Sandwich over here, soup over there and beer somewhere else again. And when they make your pastrami on rye (the local delicacy) they present you with a sample of the freshly cooked pastrami (kind of blackened corned meat). And you get tons of it heaped on your sandwich. And of course it comes with a pickle. I loved the Matzo ball soup. The pastrami on rye was good but I would have like to see it served on much better bread. The bread was a bit dry. Maybe it’s because I am used to Scandinavian style rye bread rather than the US kind. TC wasn’t at all impressed probably because he was expecting an Australian -style pastrami with a peppery coating. The most notable thing about Katz deli (apart from the sign proclaiming where Harry and Sally sat or the sign proclaiming that you should send a sausage to your boy in the army) was that the walls were plastered with picks of celebrities with someone, who I can only assume is Mr. Katz. When finished, you take your ticket to the counter and they give you the bill. As is usually the case with these things, I don’t remember what it cost but I do remember thinking it was quite expensive by NYC diner standards. (Into the Groove – Madonna – from the era of the lace headscarf, three quarter length tights, lace petticoats and lots of jewellery (and that was my wardrobe) – I feel in love with Desperately Seeking Susan and wanted those boots Madonna scored in Love Saves the Day.)

From Katz, we took a walk through the lower east side and found popular band venue Arlene’s Grocery as well as the corner where the cover shot for Paul’s Boutique was taken. I checked out a few vintage stores but like those in Boston, there was a heavy bias toward smaller sizes (probably because there were less fat people in the 50s (or because the ones that were stayed home a lot in mumus). TC satisfied his disappointment with lunch with a lemon and sugar crêpe. Of course I had to sneak a bit – not enough lemon for me.  After a quite full day, we wandered west in search of a Subway station. We realised we had gone a bit too far when we reached New York University on the edge of Greenwich Village. We decided to keep wandering for a while and came across an open T-shirt store (for TC) and a huuuuuge op shop (with large sizes and reasonable prices) to which I vowed to return. (Lateralus – Tool the best night time wall of sound music ever.

Tired and weary, we headed back to the hotel and crashed. Those searching this blog for a lively account of late night clubbing options will be sorely disappointing as our after dark activities were limited to dinner and (TC’s favourite pursuit) shopping.

Borough no 2 – Staten Island

Liberte

The shop I want to shop in

Ground Zero

NY patterens

Chinatown

Lunch 1

The Empire State

NY from the Top of the Rock

TC rose insanely early and while I, the lazy one, got ready, he went downstairs to the free internet to see if he could solve the dead computer issue. The first attempt was unsuccessful so we decided to get moving and grab breakfast from a diner around the corner. I decided on something a bit less of a heart attack on a plate and tried oatmeal – US style. Firstly it was made with water instead of milk and came with some cut up strawberry and banana and some sultanas. It wasn’t bad but certainly wasn’t anything to rival a good milk based oatmeal with brown sugar. After break we headed for the visitor’s centre in Times Square. We purchased tickets for the hop on, hop off tour. And then strolled outside to meet the bus. A spruiker came up and started trying to talk us into seeing a show at the comedy club -there were some interesting acts but the small print mentioned that you had to buy a certain amount of drinks as well as the tix for the show. The guy wasn’t impressed that we didn’t buy the tix. We wandered over to the bus stop to Wait. There were loads of people queued so we were obviously going to have to get on the next bus that came. Despite the clear sunny skies and the mild (considering it snowed only days ago) temps, we landed a covered bus. Scratched Perspex isn’t the ideal viewfinder for the city. As we had lobbed back into town right at the start of the school holidays and the infamous spring break, traffic was pretty heavy. It took us the better part of an hour to get from Times Square to Battery Park but we did manage to collect a few tidbits about the city -Macy’s founder made his original fortune on the whale oil that powered the city’s street lights -and some good tips about where to get the best view of ground zero. Getting off the bus at Battery Park really felt like we had set foot in New York. Up until that point our entire experience of New York had been in the series of streets around Times Square. (‘I’m Up for It’ – Rollins Band – the quintessential sound of New York. TC and I first met when he bought a T-shirt from me at a Rollins Band show.)

We took pics as we crossed the park to the Staten Island Ferry terminal and then we hit a proper US queue for the first time. This huge terminal was just filled with a crush of people. Predictably, TC  started to get antsy, musing that if we had to wait for more than one ferry that we should go and do something else and come back to see the Statue of Liberty another day. I cautioned that we should wait because the movies (Working Girl), music film clips (Madonna’s Pappa Don’t Preach) and TV shows (Sex in the City) had all suggested the Staten Island Ferry was gigantic as far as our concept of a ferry went (well maybe not as gigantic as the Grimaldi ferry from Italy to Spain but the Staten island one is a commuter ferry (without trains or cars). The movie images proved true – once the ferry pulled up, the doors slid open and the ferry sucked in the commuters from the warehouse -sized terminal like a whale sucking in a school of crill. As all the guide books will tell you, the free Staten Island Ferry, which is primarily a commuter ferry for those New Yorkers who live in the (lesser known) borough of Staten Island, is the cheapest way to get a view of both the Statue of Liberty and Manhattan Island from the water. There’s also a pretty good view of Manhattan and other boroughs leaving the city on the train. And if you’re really keen and really interested in the statue, you can catch a ferry directly to the island it sits on, though I don’t think you can climb it anymore. (Papa Don’t Preach – Madonna – since I mentioned it, I just had to listen to it. – I remember taping this off Sounds or Countdown and getting really upset when my baby sister, who is now 27, inadvertently taped over it while playing with the VCR.)

The view of Manhattan from the ferry is spectacular and the statue really does make you feel like you are in the US. You also get some bonus sights such as the garbage barges and Riker’s island (which Law and Order aficionados will recognise as the home of a prison). I understand there is also a floating prison. Unfortunately when you arrive at Staten Island, perhaps in a bid to get tourists to look at some of Staten Island’s attractions (which appear to be a less impressive zoo than the Bronx one and the Ferry terminal) you can’t just stay on the ferry and return to Manhattan. You have to get off, go upstairs and wait half an hour to get back on the same ferry. After what felt like an interminable delay (because after so much travelling, we wanted to explore rather than wait in a terminal) we headed back to Manhattan, and wandered slowly through downtown towards the lower east side.

Our first stop was the infamous bull in front of the stock exchange. Apparently its supposed to bring good luck- and the bunch of lads who were trying to get themselves some, interpreted this in the same fashion that lads have posed with animal statues worldwide (whether it be Townsville’s bulls or Goulburn’s sheep. That’s right – by posing for pics grabbing its testicles. And yes, my bet is that at least some of them were Australian. Not prepared to wait until nightfall when the crowds may have dispersed, we chose the news photographer’s photo opportunity – the hordes gathering around the bull in the vain hope that the bull’s testicles would save them from the stupidly named GFC.

we walked past the World trade Centre site, which is you didn’t know better looks just like a regular Sydney building site, except that we didn’t really see them. Perhaps that’s because of the GFC but I suspect it’s because most of the buildings are protected. There are only a handful of really modern buildings. Most streetscapes are covered with older buildings – in some cases replete with the iconic NYC fire escapes. There is a small museum nearby but the oft photographed memorial is actually miles away on a separate island. I wonder if there are plans to include it in the actual building, if it’s ever finished. One gets the sense that New Yorkers have moved on and just want the building finished so they can consign the whole thing to history. (Sexuality – Billy Bragg – Ground Zero always reminds me of Billy Bragg and Henry Rollins – in a former life, I had cause to speak to both of them in the days following September 11 and while Billy had some thoughts to express, Henry, still comprehending what was happening was less so. they are conversations that have stuck in my mind.)

Of course it wasn’t too long before TC decided that a camera shop across the road was just too inviting. Well, that could have been the case but what TC was really looking for was someone who could fix his camera. When we were taking pics on the ferry, he noticed a dark shadow across the frame which caused him some consternation as he surmised said shadow would appear on the entire contents of his memory card, which of course included the plane and tank museums. I was also keeping my eyes peeled for a computer fixit place to try and bring my laptop back from the dead. TC had, quite chivalrously, searched the internet for a solution, while I got organised this morning. Unfortunately we had yet to solve the problem but TC wasn’t prepared to give up quite yet, suggesting I hold off with what could end up to be an expensive fixit exercise. As it was Saturday, TC had no joy with camera technicians but got a card for Monday. I will note, however that by this stage he had also “just ducked in for a quick look” at least one second hand store. (Walk on Me – Ben Kweller – I discovered the old before his years folk singer when I went to see the three Bens – Kweller, Lee and Folds. Of course with the departure of Mr Folds from our shores, such a lineup is less likely to be repeated.)

From here we meandered through the downtown area, checking out the streetscape towards Chinatown and Little Italy. The navigation got a little easier as we headed north. While Manhattan (and New York more generally) are famed for their grid pattern and numbered streets (running east west) and Avenues (running North- south although some have alternate names), the streets in the downtown area don’t either fit this system (or run in a grid). Eventually we hit the infamous Canal Street, the centre of Chinatown. Like Chinatowns in most Australian cities, it was chaotic with stalls selling cheap (in some cases likely counterfeit goods) spliced between Asian restaurants and what would be in Asian countries, street food outlets. Lots of them were Vietnamese but being in Chinatown, we had a when in Rome moment and headed down the side streets to find a Chinese restaurant for our first non-diner meal in the US. And what a meal. We ordered short soup – our barometer for Chinese restaurants (the dumpling house at Dickson does a great one) – and then (almost our standards. TC chose Lemon Chicken and I varied my sweet and sour pork slightly to the house special – Sweet and sour chicken served in half a pineapple, something I probably would have expected in Hawaii but not in New York. After a filling lunch – no we didn’t finish the contents of the pineapple – we headed towards Little Italy. This was the first clear neighbourhood boundary we encountered in New York. You are standing in Chinatown amongst delis selling chicken feet and across the road it looks like Melbourne’s Lygon Street all red and white checked table cloths and gelato bars. We tried to find the church from The Godfather and while we were on the right street, there were a few churches and it had been a while since either of us had seen the film. (‘Sweet Jane’ my favourite (and probably everybody else’s) Lou Reed track’). This song always reminds me of a couple of friends from the 90s who knew much more about good music than I did and who I learnt a lot off. Back in the poverty stricken uni days, the Best of The Velvet Underground was one of four CDs we owned (and thinking back probably the one with the most cred).

We ventured through the lower east side, past Katz deli and then tired and weary we headed toward the closest bus stop for the hop-on hop-off tour bus. It was just hitting sunset so we thought it was the optimal time for a high altitude view of the city – and this is where the second tip from friends who visited NYC previously helped out. Their thinking was if you are only going to go to the top of one building, it shouldn’t be the Empire state because you can’t see the Empire State Building in they cityscape if you are in it and besides because everyone wants to go up it, you have to queue. So we followed their lead and went up to the Top of the Rock, the viewing platform in the Rockefeller Centre (which, by the way, still had an outdoor ice skating rink set up, although the infamous Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Centre had been packed away). The lift up was a buzz and there were a couple of different viewing level. The bottom ones had tall glass barriers but the barriers on the top level were a little lower, enabling a clear photo north across Central Park, west and east across the rivers and south to the cityscape. I took a bit more of a risk of my camera hurtling down 30 storeys to get a semi-extreme downward shot. TC, who usually isn’t a fan of heights unless he’s in an aircraft, was a lot more relaxed than I expected. The biggest problem with the Top of the rock is that you didn’t get a clear look at my fave New York building, The Chrysler Building. It’s almost completely obscured by the extremely boring premises of Metlife. We hurtled back to the shopping floors and stopped to grab some ice cream – TC had an ice cream and I the thickest smoothie ever. We stopped to take a look at the outdoor ice rink and as dusk fell we headed back towards our hotel, exhausted. Travel tip – take your own personal IT genius with you. As soon as my personal IT genius (TC) had managed to clear the shadow in his camera lens, he started searching for an IT fix for my laptop. After a dedicated search, he found it, and after an overnight reload, it would turn out to be good as new. Take that Baltimore!(Satellite of Love’ – Lou Reed – keeping with the theme – Mr. Reed is a NYC staple and this track somehow seems appropriate for the birds eye view you get of NYC from the Top of the Rock.)

After successfully fixing our travel essentials, we decided tonight would be the opportunity to try out the Burger Joint, recommended by our friends and the New York Times. I remembered the quite comprehensive directions – through the foyer of a hotel behind a red velvet curtain with a neon burger sign. Of course, as usual, I couldn’t remember the most important detail – the name of the hotel it was in. Thank goodness for modern technology a short transnational text exchange and we were in business. As TC had surmised, it was the hotel staring at us as we exited our own. A quick whip through the grand foyer and we found the aforementioned curtain and followed the excellent directions to arrive at what was probably best described as a burger barn than joint. There was a horrendously long line – It’s like the Brodburger of NYC but its inside and if you’re really lucky you can get a table. The girl in front of us, who was taking out, worded TC up on how the system worked. Step 1- if you intend to eat in, grab a table as soon as humanly possible. Step 2 – yes you can order beer but as with it and your burger, you should know what you are having when you get to the counter, so people behind you don’t get mad. Step 3 – Make sure you have cash – they don’t take cards (which is unusual for the US and step 4- don’t forget the tip (even though there’s no table service). Step 5 – sit down at your guarded table, eat and enjoy. As with Brodburger, the fries weren’t anything to write home about but the burger was fabulous. Kind of like McDonalds but good. I have to admit, I always thought McDonalds hamburgers were unique but like KFC it’s just a mass produced version of traditional American food. It would be like if someone opened a chain of fast food outlets that did the traditional Aussie burger (available with the lot, including tomato beetroot, bacon, egg and often, pineapple) and served it with thick cut chips in butcher’s paper. And chicken nuggets were replaced with chiko rolls. And instead of McDonalds, it was called Wayne’s. As mentioned when we had our first burger in NYC, they come with onion relish, cheese and pickles. Not sure they beat a ‘broddy’ but they were pretty damn good. TC washed his down with a Sam Adams beer (which became our US beer of choice) while I went for your traditional shake. Of course as with all things in America, the more ice-cream the better – like at Maccas, it’s a thickshake rather than your traditional Aussie milkshake. We spent about half a second contemplating a night time adventure but decided an early to bed, early to rise policy was in order. (Walk on the Wild Side – Lou Reed – I discovered this song in my late teens about the time we started listening to The Kinks and learned all the words to Lola – it was the 80s, about the time the term gender-bender entered popular culture- my fave bit was always the line about James Dean of course.)