Chasing the Train

We planned the trip for the last day of our visit to New England. Both Graham and Claudia worked that day, but Thomas was off for the day. We aimed to catch a 10:30-ish train at Dover Plains. We even got up at a very reasonable hour and had a quick sit-down breakfast at the house. Everyone got ready efficiently, and yet, due partly to a lack of calibration of the clocks in the house to Greenwich Mean Time, we arrived at the station too late. Unfortunately, the next train was at 2 p.m.

We headed down the road to a stop farther down the line and struck out once more. We took a look at the map, and decided to catch a train much closer to the city, figuring it would have more frequent pick-ups. We were in luck when we chose the Southeast station. We even had some time to kill. Ironically, even though we were headed towards a city full of wondrous and amazing sources of food, we lunched at Applebee's.

Arriving at Grand Central

The ride was uneventful. The train slowly filled up to almost standing room only as we got closer to the city. The last two stops were 125th Street in Harlem and Grand Central Station. I'd wanted to see Harlem (visit, that is) but knew I wouldn't get to on this trip. I settled for "seeing" Harlem as we whizzed by up above the streets. It didn't look anything like I imagined, although I couldn't describe exactly what my vision had been.

We disembarked at Grand Central into a thick and long line of other travelers deep underground. The platform had a dark, grimy, industrial feel. Everyone just wanted to get to where they were going. We went up one level and arrived in a still-underground commercial area of the station. The place was packed and chaotic. My first event of interest in the city was to flush a toilet which promptly overflowed, seeping into the stalls next to mine.

We made our way to the ground floor and acquired a street map which included all of the subway lines. We wanted to see Central Park, Greenwich Village, and Soho. We needed to mind to the condition of Thomas' back, since he was still recovering from a car accident which left him with a few cracked vertebrae. We decided to walk to Central Park First and take a subway down to the Village later.

Onto the Streets

Ian is always the navigator in our family, so he served that role today as well. We exited Grand Central and entered the throng outside. The wide sidewalks were packed solid with moving bodies - fish trying to swim both up and down stream simultaneously. Thomas and I were a bit tired from the trip, so our first mission was to find some espresso.

We quickly located a Starbucks (the Microsoft of coffee houses) and slipped inside. Surprisingly, Thomas decided not to get anything. I got my old standard, a double skim dry cappuccinno. It was perfect. I have to give Starbucks credit - they get it right every time.

Back onto the streets, we soon passed a large protest area for the persecution of the Falun Gon. I took their literature and a CD to be kind. Their sidewalk station pictured horrifying pictures of ravaged human bodies - the torture victims of the Chinese regime.

Traveling on the sidewalks was very challenging. There was no way to avoid bumping people, it was easy to get separated from other members of one's party, and it was also very easy to get in the way of some New Yorker who actually knew where he or she was going.

What do Americans Look Like?

In the crowd, most faces were relaxed and happy, but there were some which were pinched and stern. I wondered whether these were the New Yorkers who were sick to death of tourists like us taking up their sidewalks and making it nearly impossible to get anywhere anytime soon.

It wasn't long before I realized that I was seeing very little in the way of obesity. In my experience visiting a zoo in Toledo and a county fair in Michigan, obesity abounded. I'd heard that America is fat.

However, on the streets of New York, I saw nothing but reasonably-sized human beings. I mentioned this to Ian, and we both thought the reason was probably that New Yorkers walk so much that they just aren't as fat. But we had earlier remarked that most of the people we were seeing were probably tourists like us. If this were true, then why weren't we seeing more obesity?

The second thing I noticed was that no one was "funny-looking". I don't know how to explain "funny-looking", but when people-watching in an airport, I notice that a lot of people look funny. The New York streets were full of an ethnic stew; caucasians were in the minority. The people around us looked normal to me. Perhaps that comes from living in an ethnically diverse town.

Failed Altruism

I bought a soft pretzel from a street vendor. I shared it with Thomas and Ian, but still had plenty left over. I didn't really want all of it, so I thought I'd donate it to a street person. But where were all the street people? I had so far seen only two, and the were both women hunched over on canes, one of whom seemed to be mentally ill.

After a long block or two, I saw a man who looked like a street person, and offered him the remainder of my pretzel. "Hungry?" I asked. He answered "I'm hungry, but I don't want that stuff." Maybe he gets offered soft pretzels frequently.

Traffic

I'd heard that in areas which used well-engineered traffic-light systems offered smooth sailing to drivers who followed the speed limit. Strangely enough, as pedestrians, we seemed to be catching every green light, block after block.

After awhile, it seemed like the sidewalks were less crowded, but cross-walks became a frenzy of four-times as many people trying to cross in both directions. People showed little respect for the Walk/Don't Walk sign. I dropped a glove at one point and picked it up almost instantaneously in order to avoid causing an accident.

Scenery

Because of the throng of faces and the need to be watchful while navigating the sidewalks, I didn't notice much of the scenery. But occasionally I'd glance up and notice a magnificent cathedral or a stunningly-decorated office building. There were also giant glitzy shops that were only for people lots of cash and style.

We took a quick peek at the outdoor skating rink. The area was jammed with people either hoping to get in or wanting to watch the skaters. We were lucky enough to get a quick look and then to swim back upstream through the other people, like spawning salmon.

By the rink, however, I got my first dose of a thick New York accent (which neighborhood, I couldn't say).

Central Park

Near Central Park, there were countless horses-and-carriages. I don't know whether there are always so many, or whether this was a party. The image of so many bobbing heads amongst so much traffic was captivating; there seemed to be no end in sight. At the zoo, we could see the seal pool from the gates. We saw a seal or two swim by, and one sat preening on the rocks.

We reached the part of the park with all the paths, benches, and trees. The area always seems to figure into the movie and still shots in a romantic or nostalgic capacity. Yet here we were, and real people came here every day to do very ordinary things.

In the distance, above and through the trees, we could see skyscrapers and tall condos. We talked about how the richest New Yorkers probably lived in those condos. The buildings which were just visible through trees made for a ghostly scene. The area was surprisingly rustic, with partially buried rough-surfaced rocks and little hills.

We tried photographing the wonderful images around us but discovered that the digital camera was malfunctioning. All we could capture were blurry renditions of reality.

We never made our way to the large grassy part of the park. As we exited into the city streets, we passed through a beautiful rustic tunnel crafted from hewn logs and brambles. There was another tunnel just like it across the street. I felt touched that the city had an artistic enough sensibility to bring such a contrast in styles into its park.

I thought that if I lived here, even on the gloomiest winter days, it would be difficult to remain in a morose mood if I had this park to visit.

The Subway

Since we were finished with our brief tour of Central Park, it was time to make our way to Greenwich Village, several miles away. We quickly located a subway entrance and Ian figured out which train we needed to take.

Once on a car, not all of us could sit, so I chose to stand. Somehow, I quickly discovered that a fun game was to try to complete an entire run between stops without hanging onto the safety bars. To do so required a ski-like position - bent knees and arms out for balance. The most difficult parts of each run were the quick acceleration and deceleration phases.

This fun game may have had later consequences in the form of a sore knee in the Village.

Washington Square

We had to switch trains once, and then we were back on the surface streets. We reached Washington Square first. I had been there once before - I'd spent a sunny summer afternoon there hanging out with the guys who played chess for a living. I'd been unsuccessfully wooed by a young Latino boy who was sweet, but barely of legal age.

One of the first really neat things we found at the park was a very small dog park. Little poufy dogs were trotting about, some barking in sharp high-pitched voices. The park was fenced in and surfaced with a very fine type of gravel or sand.

Then we discovered the adjoining dog park for bigger dogs (over 25 lbs). Now this was much better! This park was many times larger than the little dog park. There were a variety of large dogs walking or trotting about. A yellow lab sauntered over to the fence. I encouraged him to say hello, and he obliged by jumping up and giving me a kiss on the face. I gave him a hug.

The three of us seemed to enjoy being around these canine parks; we lingered for awhile. Maybe it was not what we were expecting to see in one of the biggest cities in the world. But here it was. These dog parks were not here when I'd visited, back in the early 90's.

Even in Ann Arbor dog parks are a big deal. By law dogs must remain on leash within city limits. However, dog owners without big enough yards, or who want their dogs to be able to truly run and to socialize with other dogs, constantly flaunt these laws at neighborhood parks.

I wanted to revisit the chess tables I'd spent so much time at on my first visit. Washington Square is big enough that it actually took us some time to fine the desired section. When we found them, there were no chess sharks, not surprising given the cold temperatures and snow covering.

The Village

We moved on into Greenwich Village. I was pretty excited to see the Village, given its legendary status. It was busy and just a little bit seedy, much to my delight. Restaurants, tattoo and piercing parlours, student-class jewelry and clothing stores, and other shops were packed tightly together. I was surprised to note that at least half of the restaurants and cafes were Italian.

We noticed a number of likely candidates for dinner, including "hole in the wall" restaurants serving Ethiopian, Indian, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese food. We weren't hungry yet, but we made mental notes of the more likely candidates. We followed our noses, seeking out both the more well-known streets and those which looked most interesting.

It began to snow. The snow fell slant-wise, so at times we walked directly into a stinging wall of driving flakes. We were happy to be here, though. There weren't as many people around as there probably would have been had school not been out for the holidays. Restaurants were mostly empty since the dinner hour had not arrived.

Soho

We did not explore the Village exhaustively, so we soon reached the street that divided the Village from Soho. Ian explained that the Village was "No ho". Soho had a distinctly different ambience, and was much emptier. Traffic had picked up substantially on the main roads, and we could hear a lot of honking from frustrated and impatient drivers.

I hadn't known what to expect from Soho, but it seemed pretty dull compared with the Village. We peered into several restaurants and examined a few menus. The food was not as expensive as I'd imagined, given the swank look of the interiors. Yet we had, without saying so, all agreed that we'd probably eat in the Village and that Soho was out of our price range.

Thomas and I eyed some of the menus with desire, but we stuck with our plan to eat in the Village. Even if we had decided to eat in one of these restaurants, we'd have been quite underdressed. Both Thomas and I wore cargo pants, and Ian was only a step above us in attire. Thomas and I both agreed, however, that cargo pants were extremely useful.

As we made our way back to the Village, we saw a store with a provocative name: "fcuk". We were amused and confounded at first, until we realized that the name was an acronym. "fc" stood for "French Connection", and I theorized that "uk" was simply "UK", or "United Kingdom". Although the name was pretty clever and had gotten our immediate attention, we no longer found it interesting enough to find out what was inside.

Gridlock

We came to what proved to be a very difficult intersection for motorists during rush hour. There was extreme gridlock. We watched before we crossed and for a little while after, and it looked like people wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. An SUV (how surprising) was largely to blame for the gridlock. Thomas had noted at one point that there were an awful lot of expensive-looking SUVs in Soho. I joked about the importance of having an SUV in the City because of the need to jump curbs.

Finding Little Ethiopia

Without really discussing it at length, we'd agreed to eat at the Ethiopian restaurant. We'd missed visiting the Blue Nile when Thomas had visited in November. We walked quite a way before we found ourselves back on the street which housed this basement "hole in the wall".

I asked Ian later whether it qualified as that type of establishment, and he'd thought that it did. Its interior was pleasant - much nicer that the holes-in-the-wall we eat at in Ann Arbor. However, he argued that by definition, an establishment which is long and narrow, like this one, is a hole-in-the-wall.

We spoke of this again several days later, and he added to the definition that a hole-in-the-wall: had few patrons, was possibly family-owned, had little space, and might have an inelegant entrance. Indeed, this restaurant had a downright scary entrance. There was a steep flight of metal stairs going down from street-level to the door. That night, since there was snow, the metal steps posed the risk that we might slip and fall.

Eating Like Kings

The first time I'd heard of an Ethiopian restaurant, I'd thought such a thing was an oxymoron, since there had recently been a world-renowned famine in Ethiopia. We'd all seen images of dying children with bloated bellies. I suppose it was pretty silly on my part to think that there was not an Ethiopian cuisine.

In fact, the Ethiopian cuisine is one of my favorites. We ordered three combos, family-style. This is what we were accustomed to - a very large platter covered with thin spongy bread, on top of which sat multiple types of savory food. The combo in this restaurant didn't have as many different dishes as the Blue Nile in Ann Arbor. But the food was every bit as tasty.

There was lamb, spicy beef, mild collard greens, mild chickpea mush, and spicy lentil mush. We were missing the mild and spicy chicken which the Blue Nile would have served, but we were quite pleased anyhow.

Thomas had spicy Ethiopian tea; Ian had Chianti; and I had a South African Shiraz. Ian and I both agreed that the Shiraz was the better of the two wines. However, both went well with the food. The primary difference between the two wines was that the Chianti was more tart. In my experience with wine, the Shiraz was one of the best wines I'd tasted, and I made sure to get its name so I could look for it at home.

We all dug in with gusto. I was surprised, however, at how soon Thomas became full and stopped eating. I always forget that despite his gusto for fine food, he does not eat very much. Ian and I, on the other hand, continued to eat until all the food was gone. After that, we ate nearly all of the spongy bread which covered the large dish. We had never eaten so much of an Ethiopian dinner ever before!

During dinner, the Japanese party next to us was extremely boisterous, and had a picture-taking session near the end of our meal. I knew it was always a good sign if an ethnic restaurant had native patrons. I found it amusing that this Ethiopian restaurant was filled with Japanese people. I don't suppose one could take that for an endorsement in this case.

Returning to Grand Central

It was time to go home, and we had a long journey ahead of us. We needed to return to Grand Central Station in order to catch the 8:16 p.m. train back to the Southeast station. We returned to Grand Central via the subway, which was no longer a novelty. We were beginning to feel tired. My knee was sore and Thomas' back was beginning to feel the effects of so much walking on hard surfaces.

Once we reached Grand Central we had some time to kill. We went down to the food court, which was packed. We looked for a place to sit and finally found some space on a very long bench circling an open-air cafe. We were all exhausted. There was a lot to see, but it didn't seem nearly as interesting as it had when we were fresh and full of energy.

Amongst the mix of people I saw a number of people who looked like they might be homeless; they wore vacant, apathetic stares. I saw a woman in fur with a perm and spike heels. There was a pair of army cadets pacing back and forth in apparent boredom. There was a Latino family of three generations; the adult daughter looked stylish and pampered.

Just to have something to do I ordered a double decaf espresso at the cafe. The Filipino cashier passed my order on to the barrista, who yelled back in confusion. Perhaps he thought he had misheard the order; after all, isn't decaf espresso an oxymoron? I chuckled in sympathy with his confusion.

Back on the Train

The train ride was unexciting; something to be gotten through. I did not look forward to the long drive we had ahead of us. A pack of young teen girls entered the car along with their chaperons. Two girls sat in the seats across the aisle from us. They both played with hand-held electronic games.

I listened to my digital music player; Ian read; and Thomas tried to sleep. Then suddenly we were treated to a continuous racket of electronic game music issuing from one of the girls' game devices. Thomas looked disgusted and perused the car for an empty seat to which he could move. There was nothing. I said in a loud enough voice, "Man that is really irritating!". I didn't necessarily mean for the girls to hear that. They may have heard, however, because a few minutes later one of them put her game away.

After what seemed like a long time, after we'd passed through the many stops before ours, we reached Southeast. I asked Thomas to drive if he wanted to, thinking that he could use the experience driving on a highway at night. He accepted the opportunity, and with Ian's navigation help, shepherded us safely home. He made a few errors that are probably common for inexperienced drivers, but overall did a very good job.

Back at the Ranch

There was one piece of cherry pie left, which went to Ian. I had a few crackers topped with Stilton cheese. Thomas went upstairs to his room. We retired to our room and climbed into bed. Normally we both read as a way of winding down towards a state of sleep. Tonight, we both fell asleep quickly with no reading required. I slept the sleep of the dead.