It is officially summer time and I can finally breathe. I am embracing this summer with a new attitude and have set myself in a new direction. After experiencing a semester of throwing my busy-body self in a rat-race of school work and experiencing some sudden and unexpected life changes, I am ready to just sit down and enjoy the quietness of it all. I seemed to have been contemplating moving for a while now and my current travels have only helped me come to the conclusion that I need something new. I have mentioned moving to New York City and the more I thought about it, the more I believe it is simply just a memory, nothing permanent. I belong in Wilmington but I will always come back to the city. It’s a boomerang lifestyle, something to enjoy back-and-forth again but in small doses. Considering New York has encompassed a valuable fraction of my life, I felt I should document my memories in the city.
I stayed with some dear friends in Philadelphia and took a bus into the city a few weeks after. The bus ride was 2 hours long and not so memorable. What I do remember was the anticipation. I’d stare out the window as we drove through New Jersey, passing through quaint towns and cities. I remember the outline of the buildings in the distance as we got closer. It was very faint and looked as if someone had used a pencil and traced the image of the city buildings into the sky. In fact, it reminded me of the cover art for Jack Mannequin’s album, “Everything in Transit.” The first scenery looked almost as if it was from a comic strip.
It was foggy then so there was a mist of color masking the full image of the city. Out from the allusion was a high peak, standing tall and valiantly. The empire state building was always such a sight to see! Once we got closer, buildings became more prominent. The Manhattan Bridge hid behind the bulky frame of the Brooklyn Bridge, painting a contrasting framework of something pristine and classy with something downtown and rugged luring behind.
The city outline faded the moment the driver took us into the tunnel that would directly lead us into the city. It was dark in the tunnel with only a few scattered lights to guide the driver down the right direction. I knew when we were close because I could hear the alluring hum of the city. It was singing a welcome and chirping with the sound of taxi cab horns.
I always took a long gander out at the city when I would get off the bus. I could smell the familiar mix scents of smog and cigarette smoke and the indescribable smell of the sun that morning. We would pass by a flower shop on our way to our hotel. I remember the owner holding out a beautiful bouquet of tulips and marigolds and pestering passer bys to, “take a look! Take a look!”
Our hotel was the same as always—the Eddision. It was right off the corner of Times Square, just across the street from a new, trendy cupcake shop that I would later indulge myself in every morning! The concierge was always so friendly and welcoming. I even think the baggage boy recognized me from that summer. The second after we checked in we threw ourselves out into the awaiting pandemonium.
It was the morning after New Year’s Eve and only a few reminiscing confetti pieces were scattered around Times Square. I took a few and stuffed them into my winter coat as a memorabilia. It was a memory for a new year and a new beginning. Although it was winter, the weather was surprisingly in our favor. The sun was out and I could feel its’ toasting touch against my bare cheeks. I took off my heavy winter coat and lugged it around, capable of withstanding the East Coast weather with only a long sleeve t-shirt and an infinity scarf. I remember how it smelled outside then—at that precise moment I had taken my coat off. It smelled of fresh linens. It smelled like just-washed curtains in the morning with the sun rays seeping through the fabric, making it smell warm and relaxing.
We passed through Times Square, uninterested in the bright lights that attracted the first time Yorkers. Instead, Barbara and I took full advantage of the beautiful weather and went directly uptown to Manhattan. The subway ride was even a cherished experience. I missed the subways despite their unusual smell and bumpy rides. I found it humorous to see tourists clutching onto railings and gasping in surprise at the first feel of the subways take-off.
I sat patiently on the mustard colored seats, letting my fingers feel the warmth of the toasted bagel inside my Dean and Deluca bag. I sipped casually on some coffee, savior its nutty flavor before the subway came to a halt. I watched again with utter amusement as the tourists craned their bodies forward from the gravitational pull of the subway train and then jerk back into place like the movement of a strung rubber-band. I snickered, quickly offered someone directions on how to get Downtown and took my exit.
Alas, Manhattan was as beautiful as I remembered. We got off right at the end of a street that led us to the MET. I took in a breath, watching it hover over my mouth like a small cloud before it faded in the Upper East Side air and took Barbara’s hand and reminded her that I loved this part of the city. Women clad in Chanel coats walked along side us with their dogs adored in ridiculously expensive Burberry outfits.
The MET stood before us like a piece of architecture straight out of a Jane Austen novel. I sat at the steps, unwrapped my Dean and Deluca bag and took a generous bite of my multi-grain bagel. Manhattan penguins scrambled at my feet, cooing and begging for a bite of one of the best bagels in the states. I tossed a few crumbled pieces and then ignored the rest of their pestering and enjoyed myself. From the steps of the MET laid Manhattan, a blanket of cream and ivory, enriched colored trees and Taxi Cabs that were all hybrid cars. Nothing typical.
It felt so good sitting there. The sun was casting over the building like an umbrella, keeping me warm and cozy. Barbara suggested that we should walk into Central Park. We stuffed our faces with our remaining bits of Dean and Deluca bagel and walked through the East Side entrance.
It was beautiful, for lack of better words. It was during this stroll through Central Park when I realized that New York wasn’t always a pandemonium. It could be peaceful and relaxing. I started the New Year in a joyful atmosphere in Central Park. I kept reminding Barbara then how thankful I was to be there at that moment—how much I loved the city—and how I loved that she would share such fond memories with me.
My first days in New York were something similar to that. I would enjoy the intangible beauty of Manhattan. We spent hours walking down Fifth and Madison Avenue, adoring the setting where fictional Gossip Girl character’s lived. The high-society life was surely far from disappointing.
SoHo, or Downtown, New York was an exquisite change from Manhattan. It is a craft, trendy place with artwork plastered along building walls, organic coffee shops at every corner and bohemian dressed residents strolling down the streets while whistling tunes to their favorite indie band. I immediately stopped for a cup of some herbal green tea and, once again, enjoyed the scenery. SoHo is a complete opposition from Manhattan. Manhattan is an obsessive compulsive side of New York City where as SoHo was a free fleeting, beat-of-its-own-drum.
After long strolls in Manhattan and SoHo, Barbara and I would retreat back to our hotel with uplifted attitudes and very sore feet. The cupcake shop across our hotel was always opened at the most ungodly hours. It was, in fact, the city that never sleeps. This shop sold miniature cupcakes—the size of quarters—and they were scrumptious. Since the shop only made a limited amount of cupcakes a day, costumers could only order 5 at a time so Barbara and I were careful about counting our cupcakes!
I remember lying in bed at night, a stomach full of delicious New York treats, a mind full of happy thoughts and I would listen to the lullaby of the city. I could hear the cadence of the traffic and sleepless bodies that were still wondering the streets. I would occasionally open my eyes, still amazed that I was living in such a beautiful city, and I would see the vibrant lights of Times Square dancing through the curtains. I got up from my bed, slipped on some winter boots and tossed on a heavy sweater and went down to the city. I slipped into the Squares’ Starbucks and ordered a small cup of hot black tea and steamed milk and sat next to the wide windows. The city was a kaleidoscope of color and for that split second, I could feel something tickling at the corner of my eyes. Was it strange to cry over a city? It wasn’t strange at all. The only thing that kept me from believing that I had been sleep walking the entire time was the barista who had just hand delivered my cup of tea. “Pretty huh? Even I can’t believe it. And I’ve lived here for 5 years!” She had said.
I finished my tea and retreated back to my bed with the no-name barista’s comment in mind. It wasn’t strange then—for me to have shed tears for a place—a mere adjective. New York was beautiful and in a way, I thought, maybe I could consider this experience sleep-walking because being there in New York was a dream.
For the next couple of days we had continued on with our sight-seeing, catching things we had missed during my previous Summer travel. My favorite place was the Vanderbilt Garden. Initially, we had just stopped at an older Museum that was used to film the private-prep schools Constance and St. Judes in Gossip Girl. After indulging in fan-girl bliss and taking multiple pictures pretending to be Queen B and Serena Van Der Woodsen, Barbara and I went across the street.
The Vanderbilt Garden was lavishing with nature. Although it was extremely cold out and my nose and fingertips were pinched red from the chill, we walked through the garden. I told Barbara that my future fiancé would propose to me here—at the steps that were covered in a blanket of ivy. She told me that in spring, the entire garden would bloom with flowers. I casted a glance at the canopy of trees hovering above us and envisioned lavender and lilac flowers dropping down their branches likes an accessory. I made a promise to myself then that I would come back to the Vanderbilt Garden to witness myself its’ spring season.
It started to feel more like winter as time went by. It was suddenly frigid outside and Barb and I had to make random stops and hop into small shops for a chance to defrost by a heater. We went to Strand bookstore, figuring that 18 miles of books would be a good distraction from the unbearable chill. We shuffled through Strand, pointing out some of our favorite books, hers being The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and Water For Elephants and mine, The Kite Runner.
The next few days we spent some time in Brooklyn. By routine, we would take the subway to Wall Street, walk down the famous strip and then haul a cab to Brooklyn. I never took the subway directly to Brooklyn because I never wanted to skip riding over the Brooklyn Bridge. It was, by far, one of my favorite pieces of architecture.
Normally, We went to Brooklyn for two things : art and pizza.
Oh Brooklyn Pizza! My mouth waters thinking of it. We stopped at Grimaldis and sat at the usual spot—a table with a red and white checkered table cloth—and ordered the regular. The waiter, handsome and rugged, was a charmer. I would converse with him simply so I could hear his Brooklyn drawl.
Manhattan. SoHo. Brooklyn. Times Square.
I honestly wish I could document every memory spent in New York. I wish I could detail, with all the right symbols and metaphors, how good it feels to wake up to the alarm of New York traffic, how liberating it felt to take midnight strolls down into the bright city by myself and how it feels just to simply reminisce of these things. I’ve ran out of words to describe.
