Farewell to New York and to Maty

Easy as pie

New Amsterdam, it's become much too much

'Til I have the possession of everything she touches

'Til I step on the brake to get out of her clutches

'Til I speak Double Dutch to a real double duchess; --Elvis Costello

As I write, Maty and I are in Newark International Airport, seated at the gate where she will board her flight for Houston, Texas in a scant hour. We will soon part ways, she to visit family in the Lone Star state, I to ride the rails from Lisbon to Amsterdam over the course of the next month. We'll be reunited in mid-November, back home in Portland.

Maty in Times Square

What to say about New York? Any words I might tap out will, of course, be inadequate. New York is the center of the world. You can see it in the array of races and ethnicities of its inhabitants; you can hear it in the multitude of tongues that resound on its streets.

Outside ABC Studios

The exhilaration I felt wandering through the streets, the sheer adrenaline, was as powerful as any drug. While I wandered through Central Park, I looked up at the high-rise apartments and imagined what it might be like to live there, at the center of the universe. "If I had 10 million dollars, I'd buy a place, right here," I thought. "I'd move us into it, and we'd never leave. We wouldn't have to. The world would come to us."

But I'm never going to have 10 million dollars. Not in this lifetime. It's just a wistful dream. And, anyway, I think I love my little Rose City too much to leave her.

Maty and New Yorks' Finest

We spent our last day in Gotham wandering around Times Square, people watching, spell-bound by the dazzling displays. We ate lunch at a French bistro. We cast aside any pretenses of being above it, and gawked like the tourists we were.

Manikin retinue in H&M Times Square

And, for tourists, of course, New York is enthralling. But I spoke with a couple locals, and for them, the reality is a little different. "There is a lot of stress, working here," said a young black man I met in the bistro. He works for a bank in Times Square. "I'm here every day, and there is a lot of stress. I commute in from New Jersey every day. I can't afford to live here in Manhattan." 

Tatted New Yorker

On the subway, when we were returning to Staten Island, I met a man about my age --a tall Russian fellow --with two young children in tow. "When I came to work here, my employer warned me, almost as a point of contract, that I must be sure to leave the city regularly. The adrenaline will burn you out in short order, if you don't."

I suppose it must be that way.

Lovely day in Lincoln Square Park

Nonetheless, I love New York City. Maty loves it, too. We'll be back someday, God willing. But now I must sign off. My wife is getting ready to board. I've got a lump in my throat as I prepare to say goodbye to her. I hope I don't make a fool out of myself by blubbering in front of God and everyone.

More from Europe, dear reader. But for now, farewell.

NYC: Petite Senegal and the Metropolitan Art Museum

Sunny day in East Village

Sunday, the day after I went to the American Museum of Natural History, and Maty's visit with friends in the Bronx, we took the train to East Village in Manhattan to meet with my friends JR Tracy and Paul Haseler. JR and Paul are brothers in the international fraternity of Advanced Squad Leader players. I tell you, the very best rewards of being a gaming geek are the hundreds (literally, hundreds) of friends I've made because of it. Here in the United States and all across the world.

JR and Paul,

JR lives in Chelsea, in Manhattan, and graciously reached out when he heard I was coming to New York. So we met up for brunch at a place called The North Spy, famous for its corned beef hash and biscuits. Trust a Manhattan native to know the best places to eat! Maty, whose culinary tastes are as refined as they get, loved the corned beef hash (as did I) and we both enjoyed the company. The last time I saw JR was about 20 years ago at a gaming tournament in Maryland, and I'd never actually met Paul before (he being from Sydney, Australia). But, of course, as friends with a common hobby will do, we conversed animatedly throughout our meal.

Le Petite Senegal in Harlem

Afterwards, Maty and I made our way up to Harlem, where I had heard was a Senegalese neighborhood, Le Petite Senegal.The rain that greeted us when we arrived in New York gave way to beautiful sunny skies and pleasant temperatures. We emerged from the subway at West 116th Street and Lennox, and soon began to notice men dressed in traditional Senegalese boubous and hearing people conversing in Maty's native tongue, Wolof.

Maty finds her countrymen

Maty was thrilled, of course. She was soon laughing and speaking with random people on the street.

Maty, making friends in Little Senegal

We found a Senegalese restaurant for lunch, where I had yassa chicken. It was very good, but I hold that there are very few in this world who can prepare Senegalese food as well as my wife.

Yassa chicken

We wandered around the neighborhood for a while. I found a hat I liked in the market and we descended into the subway to make the long trip back to Staten island.

My new travel hat

Next day, Monday, Maty was too tired to go out. I was tired, too --we'd been going hard for the last three days --but I could not sit idle in our rented apartment while Manhattan beckoned. So I set off alone to journey into the city, while Maty stayed behind to watch her Lifetime movies.

Pigeons roost on a stony thinker in Central Park

My objective for the day was the Metropolitan Art Museum in Central Park. I took the 1 train from South Ferry up to 59th Street and emerged to a sunny, mild October day: perfect weather for a walk in the park.

Workers enjoying the park

My stroll evoked memories of the last time I visited New York City. That was in 2000, almost a year to the day before the infamous events of 911. Brother Eric and I had walked through Central Park back then, and our route more or less corresponded to the route I took on this occasion. Vague recollections emerged on the Literary Walk, and at Bethesda Fountain.

Skyline above the greenery

Soon enough, I came to the Metropolitan Art Museum, where people entered and emerged like so many purposeful ants.

I entered eagerly. 

Lamentation

I spent a good three hours viewing masterwork paintings and sculpture, art from Africa, medieval armor. It was an overwhelming sensory experience, as well as an emotional one. I include, without commentary, just a few of the sights I beheld.

The Death of Socrates

Stained glass

General Washington crossing the Deleware

Yosemite

Medieval cavalry

Suit of armor and polearms

Mr. Satyr has a not-so-little problem, eh?

Okay, couldn't resist a little ribald commentary on that last sculpture. Heh.

I was spent by the end of my museum tour, so I trekked back to 59th Street and took advantage again of New York's superlative mass transit system to eventually arrive back at our apartment on Staten Island. Maty and I ordered out for Indian food, which was delivered with alacrity. This is New York City, after all.

The next day would be our last full day in the city and the last day we would have together. We slept well that night.

Natural history and the $16 pastrami sandwich

Financial District, Lower Manhattan

The weather had calmed by Saturday morning. The blustery winds were gone and, although the rain threatened, it mostly held off. Wet pavement and cloudy skies greeted us as we stepped off the Staten Island ferry and onto Manhattan.

Intricate architecture

We walked through the Financial District where the streets seemed abandoned, at least by New York standards. It was Saturday and I suppose the financial moguls, stock traders, and white-collar flimflam artists were away at their homes (high-rise apartments on Park Avenue? urban mansions out in Queens?) counting their money.

New York Stock Exchange building

We came upon the famous Wall Street Bull which was being mobbed by a group of aggressive Chinese tourists. They thronged around that unfortunate beast, snapping pictures, jabbering excitedly, and basically boxing out anyone else from getting a photo. "We're hoping they all leave at once," said a young man who stood with his wife, waiting patiently for an opportunity to get a commemorative.

Maty would have none of it. "I'm going to get a picture," she said and waded right into the melee. I followed close behind.

The mob resisted. One particularly obnoxious fellow stood right in front of the bull, snapping pictures as if he alone had the right. A woman screeched at me and pushed my shoulder as I made my way forward. But Maty made it past them all and posed herself next to the bronze beast's snout and I screened off the photo-snapping solipsist. In one swift motion, I focused and shot. You can see the result below.

The Wall Street Bull

As we shouldered our way out of the buzzing, vaguely hostile crowd, we again encountered the couple we'd spoken to earlier. "You just gotta force it," I said to the young man. "Don't worry about being polite. They're sure as hell not." He nodded grimly and I saw them wade into the fray.

George Washington praying for a miracle at Valley Forge

Our first objective for the day was to deposit Maty with her friend, Oomie, who lives in the Bronx. Oomie is the aunt of our dear sister Nadia, and Maty wanted to pay respects. So we found our way into the subway and took the long ride up to the Bronx, where Oomie greeted us.

Maty and Oomie

Rather than go with the women who, I knew, would spend the day chatting in French, I caught the train back down to Manhattan to find a museum. The first I encountered was the famous American Museum of Natural History. I'd been there before, when I came to New York in 2000, but that visit had been rushed and so I was eager to see it again.

Mammoth bones

The American Museum of Natural History is not a place for quiet observation and contemplation.  It soon became apparent that the people who were missing from the Saturday streets had transferred themselves into the museum. It was packed.

Pre-human ancestors

Nonetheless, I spent a good several hours viewing fossils and dioramas. In particular, I enjoyed the Hall of Human Origins. It's a subject I find endlessly fascinating. For some reason, I was saddened by the dioramas depicting Australopithecus, Neanderthal, and early humans. I imagined the people who had made the displayed artifacts and left behind the fossilized bones and wondered what tragedies and joys they must have experienced all those ages ago. It somehow didn't seem fair that we, the people of today, could look back on them with such dispassion and objectivity. Whatever.

A trilobyte

After the museum, I took a stroll through Central Park. I was hungry by this time, and Maty would still be having fun with her friends in the Bronx. So I went in search of sustenance.

Central Park

I found a couple posh-looking places on Park Avenue but a glance at the menus on the windows convinced me that they were not for me.

Alice in Wonderland

I eventually found a deli at 79th and Lexington that boasted the "Best Pastrami in the World." I was famished at this point, and I love pastrami, so I went in. It was a tiny place with 4 small tables, two aproned men behind a stainless steel counter, and another fellow waiting tables. I ordered the house special: pastrami on rye with a dish of dill pickles. The sandwich was $16.

I was taken aback by the price, but having secured a seat at the table I was too embarrassed to walk out. And let me tell you, it was worth it. The sandwich was over-stuffed with pastrami. No lettuce, no condiments, no tomato. Just pastrami on rye. And it really was the best pastrami sandwich I've ever had.

This is how you get around in New York

Afterwards, I got subway access at 77th and Lexington and made my way back to the Bronx to get Maty. By now, I'd become familiar enough with the subway system to have confidence that I wouldn't get lost. (As an aside, I'm learning that a smart phone is essential these days for travel. And there are numerous New York subway apps that will help you plan your route.)

Maty met me at the Prospect subway station and together we made our way back to South Ferry, where we caught the Staten Island ferry back home. A long, rewarding day and we were both exhausted.

Another day in New York City. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

First day in the Big Apple

Lower Manhattan skyline

New Yorkers call Staten Island (population ~470,000) the "Forgotten Borough." After all, Staten Island has only a third of the 1.4 million people that live in the next smallest borough, the Bronx, and only one-fifth of Brooklyn's 2.5 million.

It is both humbling and intimidating to this Oregon-born, Portland resident, but the fact is that were we to transplant my beloved Rose City to New York, all of Portland --the Rose Quarter, downtown, inner Southeast, NoPo, Saint John's, Southwest, all of it--would comprise only an undersized borough in this great city.

New York: the greatest city in the United States, the financial hub of this country and the cultural hub of the entire western world.

Maty and I arrived at Newark International on Thursday evening and caught a taxi to Staten Island, where we're staying in a basement apartment right off the bus line that takes us to the Staten Island ferry and thence to Manhattan.

Heading to Manhattan

On Friday morning, we set out to see what we might see. The weather was god-awful: slashing rain and gusting winds. Nonetheless, we soldiered out into it and made it to the ferry. New York's public transportation system is a marvel. Buses run every 15 to 20 minutes and the Staten Island Ferry runs every hour, 24 hours a day.

We'd no sooner stepped off the ferry onto Manhattan Island than we were approached by a fellow who pitched us tickets for a tour of New York harbor. Thirty bucks each would get us on a tour boat that would take us around the harbor with good photo opportunities for Ellis Island, the financial district, and, of course, the Statue of Liberty. We accepted and set off on foot for Pier 15. The half-mile walk to the pier was an adventure in itself, with the howling wind and driving rain. Our umbrella availed us little. Our shoes were soaked. But we made it.

Exuberant Maty and the Lady of the Harbor

The boat tour, alas, was a bit of a disappointment. It lasted less than an hour and the weather was so miserable that we spent most of the time huddled in the enclosed deck, peering through fogged-up windows. But we did get some good photos of Liberty, so it wasn't a complete shut-out.

Once we got back on shore, we found the Wall Street subway station and went on down with no fixed destination in mind. It was warm and dry in the subway --a welcome respite. A river of humanity bustled in the labyrinthine passageways below the street. I was struck by all the faces, all the languages, all the purposes.

We decided to go to Times Square to see what we might see.

Times Square panorama

Steel and glass canyons. Bewildering displays on huge screens. A cacophony of blaring horns. Sidewalks filled to capacity and beyond. We wandered around, aimless, amid it all. I was surprised at the friendliness and patience of the people we encountered. At several points in our meanderings I worked up the gumption to ask for directions and invariably the persons I asked were helpful and friendly. One fellow, sharply dressed and groomed with an air of importance and professionalism, saw us huddling under our shared umbrella, and without a word, gave us an extra that he was carrying.

Times Square

The impressions were coming fast and furious and I quickly fell under the spell. We wandered around for a while and then, wet and tired but exhilarated, we made our way back by subway to the Staten Island ferry.

Short step shuffle onto the Staten Island Ferry

Our first day in New York was complete. As I write this, Maty is coming awake and we're getting ready to set out again. Let's see what the day will bring.

Thinking about redwoods on the road to Ashland

Smith River, California

I had another idea about the sequoias on the way out of California.  The Redwood Highway took us by Jedediah Smith State Park and we glimpsed a few more of them.  Sequoia sempervirens, the Coast Redwood, has existed as a species on the coasts of northern California and southern Oregon for 20 million years.

Indulge me, just for a moment, and imagine that the great trees possess some vague sentience --some retained memory passed on through sequoia generations. 

"Pacific Madrona" in America; in Canada "Arbutis"
I love that smooth red-orange skin!

(It's not all that much of a stretch, actually.  As the park ranger informed me, the DNA of a single tree can continue for tens of thousands of years.  You see, often, when one of the great trees falls, one or more shoots may sprout up out of the fallen corpse and become trees in their own right.  These sprouts are actually extensions of the original tree.  It is one of several ways in which the sequoias perpetuate.  And it raises interesting questions about the nature of mortality, does it not?)

At a cat park near Cave Junction.  I didn't dig the place.  Bad vibes for the cats and from the hosts. 

Anyway, if we entertain this idea about a collective memory, or a sentience of some kind that exists within the eerie-holy groves overlooking Pacifica, the sequoias remember a time when giant sloths and saber-toothed tigers and three-toed horses ambled and prowled and scampered at their feet.  They remember a time when whale spout was very rare and when the world was slightly warmer.

Restuarante mexicano en Jacksonville
Lentitud del servicio, pero comida deliciosa

The arrival of the bipedal apes, which occurred in the last twenty thousand year blink of a geologic eye, has been a catastrophe.  Even as the spew and roar of the great mountains to the north changed the landscape, the apes suddenly and savagely took to preying on the solemn giants.  They leveled 95% of the great groves. 

This is the life

To have survived these millions of years and to find themselves on the verge of extinction --talk about being confronted with mortality!  Were the trees making their peace with whatever deity they might conceive as they awaited the bite of the apes' contrived teeth?  Are they yet?

But now, for a time anyway, the apes have halted their slaughter.  Rather than reaping the trees, they've taken to wandering among the giant roots.  They putter around in their noisy, stinky contraptions or lope on their hind legs, swinging their arms harmlessly.  And they peer up toward the tops of the great trees or place their hands on the vast boles and grow solemn and quiet.

It all happened so fast.  Where does it go from here?  Will the apes finish off the last of the great sequoias before they follow the giant sloths and the saber-toothed tigers and the three-toed horses into oblivion?  Or will they become nurturers and protectors?

Crazy, eh?  No answers for those questions.  Trees and apes must each look to their respective deities.

Great sequoia wisdom

Leaving Crescent City

Redwoods National Park!  As we left Crescent City, an old sea pelican bid us travel well.  I approached respectfully.  He gave me a dignified pose.

Pelican

We took the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway. You won't go far on that road before you will be startled by the tall, solemn giants, bathed in white light, that stand silent sentinel.  Seeing them, placid, mute, undeniable as all glory, made me wonder:  What plain truths am I not seeing?  How do we grow blind?

Natural cathedral

Part of the answer may have been revealed in a conversation we had with a married couple from Orange, Texas. They were warm, slow-talking, plainly-vested folk.  The kind of folk who would not fathom pretension or vanity.  I mentioned that we were from Portland and that I hadn't been here, to the Redwoods, in 40 years.

"But that's just a day's drive away, isn't it?" said the old guy.

I shrugged.  "Crazy, ain't it?"

He laughed the laugh that comes when you discover something obvious.  "That's the way it goes.  You never see what's close."

The old gent took our picture.  We shook hands and bid each other travel well.

Gigantic!

We spoke with many people on the trails. People from all over the United States and all over the world.  Many Texans, some Arizona folk, a friendly, intelligent couple from Denver, some folks from the Netherlands, some Germans, some Swiss.

Lichen on the foot of a giant

And we saw many of the giant Coast Redwoods.

The great trees may live for 2000 years or more.  They are among the largest trees in the world.

Delicate life

A crowd had gathered around "Big Tree" at a pull-out along the highway.  Big Tree stands 350 feet high, with a 21.6 foot diameter.  He is approximately 1500 years old. 

A ranger stood nearby, dispensing facts and information.  He indicated places some 30 to 50 feet from the ground, where the tree has started to rot.  "So, Big Tree is dying, then?" I asked.

"It's got some rot, but that doesn't mean it won't live another 300 or 400 years or more."

That made me scratch my chin.

Banana slugs procreatin'

The ranger was full of interesting facts.

The biggest enemy of the Coast Redwood is wind.  Especially after a heavy rainfall, when the soil is water-saturated.  Redwood roots spread far and wide, but never deep.  A tree 200 feet tall will delve no more than 12 feet into the earth.  Coast Redwoods are in their prime at about 800 to 900 years of age.  That is when they are tallest.  After that, the wind tops them.

Maty in nature

Only one of every million sequoia seeds will ever sprout.  The seeds need bare earth; no needles, no encroachment from fern or rhododendron; only bare soil will do.  And of those one-in-a-million sprouts that find bare soil, only those that have the good fortune to find sunlight will survive.

But they are patient.  A sprout may remain a sprout for 30 or 40 years, awaiting opportunity.

Holy light

Because eventually, even 1500-year-old Big Tree will fall.  Big Tree sprouted up out of the earth as Rome and Persia were vying for dominance in the Middle East.  What will the world be like when Big Tree finally falls?  It is possible that even the sapling white oak in Mount Tabor Park will have lived a full life, died, and returned to earth before Big Tree succumbs.

The fall of a Coast Redwood is a cataclysm and Big Tree will be no exception.  Each tree is a universe entire for the flora and fauna that live upon it.  But when Big Tree falls, hopefully, there will be 30 and 40 year old sprouts to drink in the light that his fall lets in.  Hopefully, they will then begin their centuries-long journey skyward.

Elk bein' mellow

Redwoods National Park is one of the reasons I love America.  Spare me the red, white, and blue jingoism and the warlike fake patriotism.

Curious plant life

I love America because of these great treasures; these endowments of the Great Whatever.  It's a love for the land of America.  The land itself.

Inside a charred bole

As the rock band Kansas sang:

Virgin land of forest green  
Dark and stormy plains  
Here all life abounds  
Sunlit valley, mountain fields  
Unseen in the rain 
Here all life abounds

Maty on the Lady Bird Johnson trail

Redwoods National Park exemplifies the unfathomable endowment of this wondrous land.  Looking upon it, my heart hurts for the many millions who never have the opportunity to see how beautiful is this world.

Redwood jay

We can be a people of knowledge and generosity.  We can be a people that others welcome to their lands with hope and glad hearts. 

Ancient grove

That's what I remembered when I went to Redwoods National Park.