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NYPD Patrol, Central Park
Friday 9 September 2000
The day began at a slower pace than usual, with a trip to Wal-Mart. What a bizarre place. It was utterly enormous, stretching away from you in every direction. Indeed, the opposite wall is so far away that it is difficult to make out where the store ends. Also, the place was utterly devoid of people. There were probably about fifty shoppers in there somewhere, but they were completely swallowed up by the store's size. Then there was the atmosphere. The relentlessly cheery but bland music was meant to relax you (and thus encourage you to buy more stuff) but instead, in such an antiseptic, unnaturally lit place, we felt very unsettled indeed. The Wal-Mart employees, particularly the "greeters" contributed to our discomfort. They lay in wait at the entrance and although we desperately tried to avoid eye contact we were eventually, inevitably greeted with their "goodmorningwelcometowalmart" scripted spiel.
Did I mention the guns? There you are, in the back aisle amongst the outdoor equipment checking out the footballs, baseball gloves, fishing rods….pump action shotguns? The only concession to security is that they are in a see-through case. It is little wonder that Americans are so obsessed with weaponry when the Action man toys are only a few steps away from the real thing.
We continued our tour of the mega-shops with a trip to "Toys R Us" and a Comet-type place. It is a bit like eating biscuits. You can get away with visiting one or two but after that you begin to feel rather dizzy. Their bulk and efficiencies of scale drive off any competition their low wages give the staff little incentive to be helpful. Of course, by choosing to shop at them, driving miles in search of a bargain, we are guilty of aiding their march to world domination, and the closure of every shop within walking distance is the inevitable consequence.
Back at base I left Hugo to his books and went out to continue my exploration of the local woods. The path helpfully followed the line of the highway, making it less difficult to get lost, until it broke out of the woods into a sunny meadow, a world away from the nearby gas stations and malls. The trail ended by a lively river, spanned by what seemed to be an old railway bridge, now stripped down to its girders, preventing further exploration in that direction. One more surprise awaited me on my journey back. Attempting a shortcut, I discovered a large tent erected in a clearing and, as there was washing on the line, it was evidently inhabited. I decided to go back the long way round.
After a lazy afternoon of reading and e-mailing we slung our bags in the boot and went off to find Perce. We then drove south to New Haven and got there in plenty of time to catch the 18:00 train to Grand Central Station, New York.
We travelled past dockyards and suburbs and observed the archaic way tickets are inspected on the Metro-North railroad (with holes punched into just about everything). Ninety minutes later we saw the lights of Harlem and dived underground for the final run into Grand Central. What a place. Its famous main hall has had no expense spared on its decoration - with high vaulted ceilings portraying planets and constellations. It was a bit like standing inside a cathedral and made the British stations look like sheds.
We rode the subway to Fourteenth Street station and the only problem we had was swiping the ticket through the slot. Judging the amount of pressure required is a skill that separates New Yorkers from passing tourists. I had just about mastered it by Sunday. We climbed the stairs and emerged into a street full of police cars, limousines, hot dog stands and people walking in every direction. It looked just like it does in the movies.
Our apartment block was close to the corner of Thirteenth Street and Seventh Avenue and proved to be very easy to find, right above "Xena's Beauty Shop". Our landlady seemed pleasant enough, as she showed us around but it was clear that not a lot of money had been spent on sprucing the place up for visitors. My bed was a dubious springy affair on the verge of collapse, while Perce had to share his poky room with a mouse, who made frequent appearances over the weekend. Also irritating was that there were no refreshment facilities whatsoever - not even a glass to drink tap water, let alone a kettle. We did get a television complete with 99 or so channels but a quick flick proved that the more channels you get, the less you actually watch, spending most of the time surfing between them. Unlikely programmes on offer were the Vicar of Dibley, Spanish dance marathons and the evening news in Korean.
So, having experienced New York's mice and media, we went to look for food, heading uptown (i.e. north) towards the Empire State Building. Having seen it in countless films it was difficult to believe we were looking at the real thing. It was Friday night and Greenwich Village was already buzzing with people. It reminded me a little (but only a little!) of our recent trip to Blackpool, where everyone was determined to have a great time, and all sorts of dramas were about to take place. Stretch limos cruised slowly with who knows what going on behind the tinted glass. A pack of girls defaced posters of a rapper trying to take on the mantle of his revered (and deceased) predecessors. Bars spilled out onto the street, a jazz band could be glimpsed through an open door, and queues formed outside the clubs, one converted out of an elderly church.
As Kim Dae Jung was in town (along with 77 other heads of state for a global conference, we thought we would have a Korean meal. Little Korea is at the foot of the Empire State Building and there were plenty of restaurants to choose from. We selected one that would not have looked out of place in Hannam-Dong and enjoyed eel and bulgogi. Hugo had his first bi-bim-bap and was happy to be reacquainted with OB Lager.
Full of Kimchi we returned to the streets which seemed busier than ever. We popped into the Empire State Building to marvel at its lobby and were told we had just missed the last lift to the top. It's good to keep something back for next time.
Back in Greenwich Perce, and I had a sudden urge for tea. Sadly the Greenwich Café, despite its name, was unprepared to offer anything for less than $10 so we downed our complimentary glass of water and ran away. (Only for Perce to realise he had left his watch on the table so he had to go skulking back to the waiter, who very graciously returned it to him, free of charge). We found another, more modestly priced, café with a great view of the goings on on Seventh Avenue. All sorts of unlikely people walked by (some with their dogs). The street was packed with traffic, and every cab honked at the one in front if it dared to hesitate for more than a second. How does anyone sleep? Perhaps they never do.
Studebaker Cab, Greenwich Village
Saturday 10 September 2000
The taxis were still honking when I woke the next morning, thankful that my bed had not exploded in the night. It was almost eight, and Hugo and Perce looked like they would sleep on for a few more hours yet so I grabbed my trainers and went out for a jog. I ran towards the Empire State Building and up Sixth Avenue, which was considerably quieter than it had been the night before. Quite a few businesses nearby were Jewish owned and so were shut for the Sabbath. The skyscrapers grew taller the further north I went and the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings disappeared behind their bland modern counterparts. Close to the Rockerfeller Centre scores of police officers (in all shapes and sizes) lined up, ready to supervise the trade union march (held off from Labour Day and starring Hillary Clinton) which was assembling along the side streets. One row of officers was being given their "Let’s go to work" speech as I ran by, their guns clearly bulging out of their holsters.
The buildings gave way to Central Park, and I fulfilled my ambition of joining the city’s joggers for a Saturday morning run. Its roads may have been closed to cars at the weekend but the traffic was still pretty dense. Jumping into the mêlée of runners, bladers, bikers, and speed-walkers felt like joining the M25 on a Friday night. You had to keep your wits about you and check front and rear at all times. I did a circuit of the southern end of the park, taking time out to observe the dog-walkers socialising above the Metropolitan Museum of Art and to admire the view of some of the most expensive apartments in the world rising above Fifth Avenue.
I ran back along Broadway, pausing amongst the tackiness and TV screens of Times Square. Why do the tourists flock to places like this? It was only just after 9am and the place was thick with them. I can’t really see the attraction in giant neon billboards and models of Concorde. The largest poster there was half a skyscraper high and advertised "Pokemon 2000", which seemed to sum the place up. One thing tourists were queuing for was a ride on a double decker bus. These poor vehicles, after years of hard service in London, had lost their roofs, been crudely resprayed and then covered in logos. Their once clean lines had gone through much abuse in the New York traffic and were now only vague approximations of their former selves, after several trips to the panel beaters.
Back at base, the boys were up, and had not been too disturbed in the night by the mice, beds or traffic. The plan for the day was to explore as much as we could, preferably bits Perce had yet to see. We began by walking towards Washington Park, probably the most famous part of the village. En route we stopped off at the "Ecce Panis" bakery, and bought some chocolate bread and breakfast rolls, which we ate by the park’s fountain. The Salvation Army sang hymns under the Washington Arch and children pulled each other’s shorts down and splashed around in the fountain water. New Yorkers dozed, played chess, strummed guitars or discussed the events of Saturday night.
Guidebooks in hand, we continued our stroll round Greenwich, checking out clubs and bars where Jimi Hendrix and Jack Kerouac used to hang out. Row-houses that might have been knocked down as slums not long ago had been restored into proud communities, organising barbecues and tending the tiny parks within their boundaries.
Across Sixth Avenue on Bleecker Street we found a market in full swing. Amongst the stalls offering tie dies and baseball caps were several selling framed photographs of New York. Why does the city look so smart in black and white? Perhaps because there are more pre-war buildings here than you would find in many European cities that were forced to redevelop after five years of bombing. There were also a few masseurs hawking for trade, although their marketing technique of pinching women’s bottoms looked ill-advised. One guy was shouting "Falafel, falafel, check it out.", so we did, and they were delicious, as were the stuffed vine leaves. Further along we found a table backing Hillary Clinton’s campaign to be senator for New York. They were very happy for me to take a "Vote for Hillary" badge for Miss Coy to wear in London.
We walked past more handsome buildings, some over 150 years old, which jars with many people’s perception of New York as a high tech concrete and glass city. If you looked carefully you could see arches that used to be stable doors, and tomato plants growing up lamp posts.
Greenwich merged in to SoHo (SOuth of HOuston Avenue, no relation to London’s Soho) where we spent plenty of time photographing elegant town houses and fire escapes. Perhaps suffering from building fatigue, we took time out in a bagel shop, drank tea and red the personal ads in the Village Voice, some of which were very specific indeed….
Back on Broadway, the skyscrapers began again in earnest. Most interesting of these was the Woolworth building, the tallest in the world in 1913, which had a fabulously ornate lobby. Visitors were meant to think that Mr W had more than enough money to spend on extravagances like this, whose amazing detailing included gargoyles of the architect, engineer, and the great man himself. The residents of city hall, just across the street, would have been left in little doubt about who wielded the real influence in the city.
The tallest building in New York these days is the World Trade Centre. Its twin towers began to dominate views on every street corner, throwing shadows over more senior colleagues, such as St Paul’s Chapel, built in 1764. Further down Broadway, Trinity Church, built in 1846, provided a handsome contrast to the austere buildings surrounding it. As we passed by a wedding was about to begin, and a crowd of Chinese New Yorkers gathered round a white limousine, waiting for the bride to emerge from within.
Opposite the church is Wall Street, much narrower and shorter than you would imagine, and on Saturday afternoon, everything was quiet. A passing dog urinated on a Ford parked outside the Stock Exchange, perhaps performing its own anti-capitalist demonstration. Meanwhile I showed my historical interest in Federal Hall, where the first US Congress convened and George Washington was sworn in as President, by clambering on to his statue and being photographed by my colleagues.
The sky darkened and we took shelter in another symbol of American capitalism, the Wall Street branch of Starbucks. Just off Wall Street, we found the New York skyscraper museum, which had an interesting display in its window about how the buildings were constructed in the first half of the century. The photographs of men walking around on girders 30 storeys high are familiar, but I hadn’t realised just what was required of them up there. Four men worked together to rivet the beams, heating the rivets in a brazier and throwing them down to their colleagues below. It required plenty of skill to catch a red hot rivet 30 floors up, and one hates to think about what happens to the rivets that they failed to catch.
We walked towards the Fulton fish market, on the East Side of Manhattan, and caught a glimpse of a Checker cab. This must have been in private ownership because, although New York used to be teeming with them, the last model was built in the 1970s and the majority of cabs, working 24 hours a day with drivers on shift work, rarely last more than 5 or 6 years. These days most taxis are Fords or Chevrolets, although Hondas are becoming popular. We even spotted a Mercedes cab, perhaps a reward for drivers who racked up the highest fares.
The fish market is rather like Circular Quay in Sydney, making more money from tourists than it does from fish. The maritime museum is here, with tugs and clippers in the dock to celebrate the harbour’s lively past. Most people come to see the Brooklyn Bridge, the world’s suspension bridge made from steel. Even in the evening mizzle it, and the Manhattan Bridge behind it, looked very impressive. Hopefully I will get to walk across it on my next visit.
The rain worsened and the promenade emptied of everybody except ourselves and a suspiciously parked Lincoln. We took shelter in the Vietnam Memorial, an important but rather over-concreted monument covered in writings and comments from the war’s participants. I preferred the Korean War memorial in Battery Park, which consisted of a silhouette of a soldier and a flag showing every nation that took part.
Battery Park gave us our best view of New York’s most famous icon – the Statue of Liberty. Unfortunately, it is a lot further from the shore than you might imagine and looks very small indeed. We decided we would inspect it by boat on our next visit. The light was fading fast, but we managed to see the ornate customs house, built to celebrate the rapid growth of America’s economy at the turn of the century, and the Standard Oil building of John Rockerfeller, one of the greatest beneficiaries of that economic boom.
The best way to appreciate the World Trade Centre was to sprawl out on a bench and look straight up. It is incomprehensibly tall and very bland. It also has a very dull lobby.
After a day of walking, having eaten only doughnuts and tea, we were all very hungry. We went to Little Italy for inspiration but, unfortunately, so had everyone else. The streets were packed with hungry tourists and restauranteurs hawking for trade. It felt a bit superficial, more like Disney’s version of Italy, and very different from the North End of Boston, for example.
We decided to cross Canal Street and visit Chinatown instead. We chose a restaurant across the street from a Buddhist shrine (in a storefront window) which had been patronised by Al Gore – perhaps we should have worn the Hillary badge and asked for a discount. The food was excellent and in great quantity, particularly the plate of battered sea-bass, and I was pleased to have my first Tsingtao beer since my trip to Beijing the year before.
We waddled out into the night and took the subway home. The big news of the day on CNN was that the last performance of Cats had just taken place on Broadway, although the show would go on in "London, England". We also saw our first political TV ad. Rick Lazio, successor of the ailing and adulterous mayor Giuliani, laid into Hillary Clinton because "you just can’t trust her".
Later that night, we returned to Seventh Avenue, even busier than it had been the day before. Although we were surrounded by the Greenwich glamour set, our most exciting spotting of the night was Dr Ruth, having a few bevvies with her mates. We decided to check out Arthur’s bar, which was offering "free jazz" that night. The long, narrow room was packed out and we were lucky to find two seats between the three of us – Perce gallantly perched on the table for an hour or so, being buffeted around by the constant flow of people. The band looked like they had been doing gigs like this for decades and played whatever came into their heads, from Jimi Hendrix to their version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". The eclectic and international audience loved it, particularly what looked to be the Ukrainian delegation from the UN, who led the dancing around the bar. After walking round New York all day, marvelling at streets and skyscrapers, it was great to be in this crowded place, hanging out with New York’s residents and visitors, enjoying the music.
At 3 o’clock or so we were slung out into the night, and the traffic was as busy as always. We walked home, our ears ringing and our feet tired. What would we do tomorrow?
Guggenheim Museum, Fifth Avenue
Sunday 11 September 2000
On Sunday morning I was awoken not by taxis but by the noise of hoovering coming from one of the neighbours. Perce and Hugo were still snoring so I went out for another run, heading north east this time for the Chrysler building. Overnight, some of the vacant lots had turned into antique markets and were already doing good business for 9am on a Sunday. Wary of my baggage allowance, I decided to pass on the statuettes and armchairs, and settled for a few postcards.
Back at Xena’s, Perce was watching Merengue music and Hugo was braving the shower. We were all hungry again, despite our efforts in Chinatown, and decided to check out "Joe Junior’s" on Sixth Avenue for a New York breakfast. There were plenty of "regulars", some with sore heads, who had clearly eaten sausage and waffles every Sunday there for years. The sausages were excellent, as were the eggs "over easy". The potato had lots of mayonnaise in it but I got the idea I could give the management my precise specifications if I made a few more visits.
Back on the street we stopped at Kate’s paperie (a good example of how there is a shop for absolutely everything in New York – in this case luxury stationary) and took the subway north to 86th Street. We were now on the Upper East Side, full of exceptionally affluent apartments and hotels, standing on the most expensive property in the world. One reason for this was we were right next to Central Park and the "Museum Mile" – a section of Fifth Avenue that is home to the Jewish Museum, the Guggenheim, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had always wanted to visit the Guggenheim after I had visited its Italian branch in Venice. Walking up Fifth Avenue ten years later it was difficult to believe I was there. Its shape is so distinctive and familiar you feel like you have been there before. It is strange how most people’s urge upon seeing a landmark like this or the Empire State Building or the Eiffel Tower is to get out the camera and photograph, collecting its image to take home with them. What you don’t necessarily see in a photograph is how the building is completely at odds with its conservative environment but yet does not seem out of place. I would be interested to know how people reacted when it was first built there, before it had become a famous landmark and icon for New York.
Like many New York buildings, the Guggenheim has a very impressive lobby, full of light and space. Frank Lloyd Wright’s spiral corridor slowly circles visitors up to the roof, and, as they look at the exhibits, they themselves become part of the display. The current exhibition was exactly the same one I had seen in London a few months before, so we decided to skip it, vowing to return soon.
Outside, the Museum Mile had become strangely quiet, and police were putting barriers up along the side streets. We discovered why when we reached the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. New Yorkers need little excuse for a parade and today it was the turn of the motorcycle club. The police led the way on their Harleys and were followed of hundreds of bikers, horns protruding from their helmets, beards blowing in the breeze and girlfriends wobbling on the back. Everyone blipped their throttles and honked their horns as they cruised by, the noise echoing off the apartment blocks behind them.
We poked our noses into the Met – another enormous, impressive lobby – but decided to make the most of the sunshine and wandered into Central Park, settling close to the spot where I had found the dog walkers the day before. We sprawled out on a rock, brought in from elsewhere to give the place a more "natural" look, and watched the world go by – a very pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
When we finally got up we came across Cleopatra’s Needle (no great city in the world can be without one) which was accompanied by a life-sized model of a cow, decorated in Egyptian garb. This was part of New York’s response to the Millennium – an exhibition of cows, decorated by famous artists and local residents, spread out across the city. They brightened the place up, made people laugh, and cost a lot less than the Dome.
We cut through the middle of the park, past the turtle pond, where the turtles paddled serenely through a frenzied shoal of carp, barging and grabbing at crisps being thrown their way by children on the bank. Over on the boating lake the skills of the rowers varied wildly from the oarsman who rowed every day of his life to the girls who managed to hit every other boat in the water, giggling as they went.
The Bethesda fountain is famous from countless films. Woody Allen, Meg Ryan, Steve Martin and the cast of Friends have all been round it at some point or another. Buskers, sketch artists and jugglers all hang out here. The arches nearby were full of swing dancers and above them bladers and skateboarders showed off to each other, weaving through bottles and jumping off steps. A group of Korean dancers were preparing for a performance, and we stayed and watched them perform some samul-nori (farmers dance), which earned the appreciation of the crowd. Having enjoyed this so much in Seoul, it was great to find it again so unexpectedly thousands of miles away.
We left the park as the sun set, reflecting off the office glass and bathing the streets in orange light. On one corner we stood back as a cavalcade of limousines and police cars swept by. A hand waved from one of the Cadillacs. Had we just seen President Bill? We like to think so.
Several subway trips later we were back in the Grand Central concourse eating pizza before our train left for New Haven. The weekend had disappeared so quickly. I spent most of the journey wading through the New York Times, which must take pride in being so thick and heavy. Eventually it got the better of me and I fell asleep. We had achieved a lot, and there was still a week to go.
Hugo and Perce, Bleecker Street Market, NY
