YES! WE ARE ALL INDIVIDUALS!

Dear Fashionistas of New York: You think you’re all cool and pretty, and that may be true. Certainly moreso than me (but that’s not hard). But if you think you’re simultaneously unique and individual, you are mistaken. Since you’re all wearing the exact same Buddy Holly style spectacles, and since you’re all wearing the exact same Erik Estrada a la ‘Chips’ sunnies, your uniqueness and individuality is a bit of an illusion. Not that you’d give a shit what I think or say regardless. Note to Australia: these things are on the way, if they aren't already there.

I say this by way of pointing out a conversation Cathy and I had before we diverted to Boston for a couple of days. She said I was too busy ‘seeing the sights’ of New York City to interact with the locals, and she was right. I wouldn’t necessarily say I went out of my way to begin interacting with the locals on this return trip, but it seems to have happened to some extent regardless, without me meaning to – and I say ‘to some extent’ because it’s often not clear in New York City who’s a tourist and who’s not – but in any event, if I *have* been interacting with the locals, I’ve been left a bit underwhelmed. But only because it’s been impossible to ignore just how similar people behave here, which is incredible given the linguistic, cultural and ethnic diversity. You might say that, from my perspective, some of the shine and gloss has been knocked off. I suppose this was bound to happen – my previous experience with the city was a single, brilliant day in 2005, and I’ve been telling people ever since that ‘it’s an amazing town’ on the back of a single day. I realise now how silly this was, because even after only a week, my impressions changed markedly. I’m sure if I lived there for a month, or even lived there permanently, they’d change again. Cities are like that; this is no great revelation.

I’m typing this on the train from Penn Station in Manhattan to Niagara Falls (no wifi on the train). The train takes 8 and a half hours and is entirely within New York State until the Canadian border. It’s a deceptively big state, and appears to be mostly uninhabited, apart from the tiny little island at the southern tip and its surrounding areas, where probably 90%+ of the State’s population live. We go back into Canada at the end of this journey, so if you’re reading this, it means we’re back in the Commonwealth (with QE2 on all the banknotes) and out of the Republic. It’s been a while since I last wrote, so here are the edited highlights from the past few days.

We returned to New York City from Boston via Amtrak four days ago, and checked in at the hotel, which is in the ‘cool’ part of the city – so cool it has a tin of Campbell’s Soup autographed by Andy Warhol in a sealed Perspex cube just outside the lift. You may think this redefines what ‘art’ is (that an everyday object bought from the supermarket that is subsequently signed by an artist can make it ‘art’, given the right contextual setting), or you may think it’s all a complete wank. I report, you decide; but I think the former, for what it’s worth. I think we can all agree, though, that whether the tin of soup has any intrinsic artistic merit or not, it should never be opened: given Warhol died in 1987, the contents of the tin are at least 25 years old.

In distinct contrast, we had an incredibly good, fresh, local, vegan lunch at this Italian eatery called Eataly, then wandered around for a while but it was hot, and we ended up at a bar which I am reasonably sure appeared in ‘Anything Else’ (and I *swore* I wouldn’t mention Woody Allen films this time, not even the crappier ones). Wandering around further, we traipsed past the buildings of NYU (no campus as such to be seen; is a bit like UTS) and ended up at Washington Square, where Cathy dipped her feet in the fountain.  A gorgeous little park, of which there seem to be a number in the lower parts of Manhattan. Looking back through my photographs, the Empire State Building looms in the distance. More of this anon, but first, we stopped off for a drink (did I mention it was hot?) where I had a glass of stout from Sri Lanka. Yeah, you read that correctly. Hard to imagine a country with a climate like Sri Lanka’s making a stout, but there you go.

So we got drunk and climbed the Empire State Building. It was *much* bigger than a nickel. Thankfully Cathy bought ‘premium’ tickets to the observation deck which effectively meant we had priority into the lifts and up onto the viewing platform on the 86^th floor, which we reckon saved us about 2 hours of queuing (this city LOVES a good queue). I have difficulties with heights and I’m really proud of myself for having made it to the top (you could upgrade to go up an extra 20 or so floors, but for someone like me, what would be the point?), and there’s no doubt about it, from 86 floors up, the city looks incredible. We were up there at dusk, walking around on the open-air observation deck, and while I was gazing at the Chrysler building, its lights came on. Then the lights of all the other buildings around it came on. I’ll never forget that, nor will I ever forget Cathy for organising it all. I took a number of photographs but I couldn’t bring myself to walk right to the edge of the observation deck so they all feature the protective iron bars. Cathy got some good photographs of the city, though.

Three days ago, we caught the subway to the southernmost point of Manhattan to get the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and the immigration museum on Ellis Island. Neither of us got off the boat at the Statue – we were more interested in the immigration museum, which is where some of Cathy’s distant (or not-so-distant) relatives migrated to the US. While thinking about the concepts of ‘freedom’ and ‘liberty’, and trying to understand why they are so revered here, the thought struck me that self-government perhaps came to the Australian colonies much more easily than it did to the American colonies, and maybe as a result, we Australians tend not to think too much about ‘liberty’ and ‘freedom’ because these values had already been ‘won’ on our behalf by the American colonies, and a ‘revolution’ wasn’t required for Australia to achieve self-determination. Perhaps this is why these concepts don’t have such a pride of place in the Australian political lexicon (which is probably why we’ve invented ‘egalitarianism’ (yeah, right) and the god-awful ‘mateship’).

After we got off the boat, we walked up to Wall Street, where Cathy left me to pursue her own individual interests and I’ve forgotten what they were – she can tell you. However, being a Monday, the museum I wanted to go to was closed, because all the museums have nice sleeps-in on Monday mornings that last all the way until Tuesday mornings. So I walked all the way back to our hotel on 27^th street, which from the southern tip of the island, I reckon must be about half the length of Manhattan. I had very sore feet upon arrival, but I managed to see lots of very similar sunglasses along the way. See earlier lament. We stayed in the room for a while and cooled down until it was time for dinner, whereupon we went to an ‘authentic’ (i.e. pre-Revolutionary) Russian restaurant. Food was nice (wallpaper was very White, and not at all Red), but I redouble my efforts now not to eat any fish at all. Also, Russian pickled tomatoes are unbelievably strong (hard to taste the tomato over all the pickle).

Two days ago, I went to a museum just up the road (can’t remember what it was called) but there was a small exhibition on Philip Glass’ ‘Einstein on the Beach’, which featured the original story board sketches for the opera, the original score (backlit and illuminated, and you could tell it was original because you could see the corrections and where pieces had been pasted on etc) and a 20 minute video loop of performances in Europe in the 1970s. I really wish I had the opportunity to see this live – these current concerts surely have to be the last ones ever – but if they capture one of the performances and produce a DVD, I’ll be just as happy. I was the only person in the room and I loved it. This may be the closest I’ll get to seeing it performed live. Waiting on that DVD. Fingers crossed.

Came back to the hotel room, and Cathy and I caught the subway to Lower Manhattan to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d been happy enough to have seen all 5 boroughs from the circumnavigation of Manhattan last week, but we’ve now been to at least one other on foot. Got to the other side and had lunch, but this was more of an excuse to get out of the blistering heat. Food being delicious was a pure bonus. Ferry back across the East River to Wall St was efficient and quick, and I’ll leave it to Cathy to elaborate further. Here, we separated again: Cathy wen to the museum I mentioned earlier (though categorically *NOT* to see the Philip Glass exhibition) while I visited the Museum of American Finance, which was extremely interesting (though, I thought, a bit glib at times). After, I wandered around Lower Manhattan, going back to Battery Park and visiting the Bowling Green, which I think was the first public park on the island. At this point, the heat was getting too much, and upon receipt of a text message from Cathy saying she was heading back to the room, I gave her a call and we met up in Midtown for a drink, but I mistakenly got on an express train and ended up going uptown a bit too far, getting out at Grand Central Station – the building interior is truly breathtaking. After a drink, we went to dinner at an Indian restaurant which was vegetarian and kosher – there were no wines from anywhere other than Israel. I admit I don’t understand what is required for something to be considered kosher, but I would have thought that since there are no animal products in wine, that any wine would make the grade, but I guess I’m wrong. I just hope it isn’t a way to give Israel’s wine a bit of a leg-up at the expense of all other wines, because Israeli wine is not very nice, and is truly breathtaking in a more accurate sense of the word.

And yesterday morning, for our last day in the city, we wandered around the middle of the island. Went to this giant three-storey shop in/near Times Square devoted entirely to M&Ms. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Finally found the Atlas statue, which was treated by both of us with complete disdain for about half a minute. Having each drunk our fill of rational self-interest, we sent our separate ways (how appropriate). I ended up wandering around the Bowery on the Lower East Side, which is a particularly unclean part of town. Had lunch at a cool little French bistro, and I was the only customer in the building from the time I walked in until the time I left. Food was magnificent, but the windows were open and the wind was blowing in, which meant a lovely waft of garbage accompanied the meal. Found where CBGBs used to be – it’s now a kitchen accessories store, covered in the now-obligatory scaffolding. This is sad.

Met up with Cathy back at the room, and we walked to a part of town where the authorities have renovated a still-existing part of the old elevated railway infrastructure into a public park and walkway. A brilliant idea, and the cleanness and beauty of what had been done with an obsolescent piece of infrastructure contrasted with the poorly-maintained and frankly quite ugly Bowery region I’d been in only hours before. An island of contrasts. Chelsea Markets was at the end of the elevated walkway, but this wasn’t what I’d expected: I thought it’d be a farmers’ market similar to the one we saw in Seattle but it was more about high-end cafes.

For dinner, we returned to Eataly as it was so awesome the first time around. The guy behind the counter remembered us; remarkable, considering (a) we’re tourists and (b) he must see 800 faces a day. Food was just as good as before, and I’m glad we did this. As the sun set and the moon rose, we dawdled around the Flatiron Building until the security guys who’d cordoned off half the area because they were filming a television show gave us the shits and we left. These pretzels are making me thirsty.

I think we did everything I wanted to do in Manhattan, and then more. This city certainly leaves an impression, probably moreso than anywhere else I’ve been, but that might be because I had ‘expectations’ about this city that I haven’t really had about any other place I’ve been. However, whereas before we left I thought I’d probably come back saying it’s the greatest city on earth, I’ve realised it actually isn’t. Rather than being the perfect city, it’s just a city – although a big one – nothing more or less.

I’d say New York City puts functionality before beauty. Few things exemplify this more than the subway, which is lacking in aesthetics, but perhaps nobody much gives a shit, because it does the job required. But something else that clearly symbolises functionality over beauty is the daily garbage collection – the city has a noticeable smell, especially when the heat gets up, because garbage from hotels and restaurants is bagged up in bulk and dumped on the street. Also, there’s the sheer amount of people that seem to be employed to do very little at all – I don’t know if this is an explicit public policy or not, but with the city in constant state of construction and reconstruction, there seem to be plenty of jobs on offer if you have a hardhat and a reflective vest, but many of these jobs seem to involve standing on street corners eight hours a day talking about baseball. But it’s not just construction. Yesterday I went into a bank to use an ATM, and as I was going in, some guy in a suit greeted me. I thought he must have been referring to someone else (why would he possibly be talking to me?), so I didn’t respond. But as I was leaving, he and two other staff members independently (and heartily) exhorted me to have a nice day. I thanked them and left, wondering if they didn’t have anything productive to do. And unemployment’s still over 8%.

But here’s the paradox, and it’s one of many – people here can be so rude sometimes, but also nice when it’s totally unexpected and seemingly unrequired, which is difficult to get calibrated to. Also, people say it’s a rough town, and a hard town. I don’t dispute that; I know I couldn’t live here. I’d be quite happy to learn more about baseball, but I don’t have a hardhat or a reflective vest. But people also say it’s a fast town, and here I take issue. It’s not. It’s a two-speed town. Lightning fast, then imponderably slow. If you lived here, you’d work out the currents, I’m sure; but maybe the locals utilise this as a way of identifying the tourists who don’t follow the abrupt changes in time signature. You can get abused for crossing the street the wrong way or at the wrong time (cabbies routinely illustrate the concept of the ‘New York minute’), or for getting in someone’s way at the 7-Eleven (I speak from personal experience, but luckily I couldn’t work out what he was saying). But on the other hand, as mentioned earlier, New Yorkers seem to love a good queue.

I remember saying to Cathy when we were in Paris 5 years ago that the city is beautiful when you fix your eyes on the distance and don’t look in the gutter. Similar applies to Manhattan.