New York Lines

Coffee with Kofi (Friday)

Things start to go well: I manage to fall asleep despite the heat and the noise of the valiant air conditioner struggling and chugging away in the corner. Stepping out and onto Park Avenue there’s a familiar hustle of office workers but not the usual bustle of overspilling pavements as London commuters are squeezed through Victorian bottlenecks.

Intending to start my trip where I left off – on the Circle Line cruise around Manhattan – I wander up to 42nd, conveniently passing Grand Central station. It goes without saying that Victoria Station it ain’t. The morning rush is over and, according to trusty Lonely Planet, it’s no longer the hub it once was. Instead it’s a temple to the golden age of the train complete with vaulted ceilings and altar champagne on tap. Truth be told, I’ve seen no finer station. There are British contenders: Paddington is a Brunellian masterpiece but no-one ever looks up to the ornate supports and now diesel exhaust-tainted roof. Canary Wharf on the Jubilee Line is a modern day public transport cathedral, deliberately built over-sized for the future and with budget busting concrete, glass and steel grandeur.

Back at Grand Central my photographic attempts are frustrated: in my mind is stuck that famous black and white print of the sunlight streaming in through the semi-circular windows. I have a problem with taking standard, touristy photos: I want to find an edge, a new angle, a post-production mood. Every attempt is haunted by much cleverer, better exposed and more respectful stock photos.

I probably should have stayed and persevered: a few steps back onto 42nd and it’s the Day After Tomorrow. New York doesn’t seem to do anything by half, least of all the weather. Flashes of light, a bass note that is felt as well as heard and the heavens open. This is no light shower, these rain drops are fast food-gorged, plentiful and unrelenting. Initially unwavering in my steps I take some solace as I huddle with other New Yorkers under the ornings of Barnes & Noble on 5th Avenue. I may be in shorts and a T-shirt with a couple of standard issue umbrellas securely stowed in a cupboard under the stairs 3458 miles away…. but I’m not the only one. Those that are carrying umbrellas are getting drenched anyway: rain is rebounding upwards off the streets and the gutters are impassable streams.

I realise 3 hours on the Circle Line, though under cover, is probably not a great time to see the city. E realises this quickly as well and calls with museum and gallery advice: it’s appreciated as I know my Lonely Planet would last about 5 seconds if I unsheathe it now.

A few amused/exasperated looks exchanged with my fellow New Yorkers later and the downpour subsides. Tens of blocks separate me from the Guggenheim, Met and others and the sensible approach would be to find a cab, a subway train, a pedello. But no, this is my first full day in NYC and I’m a stubborn, soaking so-and-so. Besides I know that between me and said galleries lies the Rockafeller Centre and a mysterious glass cube which hasn't survived the downpour completely unscathed.

I’m torn, there aren’t enough days. Yes I’d love to spend hours admiring the Guggenheim, and possibly even the art work within. But I don’t do enough of that at home in London and my instinct is to explore given an untrodden street or two. By Central Park my knee is playing up and the weather is clearing. Walk on to walk round some of the best galleries in the world or hit the subway towards a 3 hour boat trip? The Hudson and East Rivers were calling me home.

A bagel later and Pier 83 comes into view. It’s vaguely familiar: after all the Circle Line was the way I spent most of my fleeting visit back in 1999. Another dilemma though… a full 90 minutes until the full 3 hour Circle Line which would leave me very tight for time to get back for evening plans or 30 minutes for the 2 hour semi-circle. There’s a sensible, compromising choice but it feels like cheating; what’s more, though memory of the first time is rather hazy, I do remember that some of the most interesting elements are those parts of Manhattan less-photographed in the North. No, if you’re going to do the Circle Line, you need to do the Circle Line.

Schedule-outwitted and knee-weakened I stand temporarily confused like Buridan’s Ass between options. I never thought inspiration would come from a bus, a Cross Town bus at that. This is 42nd Street… on the East side of 42nd is the UN and this waiting bus’ terminus.

Even a former PPE student like me learned something new so I can understand why an intellectually-wanting History student like the one who recommended it would do so. Despite the to-be-expected security checks I was still a little surprised to be walking so close to the Security Council chamber, in session, discussing the Israel-Lebannon crisis: my advice not sought on this occasion.

I expected more security, more sense of occasion about the place. Not that I was disappointed: donated works of art from member states were fascinating and the General Assembly chamber was impressive and, yet, impressively very 1950s. It’s obvious that priorities have, understandably, been on the variety of humanitarian programmes rather than renewing décor but it still feels a little strange for such an busy, under-pressure and under-scrutiny organisation.

posted by Paul Campy @ 7:56 AM