Playdate - New York City

Ginnie and I are writing separate recollections of our day in New York City. We'll publish simultaneously and see if different eyes saw the same sights.

First, structure. We spent six days in Nashville with our nieces while Z+A delivered their eldest to college. On the return to Rochester, we had arranged for a twelve hour layover in New York City. What to do?

Next, you should know we adore semi-structure. You might say we don't like being told what to do–even by ourselves. As our layover loomed, we had a loose list of todos and possibilities.

• Drop-off a shirt and share a coffee with a nephew at Pace University.
• Maybe catch a Broadway play? Was this even possible?
• Ride the ferry and Time Out Market and walk Brooklyn and find cheap, obscure museums (which causes which?).

We were going to let the plinko ball of fate decide.

Right off the bat, public transit earns a "C-" grade (Remember Madrid had been granted an A+ by getting us from the Airport, through customs, on two trains and finally to train station in 59 minutes).

Here, we had to get from the airport to Manhattan. Google promised that the 62 bus would whisk us to Newark's Penn station; then a New Jersey PATH train would take us to the World Trade Center station on the tip of Manhattan, just a short walk from Pace University.

Well, we waited and waited, made some friends, commiserated. Finally the bus takes us to the charmingly old-fashioned Newark Penn Station. The train to World Trade Center was delayed by a drawbridge. We get on the first train that seemed popular (must be headed to the city!) and eventually land on the island further uptown at New York's Penn Station.

Plink!

Ravenous, we find a diner.

Then we head uptown and check in with the one Broadway theater that has a matinee on Thursday. Many theaters offer "Rush". The deal is you show up two hours before showtime and you may be able to buy a pair of tickets located... somewhere in the theater. Could be in the attic; could be in the front row. We got two tickets.

With two hours to kill before the show, we dropped our backpacks at a luggage storage and wandered Broadway-adjacent Hell's Kitchen looking for coffee. We found steamy little coffeeshop and overheard some Broadway scuttlebutt about new leads starting in Cabaret.

Back to the show. Our seats were in the very front row, far right side; close enough to see spittle spray during passionate moments. The set changes were magical, like slight of hand. From our position far right and forward forward, we could see backstage, performers and props preparing, prepared. The first half, rising hope. The second half; suspicion, collapse, death. My wife; sparkling, entranced, glowing. We had a very good time.

We grabbed a quick and excellent Thai dinner then metro-ed down to walk the High Line. The High Line is a linear park; a beautiful new idea. It's a repurposed rails-to-trails that floats above the city.

I was really curious to see New York as a transitioning city. With Covid, some streets were closed to cars and dining sheds bloomed outside as restaurants found new ways to serve socially distanced customers. The city has become more friendly to bikes and pedestrians. What would it feel like?

We only saw Manhattan, but it felt good, really good. A lot of street space has been reclaimed for pedestrians and bikes. In Bilbao, pedestrians clearly came first. In Munich, bike lanes are prioritized. Here in New York, cars, bikes and walkers jostle. It's a place of guidelines and convention rather than Germanic rules. Sometimes a flush of pedestrians would grab a crosswalk before a light had fully changed. And the cars, they wait their turn. With fewer cars and more space to walk, the city feels friendlier, weird and wonderful, full of every kind of person who walks or rides the earth.

And that's how I'd love to end it.

Our batteries ran down literally and physically. We nabbed a direct bus from the Penn Bus station to Newark Airport and crawled and lurched through the scarlet taillights to return to the airport.

And home.