For my loyal Texas readers, a note of clarification. In New York City, the term "in the city," seems to refer specifically to Manhattan. Even though a huge percentage of Manhattan's population is made up of transplants whereas those in the "Outer Boroughs" tend to be born-and-bred New Yorkers, there appears to be more than a hint of arrogance about living in the heart of the city.
Orientation let out early on Friday the 30th which provided for a bike ride several miles through Riverside Park. New York City accommodates bikers well with bike lanes and tens of miles of "Greenways," dedicated bike, skating, and running paths. Families were out enjoying the warm sunny weather all along the length of my ride...playing volleyball, cooking out, and shooting the breeze. There were even several people out painting the striking George Washington Bridge spanning a mile over the Hudson River.
A mile from home, a gear fell off the apparatus that keeps the chain taut. I'd walked the bike fifty yards when an older gentleman on a bike blew a whistle at me! I looked up, and he came to a stop. Reaching for his tire pump, he asked, "Do you need some air?" I explained that no, the bike had broken, and that I was close to home. At this point, he began a friendly lecture that I should carry extra parts and tools with me, as he gently pat his saddlebags! I smiled and informed him politely that if I knew which part were going to break, I would certainly have brought one along. The irony was lost on him, so I shrugged and said, "Lessons learned." Friendly guy.
As I walked up the hill on 181st by Haven, I realized this was precisely the neighborhood that my friend Jane lived in. I called and left a voicemail. She'd recommended a pizza place I needed to try nearby. Even though there are hundreds of pizza places in Manhattan, I love the connection of eating somewhere or visiting a place that a friend recommends.
From 181st, I walked on Broadway toward home. I like the multiculturalism of Washington Heights, where within a few blocks I saw whites, blacks, Asians, and Dominicans all sitting and walking outside, enjoying the beautiful afternoon. Mostly Dominicans. The four men sitting around the square of a domino game on a card table in the middle of the sidewalk reminded me of my time in the Dominican Republic. As I walked my bike toward home, children played in the side streets, and women sat with their chairs lined up in the shade. What community!
After a shower, I changed to a collared shirt and slacks and headed for the 1 train to Lincoln Center. My friend Hansen had scored some cheap tickets to the New York Philharmonic, but unfortunately Hansen was in a minor car accident and couldn't join me at the symphony...er, philharmonic. The orchestra performed the Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto as well as the 1812 Overture, ballet music by Borodin, and Prokofiev's Cinderella Suite. It was my first of what I hope will be many concerts by this world-class orchestra, but I have to say I was disappointed by the acoustics of the hall itself.
I sat next to an eccentric elderly couple. The husband couldn't seem to hear a thing. I'd seated myself beside the wife, at which point she leaned over and said, "I'm glad you're sitting beside me." Before I could feel too appreciated by her gracious words, however, she continued, "...and not in front of me. You sure are tall!" This was a woman who applauded for the orchestra by ever-so-gently tapping her fingers against the opposite palm. Ah, well, I suppose that by her age, she's earned a right to be rather blunt!
A moment I particularly enjoyed was venturing out during intermission. The upper level overlooks Lincoln Plaza, and the light rain during the first half of the concert meant that the pavement glistened in the warm lights reflected from the Metropolitan Opera. Down below, I could see the opera patrons strolling the plaza. Punks.
I finished the evening by catching a train down to the West Village and met up with some of my anesthesia colleagues at a little bar called Gaslight. One drink and 45 minutes later I was on the train headed toward home. Sadly, though, the express train stops running after 11:00 PM, so waiting for the train and riding 10 miles home took the better part of an hour!
I'll cover the rest of the weekend in future posts!
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