I’m living in New York, New York this summer while I work at IBM Research. From the offset, I was skeptical of the city. Any city, really. I grew up in Colorado, where the population of the entire state is less than a third of that of the NYC metro area.
The first week was a little rocky, but mostly because I was unfamiliar with my neighborhood and wasn’t sure where people went to do their grocery shopping, to eat, grab a drink and so forth. By Monday of the following week, I knew my commute to work like the back of my hand, blending in among the real New Yorkers with the disaffected forward-looking stare that says, “I just want to get where I’m going, pal.”
When I first arrived, I was on a red-eye flight and got in around 9. I had contemplated taking a taxi to my place, both wanting to have ridden in a New York City Yellowcab and not wanting to deal with public transit, but when I got there I felt like I ought to hit the ground running. Riding on the bus, I examined the faces and demeanors of all those around me, wondering to myself which best embodied the New Yorker. On the bus, off the bus, transfer to another bus in Harlem. The name of the neighborhood brought to mind poverty and violence, and frankly, as a wet-behind-the-ears exhausted-and-irritable honkey with luggage, I had no idea what to expect. Getting off the bus and walking to the transfer, I passed the undeniable odor of marijuana, urine, drunk and irate homeless people and so forth. Bear in mind this was about 10 am on a Sunday. But while waiting, I realized something sort of magical about the city — no one cares. If you don’t get in anyone’s way or make yourself particularly noticeable, but just wear that look of just wanting to get where you’re going, no one will notice you’re there.
I had imagined that it would be a city of all kinds (which, it really is) but also a city of all kinds of rude. This was a major misconception. Though most citizens would not return a “hello” from a stranger on the street, most will help with directions when asked and apologize when they bump into you. I had hoped that at some point during the summer I would accidentally bump into someone who would then call back at me “hey, I’m walkin’ here!” This seems unlikely to happen at this point.
There are some stereotypes that are true to TV life. Attractive, busy and exasperated professional women are in abundance, a la Liz Lemon of 30 Rock, for example. There is a certain level of dress that seems to be expected here, even on the street. Most men wear shirts and resort to jeans as their most casual and most women, at least this time of year, wear dresses, though I think that might be because of how outrageously hot it can get.
The New Yorker’s hatred of tourists is a uniting factor, and something that I began to understand almost immediately. It can be easy to get distracted by the enormous buildings, and visual stimuli, but most inhabitants pass these things every day and are just on their way to work, or dinner, or a friend’s. I’m gaining a sense of what parts of the city to avoid for this reason – it’s very frustrating to get stuck behind a slow-walking tourist who’s aloofness makes him meander windingly down the sidewalk, impossible to pass. Times Square is a death trap — three blocks of fanny-pack-wearing fathers trying to decide what to see next, keep track of lagging children and generally getting in everyone’s way. But, let the tourists have Times Square.
Don’t take too long here. A friend who shall remain nameless visited me here, and used to the slower-paced life in Boulder, CO, she pondered what she wanted from a pizza place only after we had gotten to the front of the line. On another occasion, she flip-flopped on her order. To be fair, these places weren’t extremely busy, but it brought to light the fact that there’s an expectation here that you have been to a place before, know exactly what you want, and can complete your transaction in less than a minute. In some ways, this is a charm that I like; there are many places to eat here, but I’ve quickly developed preferences and can walk into my favorite pizza place and make my order like a regular.
My favorite things about New York couldn’t be experienced in a vacation here. When I first moved in, for example, I was so pleased with the view from my place. Not that it’s particularly incredible (I live on the Upper East Side and I don’t know what sort of reputation the neighborhood holds as far as views), but I like it all the same. I look out my window and I see dozens of different buildings that I would call skyscrapers, all designed differently, peppered with garden terraces and charming signs of age. The jagged horizon is somehow enchanting, and my curtains always stay open. At night the neighboring buildings provide a soft and diffuse light, and different patterns of lit windows.
I love walking down certain streets and being able to see down the avenues, the tiny separations between giant buildings. Properly positioned, you can sometimes see a mile or so before a hill obstructs the view. It reminds me of a project I saw to create a horizonless map of Manhattan.
The last few hours of sunlight in the day are perfect. People talk about the Colorado sky, or the sunsets we have, but I’ve never seen light quality quite like this. It’s a beautiful golden warmth every day without fail. It makes me want to curl up and take a nap, or stretch out on the lawn and enjoy the end of the day. In the park, this deliciousness is only compounded by the reservoirs, the heavy trees and residents playing frisbee, picnicking and taking walks along the paths. It’s a beautiful time, and there’s an odd sense of community to it. I’ve often wondered if such a place existed, where there isn’t any one group that’s out and enjoying the place, or even a tight-knit group of neighbors. But there is a dense packing of total strangers who can come to the same place and enjoy the grass and the outdoors.
Almost most of all, I love Central Park. I was excited when I found my place because it’s a mere three cross-town blocks from Central Park. I bike around there almost every day, and it’s almost always a treat. There are hordes of runners, cyclists, rollerbladers and even a few cross-country skiers. As a cyclist, you have to keep a watchful eye on the bipeds you’re passing as they sometimes have a tendency to step out in front of you. We largely ignore crosswalks, and only the few cars on the road observe them. There are some sections that are filled with horse-drawn carriages, bikeshaws and more adventurous tourists who decided to rent a bike and ride around the park, but you make do. Sometimes it’s actually quite a thrill to be riding as fast as you can and dodging these obstacles and having a little friendly battle with other riders. This, too, is a nice feature about riding here — no matter what your level, you can always find an equivalent cyclist for a little friendly competition and motivation.
Biking in the city is also a pretty big rush. In the morning hours, most of the usually-busy roads are ghost-towns, but seventh avenue at 7 in the evening is a sea of taxis. I was riding down one day to Penn Station in the evening, catching a train out to Long Island to see a friend. A bicyclist will make it down there faster than a taxi, but it’s not for the faint of heart. Sprint, breaks, sprint, dodge pedestrian, coast, zip between cars, breaks, sprint. There are no bike lanes, but rather only the spaces between cars. The upside of this game of Frogger is that you can zip out between any two lanes where there’s space. I’m not quite sure how cab drivers feel about us, but I imagine that if nothing else, they’re quite used to people with a death-wish.
Had I never spent more than several weeks here, I never would have discovered what I love about the city. These are the things one does and notices not when trying to visit the Met or Times Square or the Empire State Building, but only when you’ve enough time to be alright with not packing every waking hour or weekend with a trip to somewhere new and exciting. This is the meandering life, and enjoying it.
