Day 112: Conservatory Garden

This is an example of how plans don’t always work out, but sometimes you find something just as good, or even better. 

I’m sure there’s an expression for that, but I can’t recall what it is right now. 

I set out this afternoon to pay a visit to El Museo del Barrio. Unfortunately, I forgot to check the hours. Turns out, the museum is closed on Tuesdays. I’ll go there soon. Stay tuned (I know, you’re all on the edges of your respective seats). 

Nearly across the street, however, at 5th Ave. and 105th Street, I spotted this:

This is the entrance to Conservatory Garden, a lovely, manicured formal garden toward the northeast end of Central Park. I grew up in New York, not far from Central Park, and I spent some time there, but in a somewhat limited area (largely The Great Lawn and the Reservoir). Add in the fact that I lived in other places for 14 years, and the fact that it’s a big ass park, and you can understand how I not only had never been to Conservatory Garden, I’d never heard of it. 

Happening upon the garden though was a lovely surprise. I love spring. Actual spring. Those few, fleeting weeks when the post-winter thaw is over and when we’re not oppressed by the heat of summer yet. There are flowers and things are green. I daresay, friends, I think we are finally in the springtime. 

 

 

Day 109: Springtime in the Park(s)

I had a plan. I was going to take the A train (h/t Duke Ellington) to Sugar Hill, an historic neighborhood in Harlem. And indeed, Mr. Ellington did reside there. The neighborhood took its name during the Harlem Renaissance, named for the “sweet life” experienced by prominent African Americans. And yes, the Sugar Hill Gang (shout out, prom song) is named for the neighborhood. 

Getting there: Kind of a pain (the Upper East Side has its drawbacks). I took the 6 to the E and then to the A, going down to go up, and finally arrived at West 145th Street. First thing I noticed is that Sugar Hill is a lot less bustling and overcrowded seeming than some other neighborhoods. I walked along a street called Convent Avenue, aptly named for the number of churches present. 

I was walking along, looking at the row houses, when I spotted the James Bailey (yes, as in Barnum & Bailey) House a block away on St. Nicholas Place. 

The Romanesque Revival style mansion is a New York City Landmark and was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. Apparently, there are also beautiful Tiffany stained glass windows, but I didn’t get to see any of those. 

In St. Nicholas Park, a pre-Easter celebration was taking place. An (incredibly creepy looking) Easter Bunny was present, as was a DJ. For the record, watching little kids who are wearing bunny ears and dancing to Gangnam Style (still love that video) is hilarious. Walking along back toward the train (or so was the plan), I spotted some Gothic looking architecture above me and went to explore. 

As it turns out, I was seeing the campus of the City College of New York, which is beautiful. Honestly, I had no idea. The CUNY college with which I’m most familiar is Hunter, and trust me, that’s nothing to look at. The Neo-Gothic buildings of City College were largely designed by George Browne Post, an architect of the Beaux-Arts tradition who also designed the New York Stock Exchange. To my amusement, he also designed a home in Newport, Rhode Island, called “Chateau-Nooga,” for the president of the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. 

After walking around the 35-acre campus, I planned to get the train at 125th, but I felt like walking a little more, so I figured I’d get on a 116th. Then, I happened upon Morningside Park. I took a class at nearby Columbia University when I was in high school, but I’d never actually seen the park, so… why not? 

It was such a gorgeous Spring day, perfect for walking outside. It seems (please, please, please) that the cold is finally gone. I just hope it stays pleasantly warm for a while before it becomes unbearably hot. The park was filled with all these lovely yellow and white daffodils. People who think New York is all just dirty and pushy and rude (which, yes, a lot of it is) need to see places like this. 

Morningside Park ends at 110th Street, and a few blocks east, I came upon Central Park West, and the northern section of Central Park. At that point in time, I’d figured out that I was just going to be walking the rest of the way home (ballpark somewhere between one and two miles). 

I might have mentioned at some point that I have an abominable sense of direction, so I had to be careful to make sure I was heading the right way, but thanks to the iPhone compass, I kept my bearings and found myself taking a detour through North Woods. Honestly, does this look like it’s in the middle of Manhattan?

My only regret is not having the right shoes. And not just because my feet were hurting me (these boots were not made for walking, at least not walking 100 blocks, give or take), but because I really would have liked to have been able to traverse the woods in a more agile fashion.

Past the North Lawn, where the crowds were out, playing baseball, playing soccer, reading, sunning, and eventually toward 5th Avenue, and then home. 

Remember how I started this post by saying I had a plan? I had. I was just going to spend an hour or so in Sugar Hill, see some pretty buildings, check out a new neighborhood. I think my day turned out a lot better than planned. 

 

 When I took on this project, one of my goals was to cultivate a greater sense of openness and adventure. This is sense I definitely feel when I’m away from home, but sometimes, I let myself explore and observe my own backyard. Today was one of those days.

 

Day 74: I did not get crabs (soup) in Annapolis

My mother’s family is from Baltimore, so I’ve probably been to Annapolis at some point in my life. However, I have no recollection of ever having been there, so even if I was (and it’s definitely been more than 15 years), it counts at something new. 

This town is adorable. It’s retained a lot of both old seaport feel and Colonial feel as well. The main downtown area was formed by streets spoking off from a circle in which sits the St. Anne’s Parish. Several of the streets lead you down toward the water, where you can sit and look at the boats, or at the crazy ducks and seagulls. Those birds definitely have some sort of battle going on.

Speaking of birds, one of the first thing we noticed was that there are a lot of painted chicken sculptures throughout the town. According to a local shop owner (and this article), the chickens are an art installation launched in response to a city legislation about the keeping of chickens. Apparently, some people have taken issue with the chickens, but I’ve lived in cities that have featured painted cow (New York City) and painted horse (Saratoga) sculptures, so I dig the chickens.  

While spending the day walking around Annapolis, I was at different times reminded of Asheville, Saratoga Springs, Westhampton Beach, and Victoria. My boyfriend said it reminded him a bit of his visit to Bath, England. Indeed, the city has not forgotten that Maryland was once a British colony. 

There were plenty of pubs and taverns, which were very noticeable today in celebration of St. Patrick’s weekend. There was a tearoom and a tea shop. This is dangerous for a tea obsessive like me. I got a roasted almond tea that smells amazing. There’s also a Spice and Tea Exchange, which has a number of franchise locations, and which I and my fellow foodie friends could do some serious damage in. 

I was also highly impressed by the Annapolis Ice Cream Company. Yes, I like food. I especially like local food. Their peanut butter Oreo ice cream – Oh my goodness. Today was apparently a brief reprieve from the “wintry mix” we’ve been having for weeks, and it was mid-50’s and lovely — a great ice cream day. 

About the only disappointment was visiting Middleton Tavern and learning that the crab soup was made with a beef stock. I don’t do mammal. But I got a salad with a grilled peach honey lime vinaigrette, and it was amazing. I usually don’t like salad dressing, I was almost shooting this stuff. 

It’s easy to consider “travel” to be something that involves going far away, but most of us are usually so insulated in a limited space of home and work that we never explore the area within an hour or so radius of where we live. (Or in my case with Annapolis, where I’m visiting for the weekend.)

 

Day 73: Taxicab Meditations

I hate taking cabs. No disrespect to cab drivers, but they’re too expensive, traffic is ridiculous, blah blah blah. The subway is just more efficient. 

So that’s probably one of the reasons why I’ve never encountered the philosophizing cab driver before, at least, not in my memory. But I had reason to cab it today, and as it happens, I got into a taxi driven by one Kwame Fosu, once featured in the PBS documentary, Taxi Dreams.

Mr. Fosu, a native of Ghana, has been a student of yoga and philosophy for 40 years. He spoke of the importance of meditation, which is something else I’ve never done (and something I have no real understanding of what it means). 

He spoke for the entire time I was in the cab, and I wasn’t taking notes or recording, but these are the three main points he kept coming back to:

– material possessions are not the way to happiness

– give love 

– be true to yourself

I was tempted to ask how he can manage to maintain a meditative spirit when he drives a cab in freakin’ New York City. I can’t drive more than five blocks in New York without wanting to… do something that I should not say on the record. 

Mr. Fosu keeps a composition book in his cab, in which he has written “homework” for his new friends:

He gave me a bit of a quiz: If the wisdom of the world has been hidden away, where has it been hidden? 

What do you think the answer is? 

Day 71: A bridge to Brooklyn, but not the Brooklyn Bridge

I’d never walked the Williamsburg Bridge, but it’s featured in my favorite book, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I’ve also interviewed saxophonist Sonny Rollins, who legendarily practiced on the lower levels of the bridge, back in 1959, and whose album, The Bridge, is inspired by those hours spent there. 

I was meeting a friend at Oddfellow’s Ice Cream in Williamsburg this afternoon, so I decided in the spirit of both Something New and less guilt, I would walk over the Williamsburg Bridge. Of course, it took two subway rides to get there, but eventually, I was on my way. 

Now, as you can see from the link, if you clicked it, this particular bridge has been through a lot. And, you know, it’s a little rough looking close up. 

As bridges go, I have to say this one wasn’t my favorite up close. I’m not anti-graffiti, per se, but at least let’s be interesting with it. The walking portion is on the upper level of the bridge, in the middle, so you’re not only looking down at cars, you’ve got grated sides in the way of any view. I appreciate the purpose of the grates. They’re just not aesthetically pleasing. 

The truth is, I got spoiled by a bridge. The Walnut Street Bridge in Chattanooga is gorgeous, with beautiful views. And grant you, that’s a walking bridge and the Williamsburg is not, but there’s no comparison.

I walked the Brooklyn Bridge once, more than 10 years ago. I don’t really remember much about it. That’s one to revisit, for sure. Maybe on May 24. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 66: Jewels by JAR

I suppose I don’t think of jewelry as being something one would display in a museum. Unless, perhaps, it’s ancient Egyptian jewelry or something like that. In my mind, museums are more for paintings and sculptures and giant dinosaur bones.

Tonight, however, I accompanied my mother to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where we saw the exhibit Jewels by JAR. And let me tell you, this is jewelry that ought to be displayed in a museum.

It was insane. This is jewelry that makes the stuff people wear to the Oscars look like it came out of a Cracker Jacks box. There were several hundred elaborate pieces, many encrusted with pave diamonds, or tiny rubies, sapphires or topaz. There were brooches intricately formed to look like flowers, and a selection of bejeweled butterflies.

Some pieces were abstract, emphasizing lines and shapes more than anything based in nature.

Of course, the issue with an exhibit on jewelry is that even on a Friday night, the gallery is filled with women fantasizing about which pieces they’d like to take home. Which means, of course, that there’s a bit of a traffic jam. My mother took a shine (pun intended) to this 1999 piece, called Five Row Diamond Necklace with Pendant Ring:

I’m not sure that I could have picked out a favorite piece, but one that I found really interesting (but not remotely wearable, even in fantasy) was the orange peel brooch, because of its intricate forming, and because who looks at an orange peel and is inspired to make a priceless piece of bejeweled art?

New York born and Harvard educated, Joel A. Rosenthal (JAR) has been based in Paris since the late ’60s, working in a studio on the Place Vendome. The exhibit closes Sunday, so anyone in New York who is interested, take a quick trip to the Met this weekend.

Day 60: My evening with Eloise

Remember Eloise, the mischievous little moppet who lived at the Plaza Hotel? I had the pleasure of visiting her old stomping grounds this evening. 

My first event at The Plaza was the wedding of a dear family friend, and It. Was. Gorgeous. White flowers, silver and crystal everywhere. The Grand Ballroom was astounding.

With all due respect to my hosts for the evening, however, almost as exciting was the prospect of simply getting to walk through the historic space. It’s a true New York landmark, and I appreciated the opportunity to explore it a little further. 

Bonus new thing: Seeing a groom challenged to a push-up contest by one of the bride’s brothers. That was a whole different kind of fun. 

 

Day 54: A New York move

If anyone had told me that moving neighborhoods in New York City would be more stressful and challenging than moving from Chattanooga, Tennessee to New York, I would not have believed him.

I would have been wrong.

Taking into consideration certain apartment building rules, lack of parking, small elevators, and fewer people available to help, this is a bitch.

I grew up in New York, but I moved away for college and came back 14 years later, so actually moving within this city, rather than into or out of it, is a new experience for me.

Frankly, I can’t say this process is a pleasant new experience. But I never said that all new things would be pleasant.

But… a good man to help with the heavy lifting, beer, Ally McBeal DVD’s… that all helps.

All right, let’s hope the rest of this move goes as smoothly as possible. Wish me luck.

Anyone have any good moving in NYC stories? Let’s commiserate.

Day 41: Find your thrill in Vinegar Hill

In truth, the most thrilling thing about Vinegar Hill is that it is remarkably quiet. Like, “what city am I in?” quiet. On my visit there, I saw maybe 4 other people, and two of them were in a vehicle. 

I spent 14 of my first 18 years in New York City, visited not infrequently during the next 14, and moved back in late 2012. Despite all the time spent here, however, there are innumerable pockets of this city that are brand new to me. 

Case in point: Vinegar Hill. 

 

A tiny, cobblestoned enclave near DUMBO in Brooklyn, Vinegar Hill is named not for salad dressing, but for a battle during the Irish rebellion of 1978. It is decidedly uncommercial, save for a restaurant, Vinegar Hill House. It’s somewhat rundown, but the buildings and doors are brightly colored in a manner that seems reminiscent of small European cities. 

In fact, being there gave me a similar sense to the one I often get when I travel far from home. I am more apt to overturn stones, take roads not taken, other such metaphors for being less of a wuss that I typically am. 

What have you explored in your home town or city? New Yorkers, where else do you recommend I visit? 

Day 40: The White Horse Tavern

According to multiple sources, in 1953, Dylan Thomas downed 18 shots of whiskey (a personal best), stumbled out of the White Horse Tavern, collapsed on the sidewalk, and died at St. Vincent’s Hospital soon after.

A West Village landmark, the White Horse, est. 1880, was once a regular haunt of the literati. Writers such as Norman Mailer, James Baldwin, Anais Nin, and Jack Kerouac are said to have frequented the establishment. In fact, legend has it that the “On the Road” author spent so much time there, and drank so much, that the words “Kerouac, go home,” were inscribed on the bathroom wall. As I did not venture into the men’s room, I cannot confirm this.

On a wintry Sunday afternoon, the White Horse Tavern is busy, but not crowded. The patrons look like they range from about 30 to 65. They chat, drink and eat sociably. The White Horse has neither the feel of a dive bar, nor a trendy place. It’s very… neighborhood. The bartender joins a group of gentlemen singing happy birthday to one of their own. The bar and the booths are all made of a sturdy, dark oak.

I did the menu all wrong, I admit it. I got a salad. And water. I know. This is what happens when you try to eat healthfully. You don’t try to eat healthfully at the White Horse Tavern.

“That doesn’t look very good,” commented the Irish gentleman seated at the table next to mine.

“Doesn’t taste very good either,” I replied.

He and his friend inquired about my reading material (at least I was able to pay some honor to the establishment’s literary history), and commented that my copy of T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” deserved to be accompanied by some heartier food.

They were right. Next time, I’ll give myself permission to order more accordingly.

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