New York is not my home

For my birthday weekend this year, I decided to hop the Accela and take the ‘just over an hour’ train ride up to New York City for the weekend. Leading up to my departure, things were not going well at work. Frustration building, I checked out earlier trains and booked to go up on Wednesday. This allowed me to spend my actual birthday in the city and go out for a much needed fancy dinner(s). Though Amtrak messed up with the ‘holiday’ weekend and allowed me to book a ticket home on Sunday for a train that wasn’t actually going to be running. This ‘issue’ meant I spent an added night on Sunday, so the weekend was even longer than planned. As I made my way to the city and thought about whether I’d ever want to live there, I decided to examine the city closer during my planned concert, dinners, museums, and outings. And here is what I discovered out and about in Manhattan.

The trees against the cloudy, rainy skies of this winter with no snow are like skeletons. They are trapped inside cement or in cages and dot the sidewalks here and there like prisoners chained up so that they cannot escape. It’s as if the other tree people escaped, but these few remaining ones were caught and held here. A part of nature that looks foreign amongst the crowds of buildings, people, and cars, they cannot move.

The city is heaving with people walking fast as if they’re racing – against other pedestrians? Or imagined time? Whatever you do, don’t block them, or get in their way. It’s angry noise, not happy or joyful, but shouting, biting words thrown at you like hand grenades. While Philadelphia is rough around the edges, many people do smile and greet you as you pass each other on the sidewalk. Often, I’ve had compliments on my dress or outfit that surprise and delight me. People in the parts of New York that I walked through don’t talk to each other, unless absolutely necessary.

Smells of sweat, urine and smoke permeate the air – the acrid scent of marijuana assaults my nose. The rain comes, but rather than being refreshing, it’s like water being added to dirt; it creates mud and feels even worse. There is no snow this winter, and most days its cloudy and overcast with very little sun. Horns, sirens, shouts and screeching tires; the noise is ever present. 

Piles of trash line the street sidewalks, often in bags, but sometimes just strew around. Cars parked randomly, blocking the traffic, but leaving open the bike lanes. There is construction everywhere that closes sidewalks and forces pedestrians to bunch together in cordoned off parts of the street, which slows everything down. Scaffolding enfolds many buildings and I later learn that the city is trying to prevent cornices and other decorations on buildings from crashing onto cars or pedestrians below, so owners are required to ‘fix’ these in advance; a laudable effort, but it creates the impression of a broken city.

I go to the hotel bar for a drink and light dinner before my concert on my first night. Seventy dollars later, I’ve had a cocktail, some mixed olives and hummus with pita. Fortunately, I have a $35 credit for the bar based on my status with Marriott. Even still, my lunch at the Jewish deli on my birthday is less than the minuscule dinner the night before. I make my first visit to Radio City Music Hall to see Maggie Rogers. Why Maggie? Well, because RCM was near my hotel and I looked to see if there was anything happening there during my time in the city. I did check out her music before buying the ticket, but was probably one of the few who don’t follow her. David Byrne made an appearance, so that was fun, but he’s certainly aged since last saw him.

My Thursday is a full-on work day, with an abrupt ending at 5:00 so that I can go for cocktails at the ‘Peak,’ a bar and restaurant on the 101^st floor. Looking out over the city, it was easy to imagine that the view would be quite stunning in good weather. Sadly, my visit was on a day where rain was threatening, but the drinks were good and I was out on a work night, so a good thing. At the restaurant, I was sat next to another single diner, a man. Oddly, he sat facing the wall, while I took the seat facing the dining room so I could watch people. It was delicious; steak is always a good choice for a celebratory dinner. They also took note of my reason for the reservation and presented me with a small cake with a little candle.

The next morning, I worked again from the hotel and cut the day short with a visit to the Guggenheim. Another place I’d never been, and certainly an architectural wonder. For dinner,  found a small, authentic Italian restaurant where Alexander, my earnest bartender made sure I had a good meal. I then made my way to see ‘The Play that Goes Wrong,’ which was very entertaining as the set gradually fell apart and the ‘stage crew’ took parts in the play. A mostly young crowd, and they thoroughly enjoyed the humor; as did I.

For Saturday, I had booked a walking tour though the temperatures dropped, and a cold wind blew most of the day. The homes of the elite ‘old money’ families that remain look cold and imposing as my guide describes who lived where and how they fit into society. America’s royalty, though we won’t admit they ever existed. Signs that they still do are around and names from pop culture that harkens back to their ancestors who shaped the America we know today abound. For Saturday evening, I had booked a Michelin Star restaurant that turned out to be in Trump Tower. I tried to avoid acknowledging the connection, and focused on the set menu which was delicious. Once again, my birthday was recognized and I raised yet another glass to my 57^th year on earth. My plan for Saturday evening didn’t turn out as well as the others, with a production of ‘Drunk Shakespeare’ that wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be. It was ‘different,’ in the Minnesota sense of the word and chalked up to being an ‘experience.’

On Sunday, I decided to head to St. Thomas’ on 5^th Avenue based on the recommendation of the tour guide. He said the boys’ choir was remarkable. It’s a beautiful old church and the service is very ‘high church’ with bells and smells and the Rite 1 service. I have to focus on the order for service as my responses fall along the lines of Rite 2. It’s been too long since I’ve routinely attended the old style service, but the venue definitely supports a more refined order of service. My afternoon is complete with an Afternoon Tea at the Baccarat Hotel. This one was recommended in an article I read about the best afternoon teas. Having attended many of these over the years, I’d have to agree with the article, it was very much on the list of ‘one of the best’ I’ve had. And with that, my planned activities ended.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the train station upon my arrival, but when making my way back on Monday morning, I realized that it is very new. Apparently, the Amtrak side of the station is newly renovated and recently opened. It’s clean, well signed and relatively empty at 7:30 on a President’s Day holiday. The trip home is uneventful, and I have to admit that I probably wouldn’t want to live there. It was a good long weekend break after the drama at work, but nothing there that ‘blew me away’ or made me think it’s a place I’d like to spend long periods of time.