The Day of Sunglasses and Opera

Sorry about the delay…I got a little behind on my blogging. So the past 2 days have been our most like-we’re-living-here New York days. We’ve been working and hanging out and not really sightseeing at all. As the novelty of being here has worn off a little, it’s been a bit of a reality check about how it would be to be full-time residents of the city.

So, Monday was a day of sleeping in again. We decided to try to branch out from working from home and headed back to Grounded – a cute but very warm coffee shop on Jane Street, just a few blocks south of where we live. My work seems to be picking up just as J’s is dropping off, but we figured that would happen. After working hard over coffee and a cheese bagel (the bagels really are delicious here), we decided to find a few more vintage shops and maybe a few pairs of knockoff sunglasses on Canal and in Soho. We scouted out a lunch place that was recommended by the guide books in the financial district so that we could buy tickets to another show for our evening activities (the TKTS booth down south is never busy).

Needless to say, J was very unhappy about our lunch selection. It was touted as a spicy Cuban oasis in the middle of the Financial District – these people must be pretty deep in the desert, because the place fell far short of paradise. The place looked like a nondescript cafeteria line, but we sat and were served rice and beans and the saddest piece of breaded East-River fish. J just kept mumbling in anger that he was wasting precious calories by eating this crapola – we wrote off the experience as another opportunity where NYC eateries failed to excel at our Boulder staples (first the peanut butter place, now rice and beans that sucked).

With this bad taste in our mouth, literally, we were a little grumpy and decided to forgo spending the money on a Broadway show – determining that maybe we would try to get rush tickets at the theater’s box office later. We wandered up to the south Strand bookstore. Although this place has many, many books, it really doesn’t rival the original location for sheer number of books -- we were unsuccessful in locating anything worth waiting in line at checkout.

So, we crossed the street to take the subway north to buy knockoffs on Canal. After attempting to interpret the ridiculous signs in the subway, I thought for sure that we were on candid camera. Up and down stairs and ramps, following signs that seemed to lead to signs that said the opposite. We couldn’t find a map, so went back out to read the map outside the station. We thought we had figured out how to get on the train, so we headed back in, only to be rejected by the machine. Um, we’re supposed to have unlimited passes…We approach the subway guy sitting behind four feet of what I’m sure is bulletproof glass, who is exasperated that we are interrupting his personal call. Apparently, you can’t swipe your card more than once within 18 minutes (so you can’t pass back the card and use it for all your friends). This makes sense, however, we didn’t know the rule, and again I’m surprised that people are so annoyed when approached to do their jobs. He lets us through the service exit, and finally make it on the train. We definitely could have walked there by now, but our walking distances have severely declined since yesterday, when we basically walked to Harlem and back.

Ah, Canal street – how to describe the booths upon booths of necklaces, purses, sunglasses, t-shirts, and nameless stuff? It’s kindof like a circus. I learned from two tourists from Minnesota, that you have to ask for the good knockoffs, but I decided to save that for another day, and spend most of my time helping J find some sweet sunglasses – he looks so good!

With J looking very urban hip, we head to Nolita to explore and find some vintage shops. This area is definitely on its way to becoming very chichi, and we wonder how many of the residents will be displaced by much higher rent in the next few years. All our shopping yields no finds, so we stop at a bakery for Cold Chocolate and a muffin. This stuff is so rich – I think it tastes like Cool Whip mixed with chocolate syrup served over ice – that we don’t need to eat anything else for dinner.

Exhausted again, we spill into our apartment to change and head uptown for a show, only to discover that the show doesn’t run on Mondays. Oh no, now the long process of finding evening entertainment begins again. Ugh. As I catch up on work, J discovers that there are tickets available to the opera at the Lincoln Center – the tickets we are looking at cost $25 each and are in the back few rows of the top balcony (there are at least six balconies, if that gives you any idea of the nosebleeds we’re hoping for). We get all dressed up and I realize that I’m going to be wearing a black lace dress and strappy sandals on the subway during the busiest time of the day. This thought causes me to shiver, so we decide to splurge on a cab uptown. It was a good choice, as we had less than 30 minutes to make it from 14th to 66th, and, thanks to the “creative” driving of our cabbie, manage to get there with 28 minutes to spare. It’s nice to see that there are drivers in the world who see the lines as suggestions that can be ignored.

We are nervous in the ticket line, but are glad to hear that they still have cheap tickets left. “Is $25 a piece okay?” The guy behind the counter gives us a you-must-be-country-mice grin as he hands us the tickets. A few minutes later, we realize that he has completely set us up, as we are probably 15 rows back from the stage in the orchestra section – these seats carry a price tag in the hundreds, and I get a little chocked up that he was so kind. I’m still a sap after being here for 2 weeks.

What can I say about the opera? The whole experience is overwhelming – the place is so beautiful, but once the curtain opens, you float away in awe of the amazing sets, the incredible voices, and the power of the show. As the lyrics are all in Italian, you follow along with the story by reading the little subtitle thing on the back of the chair in front of you. Somehow, this doesn’t take away from the power of the performance, and I find myself tearing up at the storyline. What an amazing night!

By the end, we are too jazzed up to head home, and stop for a drink at the Hudson Hotel bar to decompress by watching hip people hit on each other. For $30 for two drinks, we sit in the lime green light realizing that it would be difficult to be single in this town. J would have to spend a lot more money and I would be scared to let anyone I met know where I live. Oh well, good thing we have someone to head home with…