Noo Yoik - Pt 2
Saturday began with a leisurely breakfast followed by a visit to MOMA. If you think that website is cool, the museum itself more than lives up to it. The modern painting and sculpture galleries contained works by the likes of Van Gogh, Rothko, Giacometti and Warhol that even a relative artistic philistine such as myself could recognise and appreciate, and the lovely little sculpture garden seemed a fine place to relax.
I, though, was off to Greenwich Village to meet up with cousin Steve and his wife Nancy. My great-grandfather and Steve's grandpa were brothers, so that must make us first or second cousins once removed, or maybe twice. Who knows, or cares? Because Steve and Nancy were fabulous, a bohemian older couple who lived in a wonderfully cluttered flat above a Cuban resturant in the heart of the village, and who seemed to know everyone. Yes, Greenwich Village (and West Village, which appeared to be two sides of the same coin) genuinely has a village atmosphere, where people say hi to each other in the street and they all sit on residents' committees to fight the City's evil plans to build ugly new riverside towerblocks.
But it's also an incredibly cool and laid-back place with jazz bars, a place for hipsters to hang out in Washington Square Park, and whole streets full of tattoo parlours and fetish stores for the more oddball types. And naturally lots of celebs live there too - Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick are one one of the said committees, or at least were until very recently, and Kiefer Sutherland gets drunk there and acts obnoxious all the time (allegedly).
I was taken for drinks at a really expensive restaurant whose owners Steve and Nancy somehow knew and were thus able to order drinks on the cheap. The owners were a gregarious, annoyingly gorgeous couple who I found impossible to dislike despite their obvious advantages. It was a tantalising glimpse into a totally different New York, the upper echelons of Big Apple society which will forever be out of reach to your bog-standard tourist.
We also toured around Chinatown (biggest community of its kind outside China, apparently), including a random little restaurant which used to be horrendously dingy and full of weird people - Steve seemed bizarrely disappointed that this was no longer the case. Then there was the enormous street fair in Little Italy, where no stereotype was left unturned and I kept expecting people from The Sopranos to pop up. After more drinks in a jazz bar and another cafe with live music, I finally said goodbye and headed Pod-wards around midnight. With all due respect to the rest of the family, Steve and Nancy are by far the coolest Goulds I've ever met. Thanks guys.
I strolled around DUMBO (gotta love those abbreviations), which didn't seem that big to me so that probably means I missed out on half of it due to a combination of impatience and high velocity. I do this a lot. I did walk through the beautiful, terribly expensive neighbourhood of Brooklyn Heights, albeit via a hellish, empty dockside road which seemed to go on forever. That wasn't the route I'd planned to take, in case you were wondering.
After enjoying the matinee of West Side Story, I'd love to tell you I left the sleazier, touristy part of town to go in search of more cultured pursuits. As it was, I was hungry, thirsty and wanted to watch some football (that's "proper" NFL-style football), and being a single male I headed straight for the nearest Hooters. My waitress (hi Stacie!) thought I was brave for coming all the way to NY on my own, but bearing in mind she essentially gets paid to flirt with guys for a living I wasn't sure how true this was - I could equally be called a loser for having nobody to go on holiday with. Still, at that moment I had sport, beer, a burger and a scantily clad girl who was at least pretending to fancy me, so I didn't really care.
Having done the Rockefeller Center on the first afternoon, I wanted to do the top of the Empire State Building at night. Everyone said "Top of the Rock" should take priority and they were right - the queues for the Empire were huge and the view from the top was slightly worse despite it being a taller building, making the whole experience somewhat meh. Plus I ended up walking the final six floors, just so I could get up and down a bit faster. Bloody cheek.
New York is similar to London in many ways, and I was hardly stepping a long way out of my comfort zone with this trip. Still, plenty of cliches were proved to be pleasingly accurate - there really is steam coming out of the manhole covers, they really do have shoeshine boys outside Grand Central, and when burly New Yorkers take a tumble in the middle of the street they really do say "god-DAMMIT!" in exactly the way you'd expect.
Speaking of cliches, I wanted to avoid both "NYC goes up to 11" and "it's like London on acid!", but sadly both are true. The buildings are taller, the streets bigger, the neon signs gaudier. It was ace. Maybe there's something in this travelling on your own thing after all...
I, though, was off to Greenwich Village to meet up with cousin Steve and his wife Nancy. My great-grandfather and Steve's grandpa were brothers, so that must make us first or second cousins once removed, or maybe twice. Who knows, or cares? Because Steve and Nancy were fabulous, a bohemian older couple who lived in a wonderfully cluttered flat above a Cuban resturant in the heart of the village, and who seemed to know everyone. Yes, Greenwich Village (and West Village, which appeared to be two sides of the same coin) genuinely has a village atmosphere, where people say hi to each other in the street and they all sit on residents' committees to fight the City's evil plans to build ugly new riverside towerblocks.
But it's also an incredibly cool and laid-back place with jazz bars, a place for hipsters to hang out in Washington Square Park, and whole streets full of tattoo parlours and fetish stores for the more oddball types. And naturally lots of celebs live there too - Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick are one one of the said committees, or at least were until very recently, and Kiefer Sutherland gets drunk there and acts obnoxious all the time (allegedly).
I was taken for drinks at a really expensive restaurant whose owners Steve and Nancy somehow knew and were thus able to order drinks on the cheap. The owners were a gregarious, annoyingly gorgeous couple who I found impossible to dislike despite their obvious advantages. It was a tantalising glimpse into a totally different New York, the upper echelons of Big Apple society which will forever be out of reach to your bog-standard tourist.
We also toured around Chinatown (biggest community of its kind outside China, apparently), including a random little restaurant which used to be horrendously dingy and full of weird people - Steve seemed bizarrely disappointed that this was no longer the case. Then there was the enormous street fair in Little Italy, where no stereotype was left unturned and I kept expecting people from The Sopranos to pop up. After more drinks in a jazz bar and another cafe with live music, I finally said goodbye and headed Pod-wards around midnight. With all due respect to the rest of the family, Steve and Nancy are by far the coolest Goulds I've ever met. Thanks guys.
* * * * *
I'd booked tickets for West Side Story on Broadway for Sunday afternoon, which gave me a few hours to complete my postponed walk over Brooklyn Bridge and see a bit of another borough (Staten Island barely counts, to be honest). The sun had finally come out, along with a multitude of cyclists and joggers - in fact, the pedestrian path across the magnificent bridge must be one of the busiest in the whole city.
I strolled around DUMBO (gotta love those abbreviations), which didn't seem that big to me so that probably means I missed out on half of it due to a combination of impatience and high velocity. I do this a lot. I did walk through the beautiful, terribly expensive neighbourhood of Brooklyn Heights, albeit via a hellish, empty dockside road which seemed to go on forever. That wasn't the route I'd planned to take, in case you were wondering.
After enjoying the matinee of West Side Story, I'd love to tell you I left the sleazier, touristy part of town to go in search of more cultured pursuits. As it was, I was hungry, thirsty and wanted to watch some football (that's "proper" NFL-style football), and being a single male I headed straight for the nearest Hooters. My waitress (hi Stacie!) thought I was brave for coming all the way to NY on my own, but bearing in mind she essentially gets paid to flirt with guys for a living I wasn't sure how true this was - I could equally be called a loser for having nobody to go on holiday with. Still, at that moment I had sport, beer, a burger and a scantily clad girl who was at least pretending to fancy me, so I didn't really care.
Having done the Rockefeller Center on the first afternoon, I wanted to do the top of the Empire State Building at night. Everyone said "Top of the Rock" should take priority and they were right - the queues for the Empire were huge and the view from the top was slightly worse despite it being a taller building, making the whole experience somewhat meh. Plus I ended up walking the final six floors, just so I could get up and down a bit faster. Bloody cheek.
* * * * *
Monday was my last day. I'd planned to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, widely hyped as the best museum in the world... ever. Steve had said not to go on Sunday as it would be hellishly busy - he'd also said not to pay the full $20 discretionary entry fee, because seeing as the place has so many ultra-rich backers why should they expect the general public to cough up so much? Yeah, up the workers!
What Steve had neglected to mention was that the Met was closed on Mondays. Curse these staggered opening times! That did at least mean that other museums were open, so I ended up at the Museum of Natural History on the other side of Central Park. And there was lots of cool space stuff and even more cool dinosaur stuff, so I was pretty happy.
All that was left was for me to get a shuttle bus to the airport, although I had to put up with the "seasoned traveller" mother/daughter combo who'd smugly checked in online already and then got in a terrible tizzy because they'd cut things mighty fine and underestimated the NY late afternoon traffic. Yes, the bus took longer than advertised in rush hour, funny that.
Despite getting stung for an $8 beer in an airport sports bar, I was sad to be leaving when the time came.
What Steve had neglected to mention was that the Met was closed on Mondays. Curse these staggered opening times! That did at least mean that other museums were open, so I ended up at the Museum of Natural History on the other side of Central Park. And there was lots of cool space stuff and even more cool dinosaur stuff, so I was pretty happy.
All that was left was for me to get a shuttle bus to the airport, although I had to put up with the "seasoned traveller" mother/daughter combo who'd smugly checked in online already and then got in a terrible tizzy because they'd cut things mighty fine and underestimated the NY late afternoon traffic. Yes, the bus took longer than advertised in rush hour, funny that.
Despite getting stung for an $8 beer in an airport sports bar, I was sad to be leaving when the time came.
* * * * *
New York is similar to London in many ways, and I was hardly stepping a long way out of my comfort zone with this trip. Still, plenty of cliches were proved to be pleasingly accurate - there really is steam coming out of the manhole covers, they really do have shoeshine boys outside Grand Central, and when burly New Yorkers take a tumble in the middle of the street they really do say "god-DAMMIT!" in exactly the way you'd expect.
Speaking of cliches, I wanted to avoid both "NYC goes up to 11" and "it's like London on acid!", but sadly both are true. The buildings are taller, the streets bigger, the neon signs gaudier. It was ace. Maybe there's something in this travelling on your own thing after all...
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