Monday started with a horrible dilemma: rise early and do as much as we can with our limited time or sleep in cause it’s my birthday. Erin chose for me; repeatedly. I rose from bed despite my best efforts.
We grabbed breakfast to go and ate on the local church steps. Everyone had started to work so the people watching was primarily limited to the power walking mom’s (with and without strollers) and the nanny’s walking the kids. Of course dogs abounded as well.
Stuffed with a bacon and egg bagel we walked along the Jackie Kennedy Reservoir to the Guggenheim. Erin was kind enough to wait in line for our City Pass tickets while I roamed around the lobby taking pictures.
Trying to enter the galleries I discovered my messenger bag had to be checked despite it being smaller then half the women’s purses in the gallery. Grrrrr…. This trip was a fine example of Security Theater but that’s another post.
The volunteer coordinating the lines to enter and for the coat check took his job waaaay to seriously and was a sign of things to come.
“Come on people the line goes around behind the elevator. It’s not that hard to follow simple instructions,” he shouted at us.
A-hole.
The museum building is impressive. A ramp winds around the main lobby with art displayed along the inside. Entrances to hidden galleries emerged as we came around turns and corners.
The art on display in the hidden galleries and slowly winding ramp was another story. We didn’t get it. The baby/Swiss army knife was disturbing. The stacks of wood blocks looked like a grade school art project gone wrong. I’m fairly certain Erin’s favorite part of the museum was the exit.
We walked a few blocks and hopped on the subway to Battery Park. We saw the usual sites from the shore: the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and the Merchant Marines memorial. There was also a sculpture from the World Trade Center; the last surviving structure from September 11th. It had a place of prominence within the entrance to the park.
Of course the most entertaining of our visit was dueling street performers. Both were dressed as the Statue of Liberty and posed for photographs with tourists. This idea was far from novel and had variations all over the city. However, one apparently showed up later than the other and set up shop a few feet away. Then had the nerve to ask for a smaller “tip.” Needless to say the shouting match ensued and the masks came off. As entertaining as it was, we didn’t stick around to see how it was resolved.
Instead we headed north along the river towards the North Cove. The walk quiet and peaceful; an oasis from the hustle and bustle on the other side of the block. We took in our last breath of fresh air and serenity and headed into the city. Along the way we admired the brass mural to commemorate 9/11. It was well done, but difficult to admire beneath the scaffolding.
Heading towards Wall Street we took the foot bridge along side the World Trade Centers lot. Stopping to appreciate the size of the former buildings and pay our respects. It’s a shame the site is mired in such bureaucracy.
Wall Street was the most uninviting mess of construction and people that we quickly made our way out. The Wall Street Bull would allude us that day. Completely turned around we ended up at Seaport. This was rather a fortunate accident since it was our intended destination.
We stood in line waiting for our Brooklyn bus tour and had no idea the character we would soon meet, find frustrating, then grow to love. She reminded me of a German Yoda. A seasoned vet with a certain, strict German style of greeting and coordinating her guests. And if you acted out of turn or did anything outside her guidelines she had no qualms about telling you so. Of course, that assumes you could understand what she said in her thick, German accent. Not to mention her somewhat accurate sense of the English language. We were fortunate to get a seat on top of the bus where we could see her. Our guests below were not so fortunate and didn’t have the luxury of seeing where she was pointing, or just looking, as she spoke. Phrases like “on the right” and “ahead on your left” were either missing or replaced with “now over here” and “this building [while pointing].”
An acute case of the giggles were set off early when she described a block of popular stores: “They’re very low to the ground so it feels like shopping in the country.” Yes, just what I thought as I was in the middle of Brooklyn; like I somehow wandered off into the country side.
There was the history of the Dodgers who got their name from “having to dodge under the trains as they played the base ball.” Not to mention that “the Library of Congress in Washington DC is the largest library in the nation.” Did I get on the wrong bus at some point?
Foolish enough to stand up and take a picture? “SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN! I only say this for your safety. And I don’t wants to have to do the paperwork. I wouldn’t know who to calls on your vacation. You’re traveling havings fun and I have to call yours family.”
Alas, the tour came to an end back at Seaport. Most of the tourists departed to walk around. We stayed on board to ride it back to Times Square. Besides, how could we leave our wonderful guide?
Starving we walked blocks past dozens of restaurants in search of The Queen of Sheba. A quaint Ethiopian restaurant and Erin’s first Ethiopian experience. Ethiopian food is fantastic with dishes similar to a thick stew. What makes it unique is the lack of utensils. Instead the food is served on a giant plate (one for the both of us) along with spongy, pliable bread. You tear off a piece of the bread and use it to grab the food eating them both at once. Aside from the great flavor (I’m a sucker for lamb) Ethiopian dining is a very communal experience; definitely only to be shared with family and close friends. To Erin’s surprise, she enjoyed both the food and the experience.
Next was a trip back downtown in search of Grumpy’s cafe in Chelsea. Grumpy’s is a great little cafe with lots of smart-looking people sipping coffee on the benches outside or having heated discussions amongst open books on the tables. The cafe itself was very minimalist and clean; very slick. The barista who greeted us was far from grumpy. He asked what we’d like with a big smile; almost like he’s enjoyed too much of his own product. When I mentioned I came for the coffee from the Clover coffee machine I instantly got street cred. No longer was I some Midwesterner with a camera strapped around my neck and bad shoes. Suddenly we were long lost brothers reunited over an expensive piece of coffee equipment. We talked about the Clover and he explained the elaborate extraction process. We talked a bit about my time as a barista and Tony’s family history with coffee; three generations of coffee. He seemed impressed that such history and quality could come from such a place as Ohio. As for the coffee and the reason for our excursion: it was the cleanest, tastiest cup of coffee I’ve ever had.
With coffee in hand we climbed back aboard the subway and headed for the Empire State Building. Having tickets ahead of time eliminated a great deal of the wait as we jumped straight to the elevators; at least the first one. In no time we were atop the iconic building with a breathtaking view. We slowly made our way around the top peering out on the city shoulder to shoulder with some of our closest friends. The night city at night from so far up was almost a different town; quiet and still. Cold and content (and after many failed attempts at picture taking) we made our way back down to the street.
I don’t know why, but we decided to stop in to the local comic book store. I perused the aisles and aisles of comics admiring the artwork. Erin whipped out her cell and called home. I answered mine as my brother called. We talked on the phone for a bit as I flipped through some of the Batman comics. Something about a superhero with no super powers has always appealed to me.
With less then one day left in the city of cities we were bound and determined to get an early start the next day. Tired we lumbered back to the subway and our hotel for a good night’s sleep.
All Things Dave 