The Big Apple

The big apple took a bite out of me.

I'd traveled to the east coast to work with colleagues in the New York office, with a little extra time to indulge in some cultural treats. Plays! Concerts! Museums!

It seemed there was a big fuss over a little bit of weather, but apparently it was the first snowfall of the season.

Alas, after just three days a winter virus had thoroughly colonized my body. I lost my voice (which, in some minds, was a net positive). I kept working, because ... that's why I was there.

I did enjoy New York City Ballet's Nutcracker, which I had never seen. Unlike San Francisco Ballet's version, the part of Marie was danced by one young girl throughout the performance. The theatre was unfamiliar to me, even though the first ballet I'd seen was in New York (more than 30 years ago).

Working from another office generally means the day stretches long as I follow much of my normal schedule with a now-shifted timezone. Most evenings I only had the energy to drag myself back to my hotel room, but I did manage to connect with one good friend for dinner.

I scaled back my dream of seeing two plays on Saturday, deciding that I had just about enough stamina for a matinee and a pilgrimage to Rockefeller Center.

Note to self: Check out the tree on a weeknight, not on the first Saturday after they've lit it up. Bodies were packed so tightly that you had no choice but to swim with the crowd, kind of like body-surfing an ocean wave.

Oklahoma! was my first choice, and the cast was good even though several key roles were not played by the primary cast members. [So, no, I did not get to see the Tony winner sing the part of Ado Annie.] The music is so stunningly beautiful that I fought back tears as soon as it began. I didn't find Ado Annie or the peddler convincing, but the other leads were: Cocky, conceited Curly; conflicted Laurie; and a truly menacing, sociopathic Jud. This production struck deeper for me, emotionally, than the sunny movie version.

Sunday's journey home would begin with a subway ride, to catch a train, then a monorail, to the airport. With completely random timing, I hurried down the steps when I saw a subway train still boarding. And ... what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a vintage historical train—something that they roll a few times during the holidays. I slipped into car 484, built in 1932 and restored to period glory (the year 1946), complete with advertisements of the time. A memorable finale for this visit!

Exteriors, Familiar and Not

Where to, next? Central Park!

Ms. C was keen to see Belvedere Castle, but alas it was shrouded in scaffolding and closed for renovation.

We checked out the reservoir, the lake, and the turtle pond (where yes, we saw some actual turtles swimming).

Another request: Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Why not, from Brooklyn? I don't think I've ever taken the subway to Brooklyn before, but Google Maps led us to the right station.

We made our way to the World Trade Center site.

To the North Tower Pool.

I know where to find Paul's name. This is not something I would forget.

We walked along the High Line, from Chelsea to the north end overlooking the tracks at Penn Station.

On to Grand Central, to admire the nearby Chrysler Building by day.

A day to reflect on the old and the new, on what is here and what is not, before heading home.

The Art of the Subway

I had passed through the station many times before this little fella caught my eye, perched on a beam overhead.

Was this a rogue artistic statement? [No.]

There were more figures dotted about, and a larger installation below a staircase.

The subway system has a budget for art, I learned. We had some fun on a tour underground with a bona fide subway railfan.

Sure, I'd enjoyed the fossil replicas in the station below the Museum of Natural History. And I'd noticed the full-sized mosaics of revelers in the passages near Times Square. But there is real history throughout the system. The original lines were private, and the tile banners in each station followed their distinct color schemes of their owners.

More importantly, each station had a theme (localized to the neighborhood, in some fashion) to help riders recognize their stops. Not everyone could read, back in the day.

The Statue of Liberty is just barely visible beneath the bridge in the design at the Chambers Street station. The white tiles lining the walls were chosen to counteract the subterranean darkness. Despite layers of grime, they still reflect a lot of light.

A beaver, at Astor Place. It seems lucky that these pieces have endured in situ—not having been pried loose and stolen, nor defaced.

Our enthusiastic guide led us to some uncommon sights, like this intimate view of the tracks curving out of a station. We were standing, comfortably, behind a railing on the platform (not, as it might appear, on the tracks).

He made sure that we passed below the Roy Lichtenstein mural at the Times Square Station.

(A Roy Lichtenstein mural, in the subway?!)

Oh, the things you see when you take a moment to look around!

Interiors, Unfamiliar

It's easy to be overwhelmed by New York, with endless options for places to go and things to see. Sure, I have my favorites ... but when I visit with friends, it's the unexpected finds I relish most.

Like The Church of St. Francis Xavier, tucked into a neighborhood near Chelsea. I'm sure the area looked very different when it was built more than a century ago.

How many commuters, bustling through the corridors of Grand Central, take a moment to gaze up?

So many years ago, I would stay at the Plaza— a single room was (dare I say) a bargain during the summer months. Today, we eyed the Palm Court.

We're staying at an “affordable” Pod hotel, where they have refined the art of packing the maximum number of rooms into the available space. (“Affordable” is relative, I might add ...)

We explored a few galleries at the Metropolitan Museum, but popped into the Guggenheim just to admire the building.

One of Ms. C's “must-visit stops” was, of course, the New York Public Library. With some planning, we could have enjoyed a tour. The Rose Main Reading Room was packed (and very quiet, despite the prevalence of electronic screens).

The building is a veritable palace of books (though the stacks are hidden away). Nothing like this would be built today. Nothing.

An exhibit presented the work of Anna Atkins, the first examples of photographs (of seaweed) in a book. Remarkable, and ... who knew? (Not I.) For those who will not have the rare opportunity to study the physical pages, the library has shared them online.

From cyanotype, to high-resolution digital, to ... whatever the future holds.

Scenes of the City

Autumn in New York.

Staying in Manhattan is an extravagance, but so worth it.

Surprises await around every corner.

Work has brought me here for a few days, and of course I've extended my visit.

The skyline is less familiar to me now.

A dramatic new tower has risen somewhere beyond the New York Public Library, but ...

Will it age as well as the Chrysler building?

Or St. Patrick's Cathedral?

It's a transitional season—holiday trimmings are beginning to appear. The Christmas tree is weeks away, but skaters are already circling at Rockefeller Center.

Playing Around

Was I visiting during the off-season? Or is it the Disneyfication of Broadway? The pickings seemed slim.

I landed first at an Off-Broadway revival, the musical Desperate Measures, which turned out to be hilarious.

The story was fresh for me, as it seems I have never seen (nor read) Measure for Measure.

Next up was the play at the top of my list, Come From Away.

Last year, I couldn't bring myself to see this one. My chest tightened and my eyes brimmed when the passengers discovered what brought their planes to Gander. It was a few blocks from here, so many years ago, that I saw Evita with Paul.

Taking a break from musicals, I scored a ticket to a preview performance of The Lifespan of a Fact.

Seated next to a woman who had partied at Studio 54 back in the day, we were both puzzled about the venue. Evidently it began as a theatre, and to a theatre it has returned. The play was thought-provoking and funny, up to the (abrupt) end.

Late in the week, my chief biking buddy Ms. C joined me for a few days. “Pick a play, any play,” I said.

Kinky Boots, said she. And I'm glad she did. J. Harrison Ghee as Lola was amazing, and I had no idea that the concept was inspired by a true story.

The architectural details in these old theatres, lovingly restored, are a treat in themselves.

But why, oh why, are modern musicals so over-amplified? The lyrics were clever ... when I could make them out.

Four plays in one week—a new record for me, despite the slim pickings.

New York, New York.

Memories, Indelible

I'd walked through that tunnel on Saturday, transferring from the R line to the C. Like thousands of other people, that day and every day. (Except today.)

So many hotel dining areas have televisions running the non-stop news cycle. Honestly, I don't know why. At breakfast, or really at any other meal, the images are all-too-often disturbing.

I was the early riser this morning, the only guest in the room. Having scanned the news online while waking up, I was stunned to find the screen filled with flashing red and blue lights, the NYPD bomb squad, live coverage of an explosion in the tunnel connecting the Times Square subway station to the Port Authority station. Yet another disaffected, brainwashed young man. Fortunately, he killed no one—not even himself.

Within two hours, the hum of the city was already being restored. The bomber identified, surveillance footage of the blast on air, officials holding a press conference about the resilience of New Yorkers. Within two hours. Astonishing.

Construction is a constant in the city. If I had thought about how concrete floors are poured two dozen stories above street level, I would have assumed the material was mixed there. I would not have expected to see it poured from a truck into a bin that was then hoisted into the sky by a giant crane.

The friend who planned to meet me in the city confirmed that NJ Transit was running normally and our lunch date was on.

I strolled up Fifth Avenue, not wanting to miss the the animated displays in the windows at Lord & Taylor. I assured two visitors that they were on the right track and could not miss Rockefeller Center. This being a weekday, the crowds were a bit thinner than Friday night's crush.

How many times have I seen the Christmas Show at Radio City? I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure it was an annual treat when I was a child. Back in the day when some of the seats were actually general admission. How my mom loved it! After we moved farther away, she'd take a bus tour each year.

Fifth row, virtually in the center, today. I wish you were here, Mom. (Though the 3D segment would make you nauseous!) They fully use this glorious space these days, projecting trains and dancing Santas on the arches high above our heads to complement the action on stage.

Confetti rained down on the audience, like snowflakes, in the finale. Even after walking 20+ blocks back downtown, stray bits fluttered off at dinner and in my hotel room.

I love NYC at Christmastime.