Leaving New York

It's been a manic few days and I still maintain a complete love for the city. It's so diverse and, despite a fair few grotty places that I feel actually add to its charm, there are points of awe-inspiring loveliness. I slowed down a bit on Tuesday after managing to get back to sleep again, which was a huge relief. I took my first subway train to the World Trade Center site. After visiting the site and the series of galleries that make up the exhibition and tribute to the tragedy, I was left feeling that the people behind it are attempting to create an atmosphere that is very hopeful, looking to the future rather than dwelling on it. The site itself is filled with workmen who are about to start rebuilding and the plans for the memorial garden and new transportation hub are detailed on the information point. The area around it is bustling, understandably what with it being the city's financial district. The visitor's centre creates a progressive exhibition that deals with every stage of 9/11, from contextualising the World Trade Center for people who lived in New York and worked there, to the disaster itself, to the rescue and recovery, to a memorial room with carefully placed tissue boxes and finally to a room which showed messages of hope and love from around the world. The galleries never sentimentalised the tragedy, merely presented it and never touched on the "war on terror". It was beautifully put together and thought-through and I found it very moving without having felt manipulated.



I got back on the subway and headed back a little way north to SoHo (South of Houston) where I attempted to find the shop in my guidebook. After walking up and down Mercer Street a few times, I walked into a gallery and asked where it was and was told it had closed down. I was so gutted, I really wanted to get a present from there that was unique and original but not necessarily touristy. All the other shops around me were boutique-y and despite the US being criticised for obesity, no shop that I had so far gone into had anything bigger than a small-cut size 14. So much for shopping! So I joined Broome Street and walked along to Little Italy, half expecting that the Festa di San Gennaro would be cancelled. I was relieved to see glittery banners and some stalls as I approached as well as some bored looking cops stationed behind road bloacks. The Festa itself probably picked up more speed at night but during the daytime was a number of foodstalls and fairground games, alongside outdoor dining rooms belonging to the restaurants that lined Mulberry Street, the main thoroughfare of Little Italy. As my appetite was still a little reluctant I merely had an Italian lemon ice, perfect for the steaming hot day, and bought a cannolo (singular for cannoli) for eating in my hotel room later. Although the Festa was quite smallscale, it did give me the opportunity to see a lively side to Little Italy that potentially could have been quite quiet during the day. I enjoyed watching the aggression between stallholders on either side of the street as they shouted insults across the pedestrian area, it was nice to know that the bravado you see in fiction isn't entirely sterotype.



After I had discovered every nook of the Festa, ambling through, licking at my ice which had yummy bits of rind in, I headed to the top of Mulberry Street but couldn't find anywhere that looked like NoLIta. Realising I was on East Houston Street, I considered finding Katz's deli but I didn't want to eat anything, having turned down a cornucopia of delights (well, mainly pizza) already. I figured it would probably be crazy-busy as well. I regret it now, 'cause it would be nice to rub it in next time I see When Harry Met Sally and the orgasm scene but there's no point if I'm just doing it for the sake of it. That's been a mantra of mine on this trip - do it because you want to, not because you feel you should. There are many more things I could have done but haven't and all I can say to that is, next time I come, I shall do more. This is not my last trip to New York.



I located Broadway and decided to walk up it, which must have been a mile and a half, although it's difficult to measure in your head until you get to the numbered streets, what with 20 blocks being a mile, and Broadway skews it as it is one of the least geometric roads. It doesn't go in a straight, parallel line unlike the rest. Another reason to love this city; it's so logical apart from the crossings, which make me laugh they're so poorly thought out. I got back to my hotel and totally enjoyed a couple of hours of chill out time before I went out again for dinner and a show. Unfortunately, I left it quite late to get ready and fretted quite a lot about what to wear so only had time for a starter before the show, but that was probably a good thing given the sheer size of the portions and my current limited capacity for food which is restricting me to feeling hungry only twice a day. The show was fun, full of energy but not as moving as it could have been. The style was different but hardly one that, as a small Jewish lady behind me said on the way out, reinvented the wheel. One girl did stand out however with a frenetic dancing style and an extraordinary bluesy, folky voice that was atypical for a musical. On the way home, I decided that walking a mile (this one was easy to work out, hotel on 29th, Eugene O'Neill Theatre on 49th) back to my room in heels was a stupid idea and decided to get a cab - important New York experience no.12. I succeeded in stopping three but wussy little tourists incapable of stopping their own cabs nicked the first two, which was my fault for standing in the wrong place. I learnt my lesson and finally managed to snag cab 3.



Yesterday, I headed downtown again, getting the subway to South Ferry. I wandered through Battery Park, which had a surprisingly emotional effect on me, which was the theme of the day. I got my tickets and set off over the water to Liberty and Ellis Islands. I didn't get off at Liberty, it was enough for me to be close and I didn't want to go up the Statue so just stood top deck and gazed at her a while. After a while the ferry moved off and around and the audio announcement gave a picture of what it must have been like to have been the immigrants coming into Ellis and I got a bit teary again, imagining them seeing La Liberte and the Manhattan skyline and how extraordinary that must have been, and how simultaneously terrified and exhausted they would have felt with the uncertainty and the pressures of the voyage. When we got to the Island I think I spent about four hours there, I had a fun half hour randomly searching for relatives after realising that everyone else in there had a great deal more information that me in the proper archives. But the search programme was great and I found someone who is potentially an ancestor - Charles Carney, Irish/British, from Bradford, England. I shall get Our Kid (would he mind if I called him that too?) on the case! Then I spent hours going through the museum, which was an exceptional demonstration of immigration in the US; historically, sociologically and personally. I didn't even get to the last floor, I'd spent so long everywhere else!

I came back in the ferry and trotted along to the South Street Seaport for some actual shopping - managed to find presents and, finally!, postcards, which was a relief. I would have got into trouble with Granny if I'd not found any at all. I then had a dilemma about the rest of the evening, with my choice dictated by my single status and my back which had really started aching from the walking. I got back to the hotel, got changed and wandered back up to Times Square for a meal and to watch Stardust. I may watch it again when I get home, it's lovely and watching Mark Williams play a man who was previously a goat is something that is still making me giggle a wee bit.

Right, there we go, a comprehensive summary of two days in New York without any insomnia as an influence. I have written so much in my journal (best present ever!), and postcards, and a blog that it is making me a feel just a wee bit like I'm not on my own quite so much. Next stop, Sturbridge.