So, we took the train back to Williamsburg, and went to Laura and Jimi's to drop off the wine, and then I trudged back up to my place to shower and relax for a while - maybe even try to sleep.
It was a long climb up those four flights of stairs; I made a point of pausing on each landing, because I didn't want my heart getting speedy on me again. When I let myself in, I found Josh's boyfriend, Max, in the living room - another very sweet guy. We chatted for a bit, and then he headed into the city, and I went off to take a shower.
It was my first, and as it worked out, my last shower there. It was a perfectly fine shower set-up - I've dealt with far worse - but the water pressure was kind of iffy, and the hot water, while plentiful for the first five minutes or so, kept coming and going after that. The low pressure was probably due to our being on the fifth floor; I don't know what was going on with the hot water, but Laura and Jimi said it was a common issue. They suggested that I use their shower - they had good pressure, and no hot-water problems once you waited through a brief "hiccup" five minutes in. And that was what I ended up doing.
Anyway, that shower, even with the sporadic hot water, felt good. Resting on the bed for a while felt good. I relaxed, read a bit, and made my daily phone call home before heading back down to Laura and Jimi's.
It was dark when we set off for Peter Lugar's, and there were many Hasidic gentlemen and families out on the street. It gave the neighborhood an almost mysterious, out-of-time atmosphere. The men were wearing their special hats; there's a lot of information conveyed by the hats the men wear, and the dress, if you know how to read it, but of course I didn't. They seemed to speak a blend of English and Yiddish, kind of the way the second-generation hispanic kids here often speak a blend of Spanish and English, even starting a sentence in one language and finishing in the other.
Peter Lugar's was just a few blocks away. It's been in its current location since 1887, and for many years was pretty much the only reason to visit Williamsburg. I read somewhere that back in the day they used to serve just steak and potatoes. The menu has expanded slightly since then, but it's still pretty much all steak all the time. The place was packed when we got there; even with a reservation we had to wait a few minutes for our table. We were right next to a party that included a well-known TV actor, only he wasn't well-known to me, so I don't remember his name. We ordered salad, and were going to order steak-for-two for the three of us, but the waiter insisted that wouldn't be enough. "Look at that table!" he said, indicating the table where the actor was sitting. We cautiously looked over, trying to make it plain that we were staring at the food and not at him, and gave in to the waiter in order to avoid further embarrassment. We also ordered German-fried potatoes and creamed spinach.
Peter Lugar's is a place people come to celebrate, or at least that was the case that Saturday; the waiters (all men) were called upon to sing "Happy Birthday" at least four times while we were there. By the fourth time, their rendition lacked a bit in the enthusiasm department, although they were in good voice and all singing in the same key, which doesn't always happen when people sing Happy Birthday.
Our food arrived quite promptly, and service was interesting. When you order steak-for-however many (up to four) all the meat is brought on a big platter, and the waiter slices it and serves it to everyone. Same with the sides. Kind of like going back to childhood.
The steak was excellent - the best I've ever had, I think. And there was a lot of it; we'd have been just fine with steak-for-two, but on the other hand, it was nice to have left-overs. The creamed spinach and potatoes were good, too, but nothing amazing. The main thing at Peter Lugar's, obviously, is the beef.
While we were eating, a man approached the actor's table to pay homage; he even got down on his knees, although that was probably because if he'd remained standing, he'd have towered over the guy, which would have been weird. It was kind of weird anyway, though; it was clearly Not Done to annoy visiting celebrities, and all the waiters gave the guy the stink-eye, but he was oblivious.
We went ahead and ordered dessert even though we didn't finish all our steak - cheesecake, which was also excellent. The waiter was quite timely, by nyc standards, in bringing us the bill. When we left, the place was still crowded, and people were still coming in and being seated for dinner.
We went back to Laura and Jimi's and watched Orlando. I had never seen it or read the book, but I ordered both from Amazon when I got back to Cloverdale. The movie is wonderful, and Tilda Swinton is wonderful in it. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Quentin Crisp played the part of Queen Elizabeth. I've read one of his books, Resident Alien, but I've never seen him in anything. After the movie, Jimi walked me back to my apartment, which I very much appreciated; it was 1:30. Since it was Saturday night, Williamsburg hipsters were still out in force, but I was tired enough to fall asleep fairly quickly despite the noise.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Digesting New York, Part 4 - Dazed and Confused
So, I woke up at about 6:30 with the morning sun streaming in the window and pigeons cooing outside on the ledge. It was very very quiet outside; all the partiers from last night had dispersed to their beds or wherever. It was also very very quiet inside. Groggy though I was, I figured out that if it was 6:30 here, it would be 3:30 back home, so I really ought to still be asleep. I rolled over to face the wall, kicked off the covers (even though the window was open, the room was warm) and did my best to ignore the sunlight and pigeons and make it so. And I succeeded, for about an hour. At that point, I woke up for good and all (even though my biological clock should have considered it 4:30, and even though it was still dead quiet outside.)
Laura and Jimi had said to call when I woke up, but I was pretty sure they were assuming I'd sleep until a reasonable hour. I got up and wandered around the apartment. Although it was small, it was well laid-out and uncluttered, so it felt open and spacious, with plenty of natural light. I considered making some tea, but wasn't up to the effort of digging out my tea strainer, so I settled for more of Josh's reverse-osmosis-filtered water. I went back to my room, dressed, and tried to read, but wasn't quite up for that effort either, so I just closed my eyes and drifted for a while, having little rem episodes without actual serious sleep. I guess they helped.
I called Laura at about 8:30, which was surely too early, although she said she was up and would come meet me once she'd gotten ready to face the day. (Jimi couldn't come; he had to do things at DUMBO.)
While I waited, I decided to dig out my ukulele and see how it had survived the trip. It was fine, but out of tune, so I also dug out the tuner. It hadn't fared quite so well; something or other had leaked onto it, so the digital display wasn't all that it should have been. I managed to get my uke tuned, and even strummed a few faltering chords as I lolled on the bed. (The tuner ultimately made a full recovery.)
I'm a little hazy on the actual order of the following events, but here's what I think happened: Laura showed up at the door of the apartment; she may even have let herself in, since Josh gave her keys. We talked about our immediate plans - breakfast and a drug store so that I could replace a few more toilet articles. (I even made a list, but forgot to bring it with me.) We walked up Bedford and ate at a cafe there (I think it was on Bedford) - a nice place that specialized in baked eggs. I had two cups of coffee with mine; I felt that I needed the caffeine. We went to a drugstore, also on Bedford, and I got most of the things I needed, except for the ones I forgot because I didn't bring my list. Then we went back to my place.
Laura had brought along a copy of Time Out New York, and we used it to start planning our week. Josh popped in to say hi, and we had a chat about my uke, among other things. We decided to walk back down to Laura's place to finalize our plans for the day with the aid of her computer; I brought my various guidebooks, since I intended to leave them there anyway.
We knew we had to go into Manhattan to Laura's office to pick up the wine Char had shipped. Since it was a gorgeous day, we figured it was a good opportunity to ride the Staten Island Ferry - we could do that, then walk back up through the Wall Street area to where Laura worked, get some lunch along the way, pick up the wine, and head back to w'burg. I wanted to take them out to Peter Luger's, so Laura called and made reservations for that night - at 8:45; my introduction to NYC-style late dining. (Although by NYC standards, 8:45 isn't all that late.)
We walked up to the Marcy Avenue stop. We saw a number of Hasidim gentlemen out and about, engaged in Sabbath activities, and wearing their best clothes and hats. Kids were supposed to be indoors until sunset, Laura said, but we saw a few out on a balcony/fire escape, and they laughed and called down to us.
The JMZ line doesn't go underground until it gets to the Manhattan side of the East River; we had to climb yet more stairs to get to the station. Laura helped me purchase a 7-day Metro pass and showed me how to use it to get to the platform. (It's about the same as BART, but it's been a good while since I used BART.) We caught the J into Manhattan. It's a nice ride; you get a wonderful view of the city as you cross the river.
I don't remember where we got off or what we took to get to the Financial district, only that we spent a while waiting for a particular train until a kindly Metro employee informed us that it didn't run on weekends. When we reached the Financial district, we weren't sure exactly where we should go, but figured that we couldn't go wrong by heading toward the water. Anyway, it was a fine day for a walk, for gaping at the tall buildings with famous names, and for people-watching; the place was thronged. (Pretty much everywhere we went that Saturday was thronged, except for Bedford Ave at 10 am.)
We eventually wended our way to the Staten Island ferry terminal. The ferry is free, and departs every half hour; we were a little early, so we got some coffee. (That's three cups of coffee for me; a point worth noting in light of subsequent events.)
When we boarded the ferry, we took up positions in the prow. No seats, but a splendid view of the harbor, the downtown skyline, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. The wind was behind us, but it was still a bit nippy, and I was glad to have the scarf Laura had lent me. When we got to Staten Island, we wandered around a bit looking for points of interest, but there didn't seem to be any apart from the view, so we went back down to the terminal to catch the return ferry. (It was called the Guy Molinari, which happens to be the name of someone John worked with at the Geysers - a small-world factoid.)
We started out on the starboard-side deck for the ride back, to take advantage of the the close-up view of Lady Liberty and the harbor. The wind was sharper since we were heading into it, exhaustion seemed to be catching up with me, and I noticed I was feeling rather light-headed, so I suggested that we go inside the cabin and sit down. (There were plenty of windows, and also plenty of seats.) This was the first time I'd had a dizzy spell since the Christmas PST event, and it occurred to me that it might be interesting to check my pulse. And it was; my pulse was rather fast, although nowhere near what it had been at Christmas. I'm thinking that if I'd ever thought to take my pulse during the assorted other dizzy spells that I've had over the years, it likely would have been elevated then, too. It seems likely that assorted stress factors are the immediate cause - in this case, I was over-tired, over-caffeinated, jet-lagged, and dealing with an abundance of new people and new situations, enough to spin anyone's head or set a person's pulse arace.
My main concern, though, was to encourage it to slow down. I was looking forward to the week ahead, and I didn't want to cause an upset by having to go find an emergency room. I told Laura I was kind of tired and didn't quite feel up to walking back uptown, so we took the train and got off at Broadway and Lafayette. (Did we change trains anywhere? I can't recall.) My pulse rate had descended but still wasn't quite back to normal when we emerged onto Broadway.
If the Financial District had been thronged, Broadway was - I don't know - chock-a-block? Anyway, seriously congested with people going in all directions. Laura had a couple of places we could go for lunch. The first one looked good, but maybe more than we wanted since we were having a Big Dinner. The second place was Spring Street.
I'd actually heard of Spring Street; it's been around at least since the 80s, and maybe before that. It's a vegetarian place. It, too, was thronged; we had to wait about 10 minutes to get a table. I got to sit facing a window, for another excellent people-watching op.
Our waitress was prompt about taking our order - Laura got pumpkin raviolis, and I ordered rice and veggies. Our food took a while, but that wasn't surprising in light of the crowd. Laura's raviolis were excellent; my rice and veggies were fine, but I wasn't all that hungry. Then we sat back and waited for the check.
It was a long, long wait - probably the longest I experienced during my visit, although Laura explained to me that NYC waiters are notoriously laggard about presenting the bill. I was kind of surprised, because even though it was about 3 pm, there were still people waiting for tables; I'd have thought they'd be anxious to clear us out. But no. It seemed to take forever for the waitress to get around to asking if we wanted anything else, and then it took another eternity for her to bring us the bill. She kept wafting back and forth, often empty-handed (and very possibly empty-headed.) I really wanted to get out of there; although my pulse was now back to normal, more or less, I was still feeling tired. I wanted to get the wine, go back to Williamsburg, shower, and then just chill for a while before dinner. I even contemplated grabbing a menu, making a rough calculation of what our bill would be, and just leaving the estimated amount on the table and heading out the door. But I didn't. Finally we got our check, paid up, and made our escape.
We took a quieter street up to Laura's office. It turned out to be the only time I saw it; I'd planned to come in and meet her one day at work, but that ended up not happening. The wine was there, so we collected it and headed back to Williamsburg, which I was now thinking of as home. And although the day was not yet over, I think I'll save the rest for Part 5.
Laura and Jimi had said to call when I woke up, but I was pretty sure they were assuming I'd sleep until a reasonable hour. I got up and wandered around the apartment. Although it was small, it was well laid-out and uncluttered, so it felt open and spacious, with plenty of natural light. I considered making some tea, but wasn't up to the effort of digging out my tea strainer, so I settled for more of Josh's reverse-osmosis-filtered water. I went back to my room, dressed, and tried to read, but wasn't quite up for that effort either, so I just closed my eyes and drifted for a while, having little rem episodes without actual serious sleep. I guess they helped.
I called Laura at about 8:30, which was surely too early, although she said she was up and would come meet me once she'd gotten ready to face the day. (Jimi couldn't come; he had to do things at DUMBO.)
While I waited, I decided to dig out my ukulele and see how it had survived the trip. It was fine, but out of tune, so I also dug out the tuner. It hadn't fared quite so well; something or other had leaked onto it, so the digital display wasn't all that it should have been. I managed to get my uke tuned, and even strummed a few faltering chords as I lolled on the bed. (The tuner ultimately made a full recovery.)
I'm a little hazy on the actual order of the following events, but here's what I think happened: Laura showed up at the door of the apartment; she may even have let herself in, since Josh gave her keys. We talked about our immediate plans - breakfast and a drug store so that I could replace a few more toilet articles. (I even made a list, but forgot to bring it with me.) We walked up Bedford and ate at a cafe there (I think it was on Bedford) - a nice place that specialized in baked eggs. I had two cups of coffee with mine; I felt that I needed the caffeine. We went to a drugstore, also on Bedford, and I got most of the things I needed, except for the ones I forgot because I didn't bring my list. Then we went back to my place.
Laura had brought along a copy of Time Out New York, and we used it to start planning our week. Josh popped in to say hi, and we had a chat about my uke, among other things. We decided to walk back down to Laura's place to finalize our plans for the day with the aid of her computer; I brought my various guidebooks, since I intended to leave them there anyway.
We knew we had to go into Manhattan to Laura's office to pick up the wine Char had shipped. Since it was a gorgeous day, we figured it was a good opportunity to ride the Staten Island Ferry - we could do that, then walk back up through the Wall Street area to where Laura worked, get some lunch along the way, pick up the wine, and head back to w'burg. I wanted to take them out to Peter Luger's, so Laura called and made reservations for that night - at 8:45; my introduction to NYC-style late dining. (Although by NYC standards, 8:45 isn't all that late.)
We walked up to the Marcy Avenue stop. We saw a number of Hasidim gentlemen out and about, engaged in Sabbath activities, and wearing their best clothes and hats. Kids were supposed to be indoors until sunset, Laura said, but we saw a few out on a balcony/fire escape, and they laughed and called down to us.
The JMZ line doesn't go underground until it gets to the Manhattan side of the East River; we had to climb yet more stairs to get to the station. Laura helped me purchase a 7-day Metro pass and showed me how to use it to get to the platform. (It's about the same as BART, but it's been a good while since I used BART.) We caught the J into Manhattan. It's a nice ride; you get a wonderful view of the city as you cross the river.
I don't remember where we got off or what we took to get to the Financial district, only that we spent a while waiting for a particular train until a kindly Metro employee informed us that it didn't run on weekends. When we reached the Financial district, we weren't sure exactly where we should go, but figured that we couldn't go wrong by heading toward the water. Anyway, it was a fine day for a walk, for gaping at the tall buildings with famous names, and for people-watching; the place was thronged. (Pretty much everywhere we went that Saturday was thronged, except for Bedford Ave at 10 am.)
We eventually wended our way to the Staten Island ferry terminal. The ferry is free, and departs every half hour; we were a little early, so we got some coffee. (That's three cups of coffee for me; a point worth noting in light of subsequent events.)
When we boarded the ferry, we took up positions in the prow. No seats, but a splendid view of the harbor, the downtown skyline, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. The wind was behind us, but it was still a bit nippy, and I was glad to have the scarf Laura had lent me. When we got to Staten Island, we wandered around a bit looking for points of interest, but there didn't seem to be any apart from the view, so we went back down to the terminal to catch the return ferry. (It was called the Guy Molinari, which happens to be the name of someone John worked with at the Geysers - a small-world factoid.)
We started out on the starboard-side deck for the ride back, to take advantage of the the close-up view of Lady Liberty and the harbor. The wind was sharper since we were heading into it, exhaustion seemed to be catching up with me, and I noticed I was feeling rather light-headed, so I suggested that we go inside the cabin and sit down. (There were plenty of windows, and also plenty of seats.) This was the first time I'd had a dizzy spell since the Christmas PST event, and it occurred to me that it might be interesting to check my pulse. And it was; my pulse was rather fast, although nowhere near what it had been at Christmas. I'm thinking that if I'd ever thought to take my pulse during the assorted other dizzy spells that I've had over the years, it likely would have been elevated then, too. It seems likely that assorted stress factors are the immediate cause - in this case, I was over-tired, over-caffeinated, jet-lagged, and dealing with an abundance of new people and new situations, enough to spin anyone's head or set a person's pulse arace.
My main concern, though, was to encourage it to slow down. I was looking forward to the week ahead, and I didn't want to cause an upset by having to go find an emergency room. I told Laura I was kind of tired and didn't quite feel up to walking back uptown, so we took the train and got off at Broadway and Lafayette. (Did we change trains anywhere? I can't recall.) My pulse rate had descended but still wasn't quite back to normal when we emerged onto Broadway.
If the Financial District had been thronged, Broadway was - I don't know - chock-a-block? Anyway, seriously congested with people going in all directions. Laura had a couple of places we could go for lunch. The first one looked good, but maybe more than we wanted since we were having a Big Dinner. The second place was Spring Street.
I'd actually heard of Spring Street; it's been around at least since the 80s, and maybe before that. It's a vegetarian place. It, too, was thronged; we had to wait about 10 minutes to get a table. I got to sit facing a window, for another excellent people-watching op.
Our waitress was prompt about taking our order - Laura got pumpkin raviolis, and I ordered rice and veggies. Our food took a while, but that wasn't surprising in light of the crowd. Laura's raviolis were excellent; my rice and veggies were fine, but I wasn't all that hungry. Then we sat back and waited for the check.
It was a long, long wait - probably the longest I experienced during my visit, although Laura explained to me that NYC waiters are notoriously laggard about presenting the bill. I was kind of surprised, because even though it was about 3 pm, there were still people waiting for tables; I'd have thought they'd be anxious to clear us out. But no. It seemed to take forever for the waitress to get around to asking if we wanted anything else, and then it took another eternity for her to bring us the bill. She kept wafting back and forth, often empty-handed (and very possibly empty-headed.) I really wanted to get out of there; although my pulse was now back to normal, more or less, I was still feeling tired. I wanted to get the wine, go back to Williamsburg, shower, and then just chill for a while before dinner. I even contemplated grabbing a menu, making a rough calculation of what our bill would be, and just leaving the estimated amount on the table and heading out the door. But I didn't. Finally we got our check, paid up, and made our escape.
We took a quieter street up to Laura's office. It turned out to be the only time I saw it; I'd planned to come in and meet her one day at work, but that ended up not happening. The wine was there, so we collected it and headed back to Williamsburg, which I was now thinking of as home. And although the day was not yet over, I think I'll save the rest for Part 5.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Digesting New York, Part 3 (Forward into the past)
March 21st dawned early, but only because it was the first day of spring. As far as I was concerned, the exact time of sunrise was moot; I'd set my phone to go off at 5 am. And it did, and I arose after a less than restful night. I always have a hard time getting to sleep the night before a trip, and this time it was made worse by the whole toilet-article boondoggle. And my restless slumbers were punctuated by Duffy, who barked intermittently at unfamiliar noises only he could hear.
We left the Ocean Park by 6; it was an easy drive to the airport. The JetBlue terminal at SFO was pretty somnolent at 6 am. There were a few other travelers wandering around; one of them struck up a conversation with me as we searched for the luggage check-in counter. It turned out that it wasn't open yet. I wasn't awfully hungry, but I knew that JetBlue didn't serve meals, so I decided I'd better get something resembling breakfast while I was still on the ground. I got a mocha, fruit salad, and a couple of bagels at a coffee shop. I stowed one of the bagels in my small carry-on for future reference and ate and drank the rest while waiting for the counter to open.
While I'm sitting there waiting, shall we review my appearance? I was a study in black, for the most part: pants, shoes, long-sleeved t-shirt, travel vest (we'll come back to that,) and hooded micro fleece jacket (that too.) Not much make-up - a bit of powder and blush, but no lipstick or mascara, since those had been stowed in the sorely-missed and much-regretted white bag. One black bag, the one I've been referring to as my small carry-on; I usually use it as a gym bag. One rolling book-pack from ll bean; I'd read that those made good carry-ons, and they're pretty cheap. One giant purple duffel, as mentioned earlier, also with wheels. I wasn't exactly traveling light, but between the wheels and the shoulder straps I was managing everything ok. I'd stowed my wallet in my travel vest, along with an envelope full of cash for the rent on my bedroom in Williamsburg and my boarding pass. I tried not to keep feeling my pockets, but I did anyway.
After a while, a couple of attendants opened up the check-in counter. Since I had my boarding pass already, I got to be third in line. I showed my pass and id, heaved the purple duffel onto the scale, gave it a fond glance of farewell, and went off in search of my gate.
This was the first time I'd flown out of SFO since they rebuilt/remodeled/modernized it. It's still confusing, but less so than it used to be. It has a bit of a chilly feel, but there's some nice art. I still like Oakland better, but JetBlue doesn't fly out of Oakland, or at least not to New York.
I found my gate. (I had to go downstairs to get to it, which seemed counterintuitive.) By now it was about 7, with boarding to begin at 7:30. I settled myself in an uncomfortable plastic chair by the window and tried to read, but couldn't, so I gazed out the window and stole covert glances at my fellow passengers, trying to decide who I'd like to be seated next to.
I stood up when they started boarding, even though I knew they'd board from back to front and my seat was in row 7. Once aboard, I had no trouble finding a place to stow my pack - I always worry about that a little when I'm among the last to board.
My seat-mate turned out to be a young woman who fell asleep even before take-off. I envied her that, although the take-off was actually worth staying awake for: a gorgeous view of the bay and the Golden Gate on a perfectly clear, cloudless blue morning. After that, the scenery declined considerably in interest, especially once we were past the Sierras. I was able to more or less keep track of what we were flying over thanks to the google-map channel that was one of our inflight entertainment choices. I noted with interest that Kansas seems to be covered with very large brown polka-dots at this time of year; probably something to do with irrigation patterns. I toggled back and forth between the google map and a series of women stand-up comics on A&E. Each woman's show lasted about an hour, and they took me through the flight fairly painlessly. We ended up arriving at JFK at 4 pm, half an hour early.
I called John as soon as we were allowed to turn our phones back on, to let him know I was safely on the ground. A few minutes later, Laura and Jimi called to say that they were on their way to the airport but were hung up in traffic. I told them not to worry - I'd only just landed, and I was sure it would take a while to disembark and collect my purple duffel.
It didn't take as long as I thought, even though I made a quick detour to the bathroom before heading down to the baggage claim area. My purple duffel was among the first pieces to be disgorged from the belly of the beast, so I had some leisure for people-watching while I waited for Laura and Jimi. There was an especially interesting family: a well-dressed woman with a fur coat tossed casually across her luggage cart, her parents, her husband, her three children, and her adorable puppy in a puppy stroller. They were waiting for a skycap to help them maneuver their baggage into a cab, I guess - the husband kept wandering off and coming back to report his lack of success. One of the children, a little girl, had spilled something on her clothes during the flight; the woman asked her mother to change her, but the mother let on not to hear, so the woman had to do it herself. Then she sent the little girl off to "get in trouble with your brothers," who were having fun crashing luggage carts into each other. I suspected that this particular scenario wasn't going to end well, but I'll never know; Laura and Jimi called to say they were outside.
We drove off to Jimi's parents' house in Queens, where a lavish feast awaited us. It was the first time I met Jimi's parents, who go by Nancy and Mike, their "American" names. Their house is a brick Tudor-style (I think) from the 30s, with many nice period touches inside and out. I got to visit the prosciuttos hanging on the clothesline in the back yard - I've heard a lot about those prosciuttos, and a couple of days later I got to taste them. Nancy and Mike are very sweet, and the dinner they'd prepared was wonderful. Lots of seafood, since it was Good Friday (I'd forgotten that) - calamari, prawns, salmon, and whitefish, along with asparagus, salad, and Nancy's famous home-made raviolis. We had a home-baked sweet bread and tiramisu from an Italian bakery for dessert, along with chamomile tea. It was the start of a major theme of my visit: eating. More particularly: eating new (to me) stuff. Not that the above-mentioned items sound particularly exotic, but they were all prepared Croatian-style, and had a subtly different flavor. For example, the asparagus was dressed with Croatian olive oil, which is a little different from what I usually have here, and very good.
After dinner, Jimi drove us back to Williamsburg - his parents had generously lent them their car until Sunday. We stopped first at their apartment, and I saw my first Hasidim walking up and down their block - more on that later, too. Then we drove up to the place I was staying - Josh's apartment at Bedford and Grand.
Jimi and Laura pointed out some interesting/useful/good aspects of the immediate neighborhood, but I was really too tired to take much in. Josh's building was not awfully prepossessing on the outside - not bad, but a bit worn. We hauled ourselves and my luggage up the five flights of stairs - Jimi, bless him, dealt with the purple duffel, and Laura, who'd gotten the keys the day before, let us in. Josh wasn't there, but he arrived a few minutes later. Laura and Jimi headed back to their place - by then it was past midnight, and Josh showed me around the place.
There wasn't actually an awful lot to show - it's a fairly small apartment, although comfortable, functional and well laid-out. Josh is an excellent host - very considerate. He ended up doing the vacation-rental thing as a way to be able to afford living in a decent place in the neighborhood after he got condo'd out of his old place, and he'd obviously put a lot of thought into making it work well both for himself and his guests. He'd just got back from a seminar, and was on his way out again. I felt a bit abandoned after he left, all by myself in a strange place in a strange city, which told me it was a good thing I'd opted to stay with him rather than by myself or in a hotel far away from L and J.
Have I mentioned that I was exhausted? I was exhausted. I dug out my toothbrush, toothpaste, and nightgown, cleaned up, and fell into bed, ready to collapse into a deep, sound sleep.
Circumstances, however, weren't altogether cooperative. For one thing, I was all by myself in a strange place in a strange city, with no dogs or husbands to share my bed. For another thing, it was Friday night in Williamsburg, or by that time, Saturday morning, which amounts to the same thing: time to party! Lots of people were out and about on the street, and lots of vehicles, and they made a certain amount of noise, and it was a kind of noise I'm not used to any more. So it took me a while to fall asleep, although I did eventually. . .
And awoke at about 6:45, to pigeons cooing outside my window, and sun streaming into my eyes . . . but that will have to wait until Part IV.
We left the Ocean Park by 6; it was an easy drive to the airport. The JetBlue terminal at SFO was pretty somnolent at 6 am. There were a few other travelers wandering around; one of them struck up a conversation with me as we searched for the luggage check-in counter. It turned out that it wasn't open yet. I wasn't awfully hungry, but I knew that JetBlue didn't serve meals, so I decided I'd better get something resembling breakfast while I was still on the ground. I got a mocha, fruit salad, and a couple of bagels at a coffee shop. I stowed one of the bagels in my small carry-on for future reference and ate and drank the rest while waiting for the counter to open.
While I'm sitting there waiting, shall we review my appearance? I was a study in black, for the most part: pants, shoes, long-sleeved t-shirt, travel vest (we'll come back to that,) and hooded micro fleece jacket (that too.) Not much make-up - a bit of powder and blush, but no lipstick or mascara, since those had been stowed in the sorely-missed and much-regretted white bag. One black bag, the one I've been referring to as my small carry-on; I usually use it as a gym bag. One rolling book-pack from ll bean; I'd read that those made good carry-ons, and they're pretty cheap. One giant purple duffel, as mentioned earlier, also with wheels. I wasn't exactly traveling light, but between the wheels and the shoulder straps I was managing everything ok. I'd stowed my wallet in my travel vest, along with an envelope full of cash for the rent on my bedroom in Williamsburg and my boarding pass. I tried not to keep feeling my pockets, but I did anyway.
After a while, a couple of attendants opened up the check-in counter. Since I had my boarding pass already, I got to be third in line. I showed my pass and id, heaved the purple duffel onto the scale, gave it a fond glance of farewell, and went off in search of my gate.
This was the first time I'd flown out of SFO since they rebuilt/remodeled/modernized it. It's still confusing, but less so than it used to be. It has a bit of a chilly feel, but there's some nice art. I still like Oakland better, but JetBlue doesn't fly out of Oakland, or at least not to New York.
I found my gate. (I had to go downstairs to get to it, which seemed counterintuitive.) By now it was about 7, with boarding to begin at 7:30. I settled myself in an uncomfortable plastic chair by the window and tried to read, but couldn't, so I gazed out the window and stole covert glances at my fellow passengers, trying to decide who I'd like to be seated next to.
I stood up when they started boarding, even though I knew they'd board from back to front and my seat was in row 7. Once aboard, I had no trouble finding a place to stow my pack - I always worry about that a little when I'm among the last to board.
My seat-mate turned out to be a young woman who fell asleep even before take-off. I envied her that, although the take-off was actually worth staying awake for: a gorgeous view of the bay and the Golden Gate on a perfectly clear, cloudless blue morning. After that, the scenery declined considerably in interest, especially once we were past the Sierras. I was able to more or less keep track of what we were flying over thanks to the google-map channel that was one of our inflight entertainment choices. I noted with interest that Kansas seems to be covered with very large brown polka-dots at this time of year; probably something to do with irrigation patterns. I toggled back and forth between the google map and a series of women stand-up comics on A&E. Each woman's show lasted about an hour, and they took me through the flight fairly painlessly. We ended up arriving at JFK at 4 pm, half an hour early.
I called John as soon as we were allowed to turn our phones back on, to let him know I was safely on the ground. A few minutes later, Laura and Jimi called to say that they were on their way to the airport but were hung up in traffic. I told them not to worry - I'd only just landed, and I was sure it would take a while to disembark and collect my purple duffel.
It didn't take as long as I thought, even though I made a quick detour to the bathroom before heading down to the baggage claim area. My purple duffel was among the first pieces to be disgorged from the belly of the beast, so I had some leisure for people-watching while I waited for Laura and Jimi. There was an especially interesting family: a well-dressed woman with a fur coat tossed casually across her luggage cart, her parents, her husband, her three children, and her adorable puppy in a puppy stroller. They were waiting for a skycap to help them maneuver their baggage into a cab, I guess - the husband kept wandering off and coming back to report his lack of success. One of the children, a little girl, had spilled something on her clothes during the flight; the woman asked her mother to change her, but the mother let on not to hear, so the woman had to do it herself. Then she sent the little girl off to "get in trouble with your brothers," who were having fun crashing luggage carts into each other. I suspected that this particular scenario wasn't going to end well, but I'll never know; Laura and Jimi called to say they were outside.
We drove off to Jimi's parents' house in Queens, where a lavish feast awaited us. It was the first time I met Jimi's parents, who go by Nancy and Mike, their "American" names. Their house is a brick Tudor-style (I think) from the 30s, with many nice period touches inside and out. I got to visit the prosciuttos hanging on the clothesline in the back yard - I've heard a lot about those prosciuttos, and a couple of days later I got to taste them. Nancy and Mike are very sweet, and the dinner they'd prepared was wonderful. Lots of seafood, since it was Good Friday (I'd forgotten that) - calamari, prawns, salmon, and whitefish, along with asparagus, salad, and Nancy's famous home-made raviolis. We had a home-baked sweet bread and tiramisu from an Italian bakery for dessert, along with chamomile tea. It was the start of a major theme of my visit: eating. More particularly: eating new (to me) stuff. Not that the above-mentioned items sound particularly exotic, but they were all prepared Croatian-style, and had a subtly different flavor. For example, the asparagus was dressed with Croatian olive oil, which is a little different from what I usually have here, and very good.
After dinner, Jimi drove us back to Williamsburg - his parents had generously lent them their car until Sunday. We stopped first at their apartment, and I saw my first Hasidim walking up and down their block - more on that later, too. Then we drove up to the place I was staying - Josh's apartment at Bedford and Grand.
Jimi and Laura pointed out some interesting/useful/good aspects of the immediate neighborhood, but I was really too tired to take much in. Josh's building was not awfully prepossessing on the outside - not bad, but a bit worn. We hauled ourselves and my luggage up the five flights of stairs - Jimi, bless him, dealt with the purple duffel, and Laura, who'd gotten the keys the day before, let us in. Josh wasn't there, but he arrived a few minutes later. Laura and Jimi headed back to their place - by then it was past midnight, and Josh showed me around the place.
There wasn't actually an awful lot to show - it's a fairly small apartment, although comfortable, functional and well laid-out. Josh is an excellent host - very considerate. He ended up doing the vacation-rental thing as a way to be able to afford living in a decent place in the neighborhood after he got condo'd out of his old place, and he'd obviously put a lot of thought into making it work well both for himself and his guests. He'd just got back from a seminar, and was on his way out again. I felt a bit abandoned after he left, all by myself in a strange place in a strange city, which told me it was a good thing I'd opted to stay with him rather than by myself or in a hotel far away from L and J.
Have I mentioned that I was exhausted? I was exhausted. I dug out my toothbrush, toothpaste, and nightgown, cleaned up, and fell into bed, ready to collapse into a deep, sound sleep.
Circumstances, however, weren't altogether cooperative. For one thing, I was all by myself in a strange place in a strange city, with no dogs or husbands to share my bed. For another thing, it was Friday night in Williamsburg, or by that time, Saturday morning, which amounts to the same thing: time to party! Lots of people were out and about on the street, and lots of vehicles, and they made a certain amount of noise, and it was a kind of noise I'm not used to any more. So it took me a while to fall asleep, although I did eventually. . .
And awoke at about 6:45, to pigeons cooing outside my window, and sun streaming into my eyes . . . but that will have to wait until Part IV.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Digesting New York, Part 2 (An inauspicious start, or the tragedy of the toiletries)
This could be considered a prologue, since it happened before I actually got to NYC, and there's no entry for it, even abbreviated, in my journal. However, it affected my trip . . .
Thursday, March 20th. I went to work as usual in the morning, but slipped out unnoticed (except by Sandi, who knew I was going anyway) an hour early. The plan was to go home and finish packing. Then we'd load my luggage into the truck, put the dogs in the back, and John and I would head down to Sausalito and then San Francisco. We'd spend the night at the Ocean Park, our favorite dog-friendly motel, and in the morning John would drop me off at the airport.
This was a new plan, a variation on the original which had John dropping me off in Sausalito to spend the night with my parents; in the morning I would have taken a cab or shuttle to SFO. The change in plan required a change in my packing arrangements, or at least I thought it did, and thereby hangs the above-mentioned tragedy.
This was the first time I'd flown since the most recent tightening of TSA regulations for carry-on luggage. I wasn't entirely clear about what the new regulations were, but I knew that they involved the contents of bottles and tubes, so I resolved to put most of my cosmetic and bathing gear into my giant purple duffel bag, which would be checked. Since I'd be staying with my parents, the duffel bag would accompany me onto the houseboat Thursday, and I'd have easy access to any toilet articles I might need that night or the next morning.
Now that we were staying at the Ocean Park, though, it seemed silly to drag all my luggage out of the truck Thursday night only to have to heave it back in again Friday morning. Much more sensible just to bring in the things I absolutely needed - my smallest carry-on bag, which had my nightgown and a change of clothes, and another bag with my essential toilet articles - skin-care stuff, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, perfume, lipstick, and mascara. So I fished those items out of the giant purple duffel bag and placed them in a white Macy's shopping bag, along with my toothbrush, tweezers, and dental floss. The toothbrush, etc. didn't need to be kept separate, but it seemed handier to put them in with the rest. My idea, and I still think it was a good one, was to bring the white bag into the motel room along with my little carry-on, and then plop it back into the big purple duffel in the morning. It was, as I say, a good plan, but its success hinged on one key element - the white bag had to be put into the truck before we left.
I think you can see where this is going.
At any rate, the dogs were loaded into the back of the truck, the luggage was loaded into the back seat, and off we headed down 101. We stopped at the dog park in Sausalito to let Kodi and Duffy have a little exercise, etc., and then went over to the houseboat to pick my parents up for dinner. We all enjoyed an excellent meal at the Buckeye - I can't remember what I ate, but I do remember drinking a lovely mojito - and then John and I brought the dogs back to the dog park for a bit more exercise, etc. It's an excellent dog park, by the way - check it out if you and your beasts are ever in the neighborhood and need a break.
We checked into the Ocean Park at around 10:30. We love this place - it's comfortable, fairly inexpensive, pretty quiet unless you get a street front room, and, of course dog-friendly. It's just a couple of blocks away from Ocean Beach, and a short drive to Fort Funston - the people at the front desk will give you directions. It's also the oldest motel in San Francisco, and has a cool Art-Deco exterior, although the decor for the room interiors is more eclectic.
So we checked in, and brought in what we needed: the dogs, the dogs' luggage (a bag with food, dishes, leashes, and small plastic baggies for dogfeather disposal,) John's overnight bag, my smallest carry-on, and . . . the white bag? The white bag! Where was the white bag?
I think you know where the white bag was. I figured it out too, after a while. And there was nothing to be done about it except call myself a fool, which wasn't much help in the long run. A few blocks up Sloat there's a shopping center with an Albertson's that stays open fairly late, so we went up there, and I got a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, dental floss, face soap, and lip balm - the absolute bare necessities, as I saw it, for travel to a first-world location like New York. Then we went back to the motel room, where I brushed and flossed my teeth, washed my face, called myself some more names, and went to bed.
Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit in calling this a tragedy. As John pointed out, it wasn't as if I'd lost my wallet or my walking shoes or something really vital. Everything I'd left behind was easily replaceable, at least in a general sense. But the whole thing threw me off my stride and out of my comfort zone. I wanted my skin cream, my lipstick, my perfume, not some unknown and possibly inferior drug-store substitute.
On the other hand, it provided an excellent excuse for visiting Sephora . . . but I'm getting aheand of myself; that belongs in a future installment.
Thursday, March 20th. I went to work as usual in the morning, but slipped out unnoticed (except by Sandi, who knew I was going anyway) an hour early. The plan was to go home and finish packing. Then we'd load my luggage into the truck, put the dogs in the back, and John and I would head down to Sausalito and then San Francisco. We'd spend the night at the Ocean Park, our favorite dog-friendly motel, and in the morning John would drop me off at the airport.
This was a new plan, a variation on the original which had John dropping me off in Sausalito to spend the night with my parents; in the morning I would have taken a cab or shuttle to SFO. The change in plan required a change in my packing arrangements, or at least I thought it did, and thereby hangs the above-mentioned tragedy.
This was the first time I'd flown since the most recent tightening of TSA regulations for carry-on luggage. I wasn't entirely clear about what the new regulations were, but I knew that they involved the contents of bottles and tubes, so I resolved to put most of my cosmetic and bathing gear into my giant purple duffel bag, which would be checked. Since I'd be staying with my parents, the duffel bag would accompany me onto the houseboat Thursday, and I'd have easy access to any toilet articles I might need that night or the next morning.
Now that we were staying at the Ocean Park, though, it seemed silly to drag all my luggage out of the truck Thursday night only to have to heave it back in again Friday morning. Much more sensible just to bring in the things I absolutely needed - my smallest carry-on bag, which had my nightgown and a change of clothes, and another bag with my essential toilet articles - skin-care stuff, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, perfume, lipstick, and mascara. So I fished those items out of the giant purple duffel bag and placed them in a white Macy's shopping bag, along with my toothbrush, tweezers, and dental floss. The toothbrush, etc. didn't need to be kept separate, but it seemed handier to put them in with the rest. My idea, and I still think it was a good one, was to bring the white bag into the motel room along with my little carry-on, and then plop it back into the big purple duffel in the morning. It was, as I say, a good plan, but its success hinged on one key element - the white bag had to be put into the truck before we left.
I think you can see where this is going.
At any rate, the dogs were loaded into the back of the truck, the luggage was loaded into the back seat, and off we headed down 101. We stopped at the dog park in Sausalito to let Kodi and Duffy have a little exercise, etc., and then went over to the houseboat to pick my parents up for dinner. We all enjoyed an excellent meal at the Buckeye - I can't remember what I ate, but I do remember drinking a lovely mojito - and then John and I brought the dogs back to the dog park for a bit more exercise, etc. It's an excellent dog park, by the way - check it out if you and your beasts are ever in the neighborhood and need a break.
We checked into the Ocean Park at around 10:30. We love this place - it's comfortable, fairly inexpensive, pretty quiet unless you get a street front room, and, of course dog-friendly. It's just a couple of blocks away from Ocean Beach, and a short drive to Fort Funston - the people at the front desk will give you directions. It's also the oldest motel in San Francisco, and has a cool Art-Deco exterior, although the decor for the room interiors is more eclectic.
So we checked in, and brought in what we needed: the dogs, the dogs' luggage (a bag with food, dishes, leashes, and small plastic baggies for dogfeather disposal,) John's overnight bag, my smallest carry-on, and . . . the white bag? The white bag! Where was the white bag?
I think you know where the white bag was. I figured it out too, after a while. And there was nothing to be done about it except call myself a fool, which wasn't much help in the long run. A few blocks up Sloat there's a shopping center with an Albertson's that stays open fairly late, so we went up there, and I got a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, dental floss, face soap, and lip balm - the absolute bare necessities, as I saw it, for travel to a first-world location like New York. Then we went back to the motel room, where I brushed and flossed my teeth, washed my face, called myself some more names, and went to bed.
Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit in calling this a tragedy. As John pointed out, it wasn't as if I'd lost my wallet or my walking shoes or something really vital. Everything I'd left behind was easily replaceable, at least in a general sense. But the whole thing threw me off my stride and out of my comfort zone. I wanted my skin cream, my lipstick, my perfume, not some unknown and possibly inferior drug-store substitute.
On the other hand, it provided an excellent excuse for visiting Sephora . . . but I'm getting aheand of myself; that belongs in a future installment.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Digesting New York, Part 1 (intro)
I just returned from a ten-day visit to New York City. I had an exhausting, stimulating, wonderful time. Usually, when I go on a trip, I keep a special "trip journal" (as opposed to any more-or-less regular journal I may have going at the time.) I sort of kept one on this trip too, but the entries are very brief because by the time I got around to writing them - generally the wee small hours of the morning - I was almost too tired to hold the pen up. I thought it would be a good idea to expand on them while the memories are still more or less fresh, and possibly even to share them with the very few people who might be interested . . . we'll see about that.
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