New York City
Dear Chewey,
First of all, happy Valentine’s Day!!!
Well, I made it to the Big Apple, buddy. As I move from the West Coast to the East Coast, I’ve noticed that customer service tends to wane just a bit. For example, when I boarded the train in Lamy, NM, the conductor helped me with my suitcase and walked me to the seat I’d be occupying for two days, asking if I needed anything to make my ride more enjoyable. When I boarded the train in Chicago, however, the conductor practically browbeat a passenger into tears when he “dared” to ask where the café car was.
Another example of this shift in temperament was the way my questions were answered. I had noticed that a large number of Amish passengers were on my trains. When I asked a conductor about this around Wichita, Kansas, his response was something like, “Uhmmm, yes sir, see, the Amish don’t believe in driving cars, and for long journeys where their wagons can’t travel, the preferred mode of transportation becomes our train.” When I posed the same question to a conductor in Chicago, the more terse reply I received was, “Don’t get me started on these mther fckers.”
Nonetheless, my train finally arrived at the famed Penn Station around 6:45 p.m. on February 10th (Avery’s birthday). Rush hour at Penn Station makes almost any other travel venue I’ve ever been in or on feel peaceful. I suppose it would have gone smoother if I hadn’t been hauling my coffin-sized suitcase, but being on the road for a month necessitated the inclusion of that behemoth.
After standing in the middle of the train station (apparently locals don’t call it the subway), staring at all the letters and numbers of the train lines for what seemed like 15 minutes, trying to determine which one I needed to take to reach my Airbnb, I finally just picked one—like I was playing Deal or No Deal. This proved to be unwise. Upon emerging from the tunnel to street level, I found myself in the Little Haiti district of Brooklyn, which I’m sure is charming under normal circumstances, but in this instance, it led to an unfortunate misunderstanding. I unwittingly ignored a question posed to me by a young tough, who, seemingly insulted by my rebuff, proceeded to throw a glass bottle at me. Ah… New York.
I will say this, though—a very kind man offered to help me lift my Del Griffith-sized trunk from the bottom of the subway stairs to street level. In hindsight, he may have been using my suitcase as cover from incoming projectiles.
Undeterred by this introduction to The City That Never Sleeps, the following day proved to be much more enjoyable.
On the 11th, I visited The Met, where I was cultured by legendary artists such as Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Dalí, Monet, and Picasso. Two thoughts crossed my mind during my visit:
1. I have almost no urbanity.
2. A person could visit for several days consecutively and still not get beyond the tip of the artistic iceberg on display.
It was truly beautiful.
Later that evening, I saw my very first Broadway show! I’m not a huge fan of the performing arts, but you know how much I love history, so of course, I saw Hamilton—and it exceeded every expectation. You would have loved it, Chewey. You could have eaten popcorn and sat on my lap. I think even you would have laughed at the performer portraying King George III.
And then, when I emerged from the theater, which was in the heart of Times Square, it began to snow! It was perfect—gorgeous and actually quite breathtaking. (As always, I’ve attached some photos.)
By the time the 12th rolled around, I had become rather savvy with the subway system and could navigate the city efficiently. So, I got up early and went directly to the 9/11 Memorial in downtown Manhattan. What an incredible tour. I had been to the USS Arizona Memorial in Oahu before, and this was every bit as impressive, with so many heartbreaking artifacts preserved from that horrible Tuesday morning in 2001.
From the 9/11 museum, I walked down to Battery Park at the southern tip of Manhattan Island. After being accosted by several street vendors—each swearing they were the only way to get to Liberty Island—I finally made it aboard the actual Staten Island Ferry, which sailed me past our beautiful Statue of Liberty (full name: Liberty Enlightening the World).
Then, on the 13th, I said goodbye to NYC and began my next train journey to beautiful Niagara Falls.
I’ll update you on that trip in the next day or two, buddy.
I love you,
Dad
Van Gough
Monet
Central Park
Times Square
The last piece of debris cleared from the Twin Towers after 9/11
There are just under 3,000 blue painted squares to memorialize each victim from 9/11. Each square has just enough difference of blue that they are all unique shades.
This is the water pool that symbolizes the north tower (the first one to be hit on 9/11). This pool is exactly where the building stood on 9/11/2001
