In a departure from my usual week+ long treks, typically in the summer, I spent just two full days in New York City earlier this month. I was scheduled to fly out on a Monday and fly back on Friday. I was very nervous about flying in the winter and how it might all play out as flights got canceled, etc. At first, it appeared I lucked out with the huge storm hitting the NE the last week of January (though Boston got it worse than NYC). As Monday rolled around, however, the forecast was for nothing but freezing rain all day in New York. I had an afternoon flight out of Wichita that would have put me at LaGuardia after 11pm even if everything was on schedule, and I was further dreading the hour+ subway ride to my friend’s place in Brooklyn. All the morning flights heading in to NYC were getting canceled. I had resigned that I’d be spending the night in the Minneapolis airport trapped between connections. Then, in one of the luckiest moments I’ve had, I noticed a voicemail from Delta Airlines. My flight from Minneapolis to NYC was overbooked and they were looking for volunteers to give up their seat for a $300 voucher and fly out Tuesday instead. I called back as fast as I could hoping the offer still stood. It did and my flight was retroactively paid for… well, I guess my next trip is paid for, but I’m sure I’ll end up counting it twice. Even better than the voucher, was the relief that I could spend another night in my own bed instead of Minneapolis and would get to NYC Tuesday evening at a much more reasonable 6pm.
Tuesday’s flight took me through Atlanta instead of Minneapolis. I had a beautiful view from the air of the fractured waters of the east coast as the sun set on the opposite side of the plane. I think frequent travelers begin to take flying for granted. It occurred to me this time around that I’ll go out of my way to pay to go to the top of Rockefeller Center for the view, but don’t always appreciate the view from the air. I’m glad I did this time. We were on the ground by 6pm, but ice limited runway space and we spent another hour on the ground before getting out of the plane. My friend Sam had class until 9pm, so the plan was to kill a little time in Manhattan before continuing on to Brooklyn. I knew I was going to have to take the bus to the subway station, but it’s easy for that to seem like enough information while you’re sitting at home in front of your computer. It’s different when you’re standing outside in the cold carrying a backpack and need to know EXACTLY where that bus loads. I peeked around a little bit outside and there was a line that seemed to be for taxis and a bus sign, but only car rental shuttles were pulling up to it and I saw nothing indicating transport to a subway station. I went back inside to ask at the handy information desk. Unfortunately, the gentleman working there seemed to take pride in providing as little help as possible.
Me: What bus do I take to get to the subway?
Him: Depends on what subway.
Me: I’m going to Grand Central Station. Manhattan.
Him: 270.
I didn’t know what else to ask and he wasn’t going to volunteer any more information, so I went back outside to look for the 270 line. After another 10 minutes of wandering around aimlessly, I asked an airport employee on a smoke break where I needed to stand to catch the bus to the subway. He indicated a green bus stop across the street that was not very apparent at all. So I crossed the snow and ice covered walkways, proud of the boots I had bought for the trip that served far better than would my normal old running shoes. I went straight to the ticket kiosks and soon discovered they took only coins or Metro cards. I knew I was going to need a Metro card, but this is where I hoped to buy it! Another traveler came by and I helped her operate the kiosk with the aid of her Metro card and she told me I could get one back inside. So I had to run back across the street and inside the airport and found the Metro card kiosk about ten feet from Mr. Helpful. Back to the bus stop, got my ticket, and waited for the Q70 – yes, Q70, there is no 270. On the bus, I didn’t need the ticket, just the Metro card was enough, but, of course, I was the idiot who didn’t know how to put the card in the reader (hint: vertical, not horizontal).
Fortunately, from that point on, things went much smoother, I was just a little behind schedule. I know how to use a subway and made it to Grand Central without any issues. Once there I pulled out my Canon Rebel to start playing around a bit. In an adventurous move, I had left my kit lens at home and brought only my new 50mm and zoom lenses. It was frustrating at times as I realized how much I tend to rely on the kit lens to capture what I see. But I swallowed that frustration and forced myself to actually take photographs instead. I wandered outside through the cold a little bit, heading north to Rockefeller Center to buy tickets to the top for the following day. Taking pictures soon took a backseat to getting inside where I could feel my fingers again, or rather, inside where my fingers would hopefully stop burning from the cold! I was ready to call it a night at this point anyway, so I went inside Rockefeller, bought my ticket, and caught the subway to Brooklyn.
I had heard that Sam’s place was in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood and while I didn’t think it seemed so bad, the apartment itself definitely did not exceed any low expectations I might have had. I’ll just say it served its purpose for the trip and the price was right.
The next day, Wednesday, was warmer (high temp above 40), so Sam and I walked around outside most of the day, visiting a few shops and parks. I had been to NYC before in 2008, so didn’t have to be as touristy as I usually am. As we were simply walking along the side streets, I did a slow take as I realized the guy I just walked by who was standing outside a small theater was Louis CK. I was basically shoulder to shoulder with him and could have flicked the cigarette out of his mouth without breaking stride. I didn’t want to be “that guy” so I just kept on walking and gave Sam a big smile, but he didn’t know what I meant. We were still in earshot of Louis, so I just raised my eyebrows and pointed with my head. Sam walked back and pretended to look through a shop window (well, I suppose he did actually look through it) to confirm it was Louis CK and he was giddy for the rest of the day.
Not thirty minutes later as we were headed to find some lunch near Bleecker St., a couple of NYPD cars rolled in on a side street with lights on. We paused with the small crowd and an officer on foot was telling everyone to keep it moving. My first thought was that this was a live bust going down. The officers seemed too calm for that, so my next thought was that it was a crime scene and we started walking away. Then the black SUVs with American flags showed up, flanked from behind by two more NYPD cars. Well, now we HAVE to hang out and see what’s going on. I thought it was funny that the cops were trying to keep everyone moving, when we would have if they weren’t drawing so much attention to the area. This was a Wednesday afternoon in February, so the crowd of onlookers was only about 10-15 people on each end of this side street. Secret service guys got out first, followed by people in suits I didn’t recognize, then, clear as day, about 50 meters from where we were, Joe Biden got out, all smiles as he headed inside. Pretty cool. We ate lunch at John’s Pizzeria around the corner and secret service came in and ordered pizza and used the restroom. Sam thought it was funny as he saw one of them struggling to get the ATM to work.
After walking a bit of the High Line park, I went to 30 Rock while Sam went to study. As much as I had been able to avoid the crowds this trip, I found them at the top of Rockefeller Center. It was still very worthwhile. I planned it so that I would be there as day transitioned into night (a better choice, I thought, than paying for the Sun and Stars pass that lets you go up twice in 24 hours and costs 50% more). The only thing I didn’t like was that they had plexiglass as fencing at the top, so to get a picture without a reflection, you had to fight for one of the four-inch gaps between panels. Still well-worth it. I had heard/read that Top of the Rock was preferable to the top of the Empire State Building (which we did in ’08) because guess what you miss while on top of the Empire State Building? The Empire State Building! I was also a bit confused between the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. I think it’s because the Chrysler Building has that iconic shape that makes me think of New York City even more so than does the Empire State Building.
Afterwards I met Sam at the New York Public Library just to check it out. It’s the one with the lions out front, a very cool, old building inside and out. But I just wanted to see some books. “It’s not that kind of library,” Sam joked. We wandered around. There seemed to be plenty of meetings and events, but where were the darn books? We finally asked an employee who said (basically), “it’s not that kind of library.” Somebody is going to have to redefine the word library for me, because here I was thinking it’s a place full of books.
We ended the night by walking about halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge. I couldn’t quite get my pictures to turnout, because even with a tripod, the traffic just made the bridge vibrate too much.
Thursday was much colder, so I spent it at the American Natural History Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They stand on opposite sides of Central Park which was way less “winter wonderland” and a lot more “frozen wasteland” than I had expected. I’m not a huge museum person, but I figured these are two of the top museums in the world, I’ll find something that interests me, and I did. I also wanted to make a point to check out the Hayden Planetarium as I’m a big fan of its director, Neil deGrasse Tyson. It actually wore me out. I hadn’t considered that I’d be walking more during a day at the museums than I had in a day around town.
That night, we ate at a very hipster restaurant in Brooklyn. The tables were all community, so Sam and I were seated at what was basically a picnic table that we shared with four other patrons. I was much less excited when I saw that the menu had many words I was unfamiliar with, very surprisingly as I thought I was fluent in English. Words I did recognize were mostly spent adding seafood to dishes I would have otherwise considered safe – spaghetti… with clam sauce. Sam and I got into a fairly heated discussion about whether or not it was okay to request that certain listed items not be included. Sam’s position is that of the chef as an artist creating these items the way they should be eaten and experienced and if you don’t like something, order something else. My position is that I don’t like olives.
We ordered the hipster approximation of cheese pizza and that basically brought my trip to a close. I flew out the next morning and am now looking ahead to the possibility of Chicago and Michigan this summer.