top of page

NYC


Some building,


It's been wicked hot, pretty much for the last month, and sunny, sunny, sunny. But as soon as Nat flees the North Sea grey that the Dutch call summer, the weather here changes to rain and more rain. So, being masters of the pivot, we headed for the city of dreams, where neither of us had been since early COVID. Mindful of a tendency to repeat past traditions and thereby potentially hamper our experience, we left with and open minds. But how could we not take our seats at the Rein's counter for mushroom barley soup, a bialy, a double serving of half sours and mustard on saltines (don't ask)? And of course we had to make sure the Hardware Store for Women (jewelry store) sign was still there, and naturally we'd at least circle past the consignment shop we used to love before it had only clothes adorned with large roses.


Next, it was another counter with twirly chairs, the Oyster Bar and then a walk in the drizzle to MoMA, where we saw many cool things while we fought off Italian teenagers and people who take photographs but forget to actually look at the original image. So many important pieces, furniture, installations, photographs, the actual building, all good, all exciting, inspiring. And that red, brown and black by Mark Rothko? My fave.


Red, brown and black. This image is nothing like the real one


SFMoMA photo by Yasuhiro Ishimoto. There was a similar one at MoMA that I loved


Each of these beads represents a prayer going out into the world. There was a beautiful serenity in this room, it was lovely imagining all that goodness being transmitted.


This gave me ideas. I love how it hangs, and the shadows in the folds


Love me some pop art


We couldn't begin to contemplate going back to our hotel in midtown, which is essentially a prison at night, so found a bar and settled in, and then wandered over to 8th Avenue, which for the professional people watchers we are, is the most perfect place to land on a Thursday evening. Biggest takeaways were that leggings are back in NY, and the significant amount of delivery guys (yes all men) on electric bikes, hooked up to their phones, with their raincoats and big temperature-retaining boxes on their backs. They embody the hustle that is NYC, as do the African vendors on Canal Street who seem to have won the Louis Vuitton war over the older Chinese ladies. Hard to imagine how that played out.


Our cozy perch on 8th Ave


The next morning we decided to take a wander down Lex to Union Square green market, which keeps getting better and better. What does this say about us that of all the things we could have bought for a snack, we chose a small piece of beautiful cauliflower, two varieties of tomatoes and ground cherries? They were all delicious and kept us going in the obscene humidity until we could get to Dim Sum Gogo in Chinatown/East Village for some chive and shrimp dumplings and spinach dumplings. Never disappoints.


Look at those beautiful potatoes

End of season marker


Union Square chatathon. I liked the colors.


I ducked into a store that, newly opened, sells clothing and trucker hats that have a logo similar to Bass Pro Shop, but says something else. Whatever. Like the Chinatown ladies, they have a secret, windowless room where there are knockoff goods for sale. Really I stayed because I was the only visitor and the guy who worked there was earnest and sweet, introducing me to the taxidermied deers with large antlers while he petted them. Also, they had good air conditioning.


Nat rode a blue bike uptown to catch a bus on the west side to go to DC and I walked back via the High Line, which I was kicked out of because, due to the wind, pieces of glass were falling out of buildings. OK, that seems reasonable. 13 miles, my dogs were tired.


A glimpse of old NY in Soho


Man playing the same haunting music that's played at the Public Gardens, at the High LIne


Bergdorf window. Want.


Bergdorf window,. Don't want.


Can someone cut this poor horse a break?


Why don't things line up?


It was tempting to go to Fotografiska the next day, but instead I opted for a blue bike in Central Park, which it turns out is hilly. More sweat. But it's a nice ride around and there was a welcome gentleness after the prior day of humidity and noise and grey and Chinatown crowds and smells. Going back through Grand Central, I was struck by how the diversity of people in the big hall were sorted by the three train lines, sending I don't know who on the Hudson and Harlem lines, but anyone with golf clubs and/or blonde hair ended up on Track 16 for the New Haven line.


Turns out old habits die hard. But they still bring joy.


Comments


bottom of page