Impressions of New York: An Assault on the Senses

A former New Yorker sees the City through a tourist’s eyes.

I spent the first 36 years of my life in the New York City metro area, living in New Jersey, Long Island, and Queens, NY itself. I even worked in downtown Manhattan, near the financial district, for five years. I grew to know New York, to understand it and to make myself part of its rhythm. It made me strong and helped turn me into the zero-tolerance for bullshit person that I am today.

I left the New York area in the late 1990s in search of a more laid-back lifestyle, one where I could keep more of the money I earned, instead of spending it on property taxes and car insurance. I wanted warm winters and friendly people. I wanted space between my home and the next, privacy, quiet. I wound up in a small town in Arizona where, until recently, I’ve been very happy.

But Arizona is completely different from New York — like black is different from white or day is different from night. I didn’t realize just how different the two were until this week, when I returned as a tourist, and spent two days in midtown Manhattan. For the first time ever, I was able to see New York through the eyes of someone who didn’t know it quite so well — through the eyes of a tourist.

The Sound of New York

View from the Sheraton Hotel and TowersThe first thing I noticed as we settled down for the night in our hotel room was the sound of the city. New York, you see, has a background noise, like a soundtrack. At its very base is a low rumble, like a low frequency hum. It’s the conglomeration of the movement of cars on city streets and the hum of climate control systems on rooftops and restaurant exhaust fans at street level. It includes subways rumbling under the streets and bus and truck engines and planes and the odd helicopter. Sometimes it includes the sound of the wind whistling down streets and around buildings. During the day, it includes voices: people in conversation as they walk the streets, whether it’s with a physical companion or the virtual companion on a cell phone.

The sound is punctuated, day and night, by other, louder sounds. Listen and you’ll hear them and often be able to identify them. There is, of course, the orchestra of car and truck horns. (It’s impossible for a New Yorker to drive for more than 15 minutes without using his car horn at least once and taxi drivers must use their horns at least three times per fare.) A bus engine revs, a heavy sheet of metal drops, a jackhammer breaks up a sidewalk. A truck backs up with a stead beep, beep, beep. A police car, ambulance, or fire truck — or sometimes all three together — speed to their destination, sirens wailing. A policeman blows his whistle, someone shouts. This time of year, Christmas music blares from speakers outside the windows of Saks, Lord & Taylor, and Macy’s.

To be fair, the sound does seem to calm a little at night, but the underlying rumble of noise is always there. The sound is the pulse of the City. If it were to stop, surely the City would be dead.

The sound is clearly audible to anyone who cares to listen — as long as that person has the experience of true silence to compare it to. I know true silence — the utter soundlessness of a still night atop a high desert mesa, a silence so complete you can hear your heart beat. That’s why the sound of the city is the first thing I noticed when we settled down for our first night here. Even 37 stories above the streets, closed in behind the thick glass of the hotel’s windows, we could still hear that sound. Open the window a crack and it fills the room.

The Lights & Sights of New York

The next thing I noticed was the brightness. True, our hotel is less than ten blocks from Times Square, but the brightness still surprised me. SImply stated: it doesn’t get dark here.

Times SquareThe light comes from the lights in building windows — office lights that are apparently never extinguished. It comes from the hundreds of television screens, many of which are larger than my two-story house, that display a never ending barrage of advertisements at anyone who glances at them. It comes from neon signs at street level or high atop skyscrapers: Ernst & Young, Kodak, Reuters, UBS, GE — these are just the few I see with a quick look out my window. The light comes from search lights that dance off buildings and pierce the sky, drawing attention to some new nightclub or the Christmas decorations on a posh shop. It comes from the Christmas decorations themselves: snowflakes twenty or thirty feet across, strings of lights wound around windows and trees and buildings, flashing lights forming wreaths and reindeer and Christmas trees. The scene pulsates with colored lights.

There may be streetlights — I don’t know; I didn’t notice them. They’re not needed here.

Dawn is so gradual here that it’s a non-event. The gray sky of night gets brighter and brighter until it becomes the gray sky of day. Only the clock can confirm that it’s daytime. But that’s just because it’s been cloudy since we arrived. I remember blue skies in New York and the shafts of sunlight between the buildings. Sadly, I think we’ll miss that sight on this visit.

And what does all this light reveal? Hundreds of buildings fifty or more stories tall with narrow, canyon-like streets in a grid pattern between them. Brick buildings a hundred years old standing proud beside steel and glass towers. Bright yellow taxicabs speeding down the avenues (with car horns blaring, of course), followed by lumbering, ad-wrapped buses. Thousands of pedestrians walking down sidewalks, gathering at street corners, ignoring traffic signals to cross when the time is right. People from every race and walk of life: white, black, asian, rich, poor.

At street level are shops showing off their inventories in bright, creative displays. In the tourist-trafficked areas, the merchandise spills out into the street with brightly colored signs and shop employees calling out bargains to lure the tourists in.

Bryant Park SkatingAround every corner is another surprise: a landmark building, a skating rink, a park, a farmer’s market, a holiday crafts market. The Public Library offers an exhibit of Jack Kerouac’s notebooks and his famous scroll, along with permanent displays of artworks and a real Guttenburg Bible (one of fewer than 200 made). There’s a fresh food market between corridors deep inside Grand Central Terminal. On Vanderbilt, there’s a public display of proposed designs for land development over the west side’s train yard — at least these developers understand the importance of open space park land. Step inside the lobby or study the facades of buildings on Sixth Avenue to see a WPA mural or art deco entrance or mosaic history. It’s impossible to be bored in a city like this.

At night the horse-drawn carriages come out to pick up tourists at Rockefeller Center and whisk them away to Central Park or Times Square or some other destination. The horses blend into traffic, stopping behind taxis at traffic lights, clomping along at their own pace while the cars and buses and trucks whirl around them. Stopped at a traffic light in front of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, a horse urinates on the city street. The carriage driver looks at the police officer standing nearby and says, “He’s overheating.” Everyone laughs.

The Smell of New York

New York can keep any sensitive nose awake and alive. From the sickly smell of steam rising from the street to the sweet smell of carmel roasted nuts in a vendor’s cart, it’s all there, good and bad. You can smell a Chinese restaurant or pizza parlor long before you reach it — if the breeze is blowing just right.

Walk down an avenue and the smells parade past your nose: flowers in a park, perfume from a shop front, food from a restaurant or vendor car. Things can be less pleasant on side streets, depending on whether it’s garbage day, but with cold weather, pedestrians are usually spared the worst of the smells. But come summer time, pray the sanitation workers don’t strike.

The Feel of New York

The feel of New York depends mostly on the season and weather. This visit is overcast and damp, with some light rain. It’s not windy or cold enough to be really cold — which is good, because I no longer own a winter coat. Instead, it’s what I’d consider typical late autumn.

But come in August during a heat wave and be prepared for the “Three H’s”: hazy, hot, and humid. I’ll take 100°F in Phoenix in June over an 80°/80% humidity day in New York. Or try January, when the temperatures dip below freezing and the wind is howling down the streets or avenues. As you walk leaned into the wind, you feel as if your nose is going to freeze off before you reach your destination.

The air, of course, is filled with a fine dirt that coats you, your clothes, your skin, your car, and anything else exposed to it. Wash your face after a day walking on the streets and you’ll see the grime on your washcloth. Its especially bad when you ride the subway. It isn’t a gritty dust like you’ll find in the desert. It’s real dirt: a mixture of exhaust residue and pollution and plain, old-fashioned filth.

The Taste of New York

I’ve saved the best for last. I told friends I planned to eat my way through New York. So far, we are.

Every kind of food is available here, probably within walking distance of our hotel. On Monday night, we had Spanish food at a tapas bar on 53rd Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues. Yesterday at lunch, we had Italian food at a restaurant overlooking the main concourse at Grand Central Terminal. Last night, we had Cuban food at a place on 52nd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue. Today, for lunch, its dim sum in Chinatown followed up with Italian pastries from Little Italy. (I couldn’t resist buying a real New York black and white cookie at Grand Central yesterday; it was heaven.) Tonight, probably Rodizio at a place near my brother’s home in New Jersey.

We haven’t been picky about where we eat. The restaurants are all over the place. You can’t walk two blocks without finding some kind of interesting ethnic food. One glance in the window, to see how many people are inside, is enough to tell us whether it’s good. Last night’s Cuban restaurant, Victor’s Cafe, has been in business in the Theater District since 1963. A bad restaurant wouldn’t last that long in New York.

Or, as I pointed out to my husband, even if it’s bad, it has to be better than what we can get at home.

And sure, there’s the usual collection of chain restaurants: Applebees, Olive Garden, Hard Rock Cafe, McDonalds. But they’re all in the tourist areas — Times Square is full of them — and crowded with the same midwesterners who fill the same places in Arizona. Go figure.

What I’ve Learned

I’ve learned that I still have a love-hate relationship with New York. That it’s a nice place to visit, but I know I could never live there again.

I’ve learned that I could easily make myself go broke just by eating in New York. I’d also gain 10 pounds a week until I exploded. So it’s a good thing I don’t live here.

I’ve also learned that I’d like to come visit New York as a tourist more often. I may eat a lot here, but I also walk a lot. There’s just so much to see and do.

And that has to be good for something.

Bribed

To make a holiday trip back east more palatable, my husband “bribes” me with two nights in Manhattan.

A few weeks ago, we started making plans for the holidays. I was given a choice: go back to New York to visit family for Thanksgiving or Christmas?

I chose Thanksgiving. My brother, who was trained as a chef, makes a great Thanksgiving dinner. A few years ago, I had a bunch of cheeses shipped to his house and we snacked on them with champagne while the turkey cooked. (Or while we waited for him to realize that he’d forgotten to turn on the oven and then waited for the turkey to cook.) It was a fun time with a small group of family members: my brother, his wife, his sister-in-law, my sister, Mike, and me. The next day, we went into Queens, in New York, to have dinner with Mike’s family.

Why Not Christmas

Christmas in New York is a crazy time. Traffic is maddening and the crowds are outrageous. And, to make matters even less pleasant, it’s usually cold and gray. So anytime you’re not snug in someone’s home or in a well-heated car, you’re shivering. Well, at least I am. (One of the top five reasons I left New York was the weather.)

I Love NYI do need to say that there’s something magic about midtown Manhattan at Christmas time. The tree and skating rink at Rockefeller Center, the window displays on Fifth Avenue, the smell of roasting pretzels and chestnuts, the steam rising from the manhole covers, the speeding cabs and blasting car horns on the avenues.

If I had unlimited financial resources, one of my homes would be in midtown Manhattan and I’d probably spend the weeks leading up to Christmas there. But that’s the only way I’d live in New York — if I had a ton of money and could elevate myself above those crowds and car horns and steam. Living down in it all just isn’t for me.

About Queens (the place, not the people)

Anyway, this year I chose Thanksgiving, fully expecting dinner at my brother’s New Jersey home again. Mike would invite his family to join us. That was the plan.

Except Mike’s family didn’t want to drive to New Jersey on Thanksgiving day. Instead, they wanted us to drive to Queens. I told Mike my brother wouldn’t want to do that. He said he’d ask. And then he did a sly thing. He called my brother’s wife and asked her. She, of course, said yes and managed to convince the rest of the party to come along. So we were going to Queens for Thanksgiving.

I don’t like Queens. And I certainly don’t mean to offend anyone who lives there. It just isn’t for me. I don’t see anything positive about it. I lived there for two years — in Bayside, in case you’re wondering — and did not enjoy that time at all. Living in Queens is like living in a buffer zone. Not quite real “city” like Manhattan but not quite “suburbs” like Long Island or New Jersey. It has all the unpleasantness of a big city with few of its benefits. And although there are houses like the ones you’d find in the suburbs, there’s little suburban atmosphere. In the two years we lived there, we had a car stolen and two cars and a scooter vandalized. (And Bayside was supposed to be a nice part of Queens.) Even if you find a pleasant pocket of homes on tree-lined streets, its surrounded by the same, miserable pseudo-city filth, traffic, crime, and graffiti.

(If you live in Queens and are outraged by my statements, accept my apologies. I really don’t mean to offend you — I’m just stating, as usual, my personal opinion. Use the Comments link or form to state your case on why I’m wrong. Just don’t expect to change my mind. I’ve been to a lot of places in 49 of this country’s 50 states — I’ve never been to Minnesota — and Queens is pretty darn close to the bottom of my list of places I might want to live. Like I said: it just isn’t for me.)

Yet every time we go back east, we go to Queens. That’s where Mike’s mom and sister and uncle still live. It’s tolerable on a regular day, but I knew it would be crazy with traffic and crowds on a holiday like Thanksgiving. (Did I mention the traffic? Well, it’s certainly worth mentioning again.) I didn’t want to go, but Mike had conned the rest of my family into it so I had no choice.

But I didn’t have to be happy about it.

The Bribe

Grand Central Terminal ConcourseHence, the bribe. Mike booked two nights in the Sheraton on 52st and 7th in Manhattan. Walking distance from Times Square, which I understand has been substantially cleaned up since I worked in the area 20+ years ago. (Did I ever mention the bum who touched my butt as I was walking up 7th Avenue at 41st Street at lunchtime one day? It was the first time I ever struck a stranger. Hmmm. It might be the only time.) Also within walking distance of Rockefeller Center, Grand Central (shown here), and numerous other interesting places.

The Municipal BuildingAnd with two full days to play tourist, I’d have a great opportunity to walk my old stomping grounds down in the financial district, City Hall area (including the Municipal Building (shown here), where I used to work), and Chinatown.

And eat. New York has the best restaurants. I’m especially looking forward to dim sum in Chinatown and a box of Ferraro’s Italian pastries from Little Italy. (They make the best rainbow layer cookies.)

I’m also looking forward to riding the subway (oddly enough) and to taking photos with my new lenses. I have some great ideas for using that fisheye lens on a subway platform. I hope to be able to show off the results here.

So I’m Happy

So I’ve been bribed and I’m happy about it. It’s the first time in years that I’ve really looked forward to going back east.

And as I told Mike this morning at breakfast, he’s going to have to get us a hotel room in New York for at least two nights every time we go back there.

Harry Potter Fever

I’m done.

I’ll admit it: I’m a Harry Potter fan. I think the books are well-written and entertaining. And I think the movies are extremely well done, faithful to the books in such a way to satisfactorily bring the author’s scenes to life.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7)I’ll admit this, too: I ordered the final Harry Potter book three months ago. I ordered it from Amazon.com with another item, chose free shipping, and waited. I wasn’t in a rush. I just wanted my collection complete. Amazon shipped the other item immediately and put my HP order on hold until it was time to ship it.

Last week, Amazon sent me an e-mail suggesting that I upgrade shipping so I’d get the book on its publication date. I wasn’t in a hurry to get the book so I ignored the e-mail.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book 6)Meanwhile, I was listening to the Slate Political Gabfast podcast. One of the staff mentioned that the audio books for Harry Potter were excellent. Since I didn’t remember much of the sixth Harry Potter book, I figured I’d try it as an audio book. I ordered it from Amazon.com. They gave me a free trial to Amazon Prime. Free 2-day shipping for a month (when I’ll cancel to avoid the outrageous $79 annual fee). I figured the audio book would arrive before the printed book. I could listen to book 6 and read book 7.

I got an e-mail from Amazon.com on Thursday to let me know that my HP book had shipped. I could expect it by July 26. Fine. I was in no hurry.

So imagine my surprise when I opened my mailbox yesterday — two days after being told the book had shipped — and the book was in there. On the publication date. With free shipping. And the darn thing had cost me less than $20 — about half the retail price. Not bad.

So now I faced a dilemma.: read the book right away or wait until after listening to the Book 6 audio, which still hadn’t arrived.

Yesterday afternoon, after a pleasant day Jeeping on dirt roads and an even more pleasant shower, I cracked open the 700+ page final book of the Harry Potter series. The reason I didn’t wait: I was afraid that someone would spoil it for me by telling me the end.

I was 1/3 finished when I went to bed at about 10 PM last night. This morning, I got right back into it with my breakfast. By 12:30 PM, I was finished.

I won’t tell the ending. In my opinion, anyone who does is a major-league asshole. That includes the people who ripped off copies before they were released and published them on the Web. It also includes the reviewers for the New York Times who released plot points in a review the day before the book was released.

I will say that the ending works. That’s it.

I think J.K. Rowling has done a fine job on this series. Although a lot of the books were a bit longer than they needed to be, I think that gave readers — especially those who can’t crank through a 700+ page book in 8 hours — more for their money. It helped them stay in the fantasy world of Harry Potter and his friends for just a little bit longer.

Is the whole Harry Potter thing worth the ridiculous hype? In my opinion, no.

But then again, in today’s world, people seem anxious to grab on to any hype they can. It’s better to latch on to Harry Potter’s struggle against evil than Paris Hilton’s short prison stay — or to stand in line for an iPhone.

Isn’t it?

As for that Book 6 Audio…I look forward to hearing it. If it’s half as good as the Slate podcaster claims, I’ll enjoy it immensely.