Don’t most people feel this way: Avoid
driving in Manhattan if you can. My
wife, doesn’t. I offered to drive my
niece to Kennedy this morning. She’s
heading back to Beijing after finishing her academic career here. Another sign of the times: twenty years ago if a Chinese student finished their
studies in the States they would have preferred to find work here. She couldn’t wait to get home. My younger one wanted to go with her. I don’t mind taking her down Queens today, but I didn’t
want to have to drive in Manhattan.
I ignored Waze and
crossed at the Newburgh Bridge. I wanted to take her down the Taconic as it was
prettier, but she was asleep anyway as we sped through the mountain paths. Passing Fahnestock the leaves were already in full-turn.
We sped through Westchester from north to south like a time lapse view
into my adolescence in reverse order.
The weather was crisp and clear and the view over to Manhattan from the
Whitestone Bridge was arresting as always, but I certainly wasn’t planning to head in there.
We dropped my niece off at
Terminal Five and though there was no cop immediately pressing me I rushed the
ladies back in the car after seeing her off.
Now, where do you want to go? I’d
entered Flushing in the map as I figured that was where she wanted to head to,
or perhaps I was hoping it would be there.
My little one said “Korea Town” which at the Empire State Building on 32nd.
St. I immediately said I didn’t want to
drive into Manhattan. My wife complained,
my little one relented, though she was clearly disappointed. It must be some old Manhattan residence
thing, once you’ve lived there you don’t want to ever drive there. But I relented and soon we were on our way to
the Mid-town Tunnel.
It wasn’t so
bad. Gridlock on Fifth Avenue due to some crane construction. We found a place with a big "P" sign for $25.00 per day there on 33rd
St. Around the corner we ran into the Koreatown Fair. That was unexpected. People selling kimchi on the street, a venue
set up for performances. We ducked into
some place named Wonjoo and had a good lunch and when we emerged there were
some high school kids up on the stage in the middle of the street, dancing routines to BTS and Black
Pink. She thoroughly enjoyed herself and
I tried to remember what it was like to be her age and head into the city and
meet other punks from around the greater New York area. I certainly would not have gone up to connect
with any if my parents were around.
Over on 6th
Avenue was a parade and were all surprised to discover that it was, in fact, a
Korean parade. A guy was yelling in Korean and then in English there on a ladder, one block below. There was a marching band
playing James Brown from Ridgewood New Jersey who were a pleasure to
watch strut by. A float with families in
traditional Korean garb sponsored by the Korean Times followed and . . . that was
it. We’ll have to come back next year to
see more.
I suggested the
Met. It was pretty cold and all of us
were up for heading indoors. The N & the R trains were right there but
somehow, we used the wrong exit at Lexington Ave and soon were on the street rather than boarding
a Lexington Avenue local. We took a Lyft
the rest of the way and enjoyed the old buildings cutting through the Upper
East Side.
I had wanted to consider
the Met's Egyptian collection anew after our visit to Egypt last
summer. The layout is exquisite there,
in the classic hall off to the right of the entrance. When was the first time I
visited this exhibit? Like some sort of
ruin itself, it has simply always been here. We ducked into the temple of
Perneb. Unsolicited, my younger one
mentioned she was only so impressed, having seen Abu Simbal and Abydos last
summer. That is undeniably the sort of thing this daddy wants to hear. I’d forgotten about the remarkable setting they had for the Temple of Dendur
and I suppose I’d never known it was technically a gift from the Nassar to the
U.S. for their help in saving other
monuments, from the imminent flooding when the Aswan Damn was created. Johnson awarded it to the Met which had an
indoor setting ready in the Sackler Wing, beating out Washington D.C. and
Boston for the prize. Good.
It’s wonderful to visit
your own towns museum as you don’t feel obligated to attempt to see it
all. We went over in and had a look at
some of the Hudson River School paintings as I thought my wife might enjoy and
showed them all a stain glass window done by the American painter who certainly
has the tradition’s most beautiful name: John La Farge. Back through the late Egyptian stuff on our
way to the exit we stopped off the restrooms.
How long is it before women begin to insist that public buildings build
more stalls in the ladies room than they do in the gents? Me and all the other caballeros strolled in
and out, while the ladies queued snaked back out into the hall, spanning centuries
of Egyptian history. This rupture will come, surely. I let one lady pass
on my way out. She might have been
someone I went to school with, and she cursed the “Chinese” when she reached her husband outside as they were always so
pushy. This was audible and I almost
confronted her. Most of that line seemed to be of Korean folk from what I could discern. But myself and many of
the Chinese within earshot, all let it go.
Heading home we argued. My wife wanted me to explain all the highway
changes she should anticipate once she emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel, before
I dozed off. I tried. Not good enough. She preferred to use the
GPS in her car, rather than Waze. Later, in Jersey: “You said
80 West. Why am I on 80 East?" "Because you missed a turn and the GPS is
trying to reroute you!” Everyone was
tired after our day in the city and dinner was just leftovers from what we’d
had the night before.
Saturday 10/05/19
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