The Day of Dosas, Films, and the Guggenheim

We’re nearing the end. Now it’s gotten to the point where we’re thinking “This is our last chance to go to the Friday night Freedom party,” then we realize that we will in fact still be here for next week’s party, and we collapse in bed comforted by the fact that we still have a week rather than actually go to the party. It’s a strange feeling right now because I’m definitely ready to go home, but I still like the energy of being here and seeing new things.

We talk a lot about whether we could live here permanently – the answer is usually no, but we keep trying to figure out why. We love seeing different stuff and being around such a diverse collection of people, but I think it’s the ol’ Western need for space that keeps coming back as the reason. On our walk home last night, J came up with a solution: we’ll just move to Governor’s Island, which is an island that has served as a military base since forever and is now abandoned. The island was recently returned to the city by the US government, but the city isn’t sure what it will do with the place. We’ll just buy it and live there because then we could trail run and lay in the grass and be away from people, then take a short boat ride into the city to experience all the fun stuff.

In addition to feeling the end near, we’ve become rather overconfident about being New Yorkers. We figure that we’ve seen more of the city than most, so we have an unjustified feeling of complete knowledge about this place. This fact was evident as we wandered to find coffee at a café that we’d passed a few days ago. The café is on the corner of Waverly and Waverly, which seems counterintuitive, but we set out with gusto. After a few too many blocks and a brief “discussion” between J and I, we had to stop and look at the map again. At least this foray into the unknown lead to the discovery of a really cool corner of the village that we hadn’t seen. Very quiet crooked streets with beautiful brownstones and flowering trees.

After we had finally reached the coffee joint and were fully caffeinated, we set off to find food. After wandering past the second or third place recommended by our guidebook that no longer exists, we start to recognize how quickly things change around here. It’s always on to the next new thing…We were happy to discover that the recommendation in SoHo still existed, and though the wait was long and the place packed, we truly enjoyed the dosas and reveled in the fact that we could get this stuff as relatively fast food. These dosas were made of delicious ingredients wrapped in a pancake-type bread served with different flavors of chutney.

Ah, but the wonderful flavors kept returning as we speed-walked across town with full stomachs to make it to a screening at the Tribeca Film Festival. We went to a selection of shorts about the NYC experience, which were all amazing. There was a variety of topics – from Coney Island to a guy obsessed with the subway to bike gangs of New York to graffers (for all you squares, that’s street-talk for graffiti artists). After the showing, the filmmakers came up front, and we were psyched to see that one of the guys was just in line with us across town at the dosa place. Small town…

The films sparked a lot of discussion between J and I – always the sign of a good flick – and my head was still in the clouds as we got on the jam-packed subway ride home. Only J being yelled at by a homeless guy and a giant kid yelling to his friend pulled me back to earth.

After a quick stop at home, we headed north for free night at the Guggenheim. We’ve been feeling a little weary about museums, even though some of the best in the world are here. It’s hard to get yourself to go stare at paintings when there is such a lively show going on outside, but the Guggenheim did not disappoint. The collection was as amazing as the building, and I found myself thinking that Solomon and I have a lot in common (that’s Solomon Guggenheim, of course).

Hungry and thirsty for a cocktail, we decide to look around the Upper East Side. We have heard of a Beirut joint a few blocks from the museum, so we cut over to 2nd Ave and are amazed at how lively things are up here. The Beirut bar is empty (it is only 8:30), so we wander past restaurants packed with young up-and-comers enjoying a Friday night release. J has read that this area is popular with the just-graduated Frat crowd, which explains why he feels so comfortable. We notice a marked difference between our “downtown” clothes and the relaxed uptown clothes, then laugh at ourselves for being ridiculous. We decided that we’re in the mood for Mexican, which is hilarious considering that the best is at home, but tortilla chips, melted cheese, and margaritas just sounds good. After reading the menus at a couple of “Tex-Mex” restaurants, we determine that it means something different over here. Since when is blackened monk fish served over barley considered southwestern? We shamefully go to a local chain that we have already been to in Chelsea, but truly enjoy the margaritas and enchiladas…in fact, we enjoy them a bit too much. As we leave, we realize that we have both eaten waaay too much, so we’ll walk a bit before getting on the subway to head home.

Just as you’d expect, we end up walking all the way home, which, we’ve decided, is the best way to piece together parts of the city that you’ve only been to in separate visits. We’ve now walked both sides of the island from the upper neighborhoods to our house and are truly getting a sense of the neighborhoods and the layout of things. We stop along the way to buy a black-and-white cookie simply because we see it in the window – we’re both still really full – and a cookie monster t-shirt (that was a really nice gift for me from J). Walking this much is also a really good way to wipe out any desire to go dancing all night, so we stop for a six pack and enjoy our beer and cookies while picking out other film fest movies we want to see this weekend…no matter where you are, does it get any better than that?

On a side note, J left out a very funny occurrence the other night on the way to late-night rollerskating at Roxy…as we meandered through Chelsea, it was beginning to rain a bit, so people were trying to find cover and figure out where to go. As we passed a group of two gay couples, all in their mid-to-late twenties, one of the guys quipped in a mock-deep voice “How about we head to a sports bar and down some brewskies?” It reminded me of the scene in “Eddie Murphy Delirious” when he does the impression of the Chinese guy doing an impression of a white guy ordering a hamburger – we’re all providing comical material for each other.

Reaching my limit

The other day I was feeling desensitized, but today I'm fully acknowleging my inability to realistically deal with the things around me. There's just too much going on at any given point to digest, so inevitably your brain shuts off to minimize events that don't really need to be dealt with. Unless someone's making a big deal around me I hardly notice them -- even if we're inches away from each other on the subway. I feel a bit like I'm in a tunnel. Not sure if I'm just worn out or this is how everyone around me feels. The ironic thing is that the more used to this state I get the more I notice how involved everyone is in their surroundings. Normalcy is completely ignored but everyone, and I mean everyone, has their eye on the weirdos or anything out of order. For example, this afternoon we saw a nasty fight between a couple and no less than 15 people ran over to make sure things didn't get further out of hand.
I'm beginning to think that Laurie and I were ignored before, and now, because we're immediately identified as a non-threat and simply not entertaining enough to pay attention to.

We spent most of our day at Bryant Park enjoying the sunshine and free wireless. It's a great place to work -- mostly quiet with the occasional interesting event to divert our eyes from our laptops. I have a feeling that the park (more of a big quad really) wasn't always this way. There are several policemen on patrol at all times and I saw them making a poor little asian lady on her lunchbreak being woken up from her nap on a park bench. Regardless, it's really nice now, with ample comfortable chairs, school desks, and tables lining all sides of a well cared-for deep green field.

We had a nice lunch at a little French bistro where French waitstaff actually served French food in a French atmosphere -- felt like many of the places we visited in Paris. Our lunchtime entertainment was provided by a neighboring table -- a snotty Ohioan who has developed a (supposed) snotty New York attitude and this annoying habit of raising her voice an octave or two anytime the French waitress came over. I even see this attitude developing in my friend Ann, but I can't quite put my finger on a description of it. Not sure why people would move from all over the country to come to New York to be snooty to one another.

We finally left the park, dropped off the laptops, and headed over to the East Village. Since we had such a fun time rumaging through the vintage shops last time we decided to head back. Continuing my earlier theme, the experience was different this time. The clothes seemed too expensive and the shops were hot and crowded. I would explain this all away as grouchyness, but I really wasn't grouchy. We did have a nice coffee across from Tompkins Square park at the coolest, if you're a computer geek, place around: alt.coffee. Really, that's the name (only old-school usenet people will really appreciate this). Rebounding with a little coffee, but tired of shopping, we headed further down the East Village for dinner.

The place we selected, The Elephant, was highly recommended, but, perhaps due to my mental state, was really disappointing. Thai food is my absolute favorite and I've had it all over the country in many different places and feel like I have a pretty good idea of the various styles. The Elephant was a French take on Thai food -- yep, you guessed it, a "fusion" restaurant. This place seemed to take on very little actual Thai, but plenty of the worst of French food -- lots of needless vertical fluff and basic meats served at exorbitant prices. I have to admit what I had was quite good, but not the wonderful and lively flavored take on peasant food I've come to expect. There's a mild "scene" in the place, the tables were jammed together (you literally had to pull out your table from the wall to get to it), there was nothing under $20 on the menu, and the service had that French condescension about it. Oh well, I guess places can't be good to everyone every time.

If nothing else, the experience sparked a good discussion about different places in New York and what we've liked and haven't liked. I still don't feel like New York is that expensive, but it is really easy to get hoodwinked into spending a lot of unnecessary cash (yeah, and everything is cash -- no credit cards anywhere). Anything with a theme or scene is going to set you back and rarely are you paying for the food. My favorite places aren't necessarily cheap, but I can certainly recognize a good value when I come across it. I love food (just look at my gut to confirm), but I really dislike when I have to pay for someone else's idea of what my experience should entail. Make it reasonably tasty, fairly priced, and served by not not nice people (see Laurie's waitstaff key) and I'm happy.

A few blocks later, we came smack dab with a completely different experience. I'd read about a bakery with outstanding coconut bars and I actively decided to eat away my earlier displeasure. Skeptically, we entered the door and the nicest midwestern grandma-type came out to greet us. What in the world is this lady doing in the East Village of New York? Out of coconut bars, she recommended cupcakes and, though nowhere as good as Magnolia (which I think we've visited 5 times now), definitely improved the mood.

We continue on our trek towards home, but, like a lighthouse on a foggy night, come across the McSorley's entrance framed perfectly at the end of a side street. We head in for four darks and luck out on a table right in front. Though still a little full from earlier we decide we have to see what a "cheese plate" is all about. I'm not sure what's going to happen when I order this -- I sort of either expect a bucket of water on the head or the bar to break out in song. In other words, the butt of an inside joke. I hate to spoil the surprise of what a "cheese plate" is, but here goes (so if you care stop reading). I, somewhat timidly, ask for a cheese plate and the waiter simply responds "right away". Cool, made it this far. In a few minutes we get our surprise: a big pile of little slices of white New York cheddar, a few slices of white onion, and a sleeve of saltine crackers. Yes, a full, still vacumn-sealed, sleeve of saltines. Served with the absolute hottest mustard (think Wasabi) on the planet. We overdo it the first few times and Laurie and I enjoy laughing at each other sit up really straight, become immediately quiet, and have our eyes fill with tears. The best part about the mustard is breaking through the crust that forms after sitting out for who knows how long on each table. Much happier, we leave McSorley's with plans to head home.

On the way, we decide to check out this little Asian place on the way home with creative, and supposedly some of the best, drinks in the city. The place is really relaxing and I enjoy watching the bartender's effecient movements from a great perch on the side of the bar. I suck down a good mix of vodka, green tea, and heavy cream (really good) and am then rewarded with some type of anise mix the second time around (what is it with anise around here?). Reflecting on the day, and our experiences up to this point, quickly passes the time. I'm still caught up in the energy and excitement of the city, but I'm positive I couldn't live here for any length of time and I really miss home. I'm trying to live in the moment, but I'm finding that frequently means keeping my head down and staring at the corner rather than actively engaging in the things around me. From the distant stares around me I know that I'm not alone, but I wonder how long it takes to get used to this.

We wander home and another minor, and hardly worth mentioning, event occurs. I really don't feel like it's that interesting, but Laurie's been giving me a hard time since it happened and I better lay out the facts before her memory further inflates the events. So, we're walking home (and nearing Chelsea) and I can tell by the line ahead that we're approaching a happen' place. As we near, we notice the line doesn't include any women and we shrug off the not-uncommon occurance in this part of town. Nearly past, a call come's out from the crowd, "Well . . . hello cutie!". Laurie and I turn to look and there's a nice fellow looking back . . . and up, and down . . . and not at Laurie. A little bit shocked I don't say much for a few blocks, but Laurie enjoys the field day of harassable comments for the remainder of the way home. So, for the record, I've determined that the problem is that Laurie let me buy this really gay hat. Yep, it's the hat. Wearing a potato sack tomorrow.

The Day of Blowouts, Wonder Woman, and Rollerskates

So the day started out with a bang…or more accurately, with a blowout. We’ve been hearing about the NYC bathrooms since we got here, but they’ve been pretty acceptable, so I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about – I understand now. We went back to the local Chelsea coffee shop this morning (the one with the Put Something Hot In You t-shirts). They have free wireless, so we worked and enjoyed our boy band coffees until I had to pee. I went in one bathroom, and in disgust, quickly backed out to try the other. Words really can’t describe the scene in both, but I’ll do my best. In addition to both toilets overflowing with muck, and on top of a solid layer of scum covering the walls and floor, it honestly looked like someone had gone in both rooms and done a disco spin while going number two. I can’t really understand how someone managed to reach such heights, but I will be scarred for a long time at the thought of those bathrooms.

We decided to leave when I returned back to where we were sitting and noticed J squirming in his chair. As we left, he mentioned that a young guy at the door had been giving him the eye since we arrived. I thought it was a good sign that he was starting to look more urban and hip, but he didn’t see it that way. The day got even better as we wandered home and encountered a young gay couple holding hands – one of the guys was wearing a boy scout uniform shirt, which made us chuckle.

We debated going to Staten Island, but as it was almost two and we hadn’t yet eaten anything, we decided to decide over lunch. The burgers at the pub on the corner near us are incredible and were served with a side of fries and a couple of McSorleys darks. The best was that we were entertained through lunch by four single business guys at the next table. They were drinking and enjoying burgers before heading back to the office – drinks that included more than three rounds of Jamesons served minus the rocks. It must be fun to work in their office!

I have failed to mention that a heat wave has enveloped this city, and we are literally melting every time we walk outside. It’s so hot and muggy today that we’re contemplating finding a beach, hence the Staten Island idea. It’s too late to head over there, so we decide to search out air conditioning in a museum, and head up to the Tim Hawkinson exhibit at the Whitney. The art is absolutely amazing – the artist is a combination mechanic/engineer/sculptor and he makes these incredible pieces out of regular stuff. There is a collection of working clocks made out of everything from a hairbrush to a light bulb filament -- there is even a sculpture of a bird made out of finger nail clippings and a machine that is built out of an old school desk that automatically signs his name over and over again. It was really a fantastic exhibit.

We stopped to enjoy a Snapple before wandering back through the park to catch the subway, and while sitting and people watching we decide that we like the Upper East Side. I thought it would be stuffy and conservative, but it wasn’t. There were lots of nannies and rich ladies and all, but there were people out and about doing stuff – it felt like a real neighborhood.

The park is gorgeous right now, with the blossoms covering the newly green ground, and although we were sweltering, it was a nice walk. We had to rush once we reached home, as we had plans to go to a local cabaret show starting at 7pm. The one-woman show was called “Wonder Woman the Musical” and turned out to be hilarious. J seemed a little apprehensive until she broke into a version of Britney Spears’ “Not Yet a Woman,” but with the words “Not Wonder Girl, Not Wonder Woman.” After that, he was a huge fan and will probably want to catch the show again next week.

Still singing “I Did It My Way,” we were fairly hungry again after the show, so we headed south in the village in search of something that didn’t require reservations. As we wandered, we started to recognize a street we had been down lots of times since we’ve been here as the street we visited on our last trip (in 2001). It was on this street that we had had a serious talk about staying together and then given up on talking and enjoyed a pizza. Since we’ve been back in the city, we’ve been trying to figure out which street and pizza joint we had gone to 4 years before, and were really happily surprised to rediscover it and enjoy a pizza here.

The night just continued to get better, after we stopped at home for a quick drink, then headed west to the Meatpacking District for…rollerskating Wednesday night at Roxy!!! Yes, a place where you can drink and rollerskate while dancing (as much as you can on skates) to such favorites as Madonna and 50 Cent. Only in NYC! We had a fantastic time and J found his true calling – he was meant for this gig. After three hours of skate dancing, he was pulling all kinds of crazy moves and I was proud to watch him skate by in a blur of sweaty stripes. Back at our boiling apartment with aching legs and sore ankles, it’s time to drift off to sweet dreams of “Come on let’s vogue…”

The day of nothing (a.k.a a real day)

Wow, what a day! Well, not really. I wish I had more interesting things to say, but this is one of the few days that didn't seem to have big or noticable events to document. Not sure if it's that we're becoming accustomed to our environment or it was just a regular day -- probably a lot of both. There's so much activity going on and things to choose from that I feel myself desensitizing to it, or I'm just exhausted from the level of effort. My list of things to see is growing short and I find myself longing for a good hike or day on the slopes. Parks provide some outlet, but I'm probably getting a little bit grumpy from the lack of concentrated exercise (walking only sort of counts).

We did have a wonderful lunch down in Tribeca. The film festival starts down here this week and you can feel the energy growing. There's people all around and celebrity sightings aplenty. We considered trying to volunteer for the festival, but apparently the 2000 volunteer slots filled in just a few days. In New York everyone seems to be a legend in their own mind and I imagine volunteering simply provides the opportunity for the big break. Honestly, this has got to be the easiest place to be a celebrity. The city's proletariat would never lower themselves to acknowledge anyone famous -- everyone seems to have the belief that they are the ones to be stared at!

After many many forays around the city we recognize things almost everywhere we go and find ourselves having to actively seek out new streets. Every corner brings out some familarity and now we just seem to be linking obscure side paths, especially in the neighborhoods south of our apartment. Though I know I should be interested in browsing all the unique shops I find myself ignoring most and only being tempted by the most interesting. Searching for clothes has become quick and fun and I can tell if I'm going to like a store the second I walk into it. I've been searching for another wedding ring too, but having very little luck -- most everything is junk and I'm confident that I would get ripped off if I tried to get something relatively expensive. This may be an item better found in Midtown.

We did enjoy a beautiful sunset over the Hudson River after a nice happy hour of margaritas and nachos. The Hudson river path was bustling with after-work activity and though I tried not to make fun of people it proves a very tempting pastime. Though we tried to find something compelling to do afterwards, Tuesday nights seem to be the quietest in the city. I would've pushed it, but Laurie is more discerning of her time so we wisely had a quiet evening at home. Just a regular day.

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…

Harlem and the Oasis

We've been wanting (or at least talking) about going to Harlem since we got here. On our last trip to NYC we went through Harlem on one of those big red open-air tour buses, which at the time, was close enough for us. It just seemed like a large, deserted, and unfriendly place compared with the rest of Manhattan. Not feeling like we approached the area with an open-mind we were determined to try again.

We started off with some coffee (I feel like a broken record writing this) and enjoyed the casual atmoshere of a Sunday morning in the Village. The Village is truely the place for us, as all the people, including the weekend tourists, have a laid-back attitude and we're finding as likely as not people will return a passing smile. No worries about trying to live here though -- a casual glance in the window of a real estate office showed a floor of $750k. We left this enclave for the unknown -- way uptown.

For some reason we found ourselves in subway hell today. All of the trains were off schedule, route, and we couldn't make heads or tails of the changes. We somehow wound up in, what is quickly becoming my least-favorite part of town, Midtown. We had to brave the bustling crowds gawking in the windows along 5th Avenue and trying to find that perfect pair of designer-knockoff sunglasses. We made our way to Columbus Circle and were more than happy to descend into the smelly darkness of the subway (which I've finally settled on is mainly the scent of axle grease accentuated with the occasional whift of urine) and continue on our journey.

This time we carefully read the subway signs and got on, what we thought, was the correct train. Our plan for touring Harlem was very simple and we took great pains to document our route without having to yank out the guidebook. This was recommended by the guidebooks, which seemed to have mixed feelings on Harlem -- they greatly celebrated the history and importance of the area, but seemed uneasy about outright suggesting a casual stroll. Based on our uneasyness in Morningside Heights (a bordering neighborhood) and the rock throwing (okay, pebble) incident yesterday, I was more than happy to have a complete plan. Part of this plan was to go early and on a Sunday, the thinking being that this would be the least likely time to encounter riff-raff -- which regardless of race, upbringing, or location in the country seems to be young males (I remember being a jackass too).

In accordance with our earlier experience, our train shot past the stop we wanted. Sick of trying to guess about where we might end up on another train ride we decided to hop off at the next opportunity and brave the outside with the plan that we could run and hide back in the subway if necessary. Looking back, this area was one of my favorite places of the day and, though I wouldn't hang out here on a regular basis, really no more threatening than anywhere else in the city. Most information says to not wind up in areas without other people around, but we broke those guidelines most of today and lived to tell about it.

We made our way back to our planned route without any problems and saw a few cool things that we would have otherwised missed (I haven't tracked down the name of the place, but there was a magnificent church perched on a large rock outcropping overlooking the city). In fact, we (gasp!) even had a car slam on it's breaks and the driver friendily wave us past with nary a honk or flip of finger. Back on route, we wound our way through the sights of Harlem -- which is better described as simply getting a feel for the neighborhood rather than encountering lively tourist sites. People were out and about casually conversing on their stoops and on major streetcorners. Though my guard was up, it was quite difficult to feel unsafe as little old ladies dressed in their Sunday best (which generally consisted of a smart dress, gloves, and a matching hat) sauntered past. We saw barely any tourists, or any other gringos for that matter, which really added to the feeling that we were in a real neighborhood. I enjoyed upper Harlem the most, probably because it was the quietest, had the most little old ladies, and seemed totally relaxed. I seriously doubt anyone noticed or cared about our passing through.

Lower Harlem is quite a bit different as this is a major shopping area that attacts large groups of people. Though I saw some unique and really cool brightly colored sneaks for sale on the street, we decided to leave the crowds and head down to a Jamaican vegan restaurant. Not wanting to miss the chance at such a unusual culinary opportunity we went in and had a wonderful lunch of vegan salmon (quite good!), fried pumpkin, and very tasty plantains. In the restaurant we debated what to do from here -- either go back through the crowds and find the subway or walk the 15 blocks down to Central Park. We figured that we could make our way through the area called Little Senegal without any trouble as I could probably whip out the name of a drum rhythm or two in their native language if necessary. It was neat to pass people talking in the street that speaking languages that I definitely had never heard before.

Nearing the park, we experienced the same sort of tension that marred our trip through Morningside Heights. I heard a few under-the-breath type of comments, but paid them no attention. My theory is that both this area and Morningside Heights are noticeably tense as they buffer two very different cultures -- much like the somewhat crazy border towns in Mexico have no resemblance to those further inside the country. Bidding a very pleasant experience in Harlem goodbye we entered the northern end of Central Park.

Ah, Central Park! Nothing short of an oasis! Even packed to the gills with Sunday crowds enjoying the first good day of spring, this place is awesome. I felt immediate relaxation as we crossed the street into the park. Only a few hundred yards into the park I noticed the familar white markings of chalk on a large rock outcropping. Bouldering! Though my shoes weren't the best I did my best to pull a few moves and felt the immediate calm and focus that climbing brings to me. We relaxed here for awhile and then enjoyed a casual stroll down through the park. Walking here is a like being a little kid again, as there is always an interesting sidetrail leading to a hidden archway or pond. I was in near heaven. We stopped to take a quick nap on the Great Oval (in the center of the park), visited the Strawberry Fields dedicated to John Lennon, walked in step with a lively beat provided by an animated group of latin drummers, and even got ice cream. I could probably live here.

With the sun slowly nearing the horizon, we made our way out of the park and back into the Twillight Zone - er, subway. Don't know what it was today, but we wound up on a downtown train that somehow stopped mid-route and headed back uptown (not kidding). Finally lucking out and finding a train going in the right direction, we got back to our neighborhood. Continuing our run of 30 straight meals out, we stopped off at a great barbecue place in the Meat Packing district and enjoyed the final glimmers of the sunset. Not needing any more adventure we called it a day.