Saturday - July 29, 2006

Today we began our one and one-half day New York tour. Vienna and I drove into Queens amid canyon streets that must have seemed "modern" decades ago and found our hotel easily. Then we waited a bit as Jenny's plane, late unfortunately, took an extra hour or so to deliver her to J.F.K. LaGuardia would have allowed for a faster transfer, but we couldn't be so lucky. At last she arrived, beautiful as always, and our family was complete once more. A quick moment to unpack and we were off to the subway.

New York subways are hardly as pleasant as the metros we rode in Montreal and Washington D.C. - they're loud, dank, dirty, and complicated. But the New York subways make up for all that with the presence of New Yorkers who take great pride in their ability to spot tourists (our dangling camera and maps helped). Any newcomer who looks lost quickly receives a friendly "whereya tryin' to get to?" One kind soul helped us get to an express train to avoid the dozens of local stops we would have otherwise made on our way to downtown Manhattan. Best of all, we got to help another tourist find her way later on, once we had our bearings.

Our first stop was Ground Zero. None of us had planned much beyond that, and we couldn't imagine what we'd actually see. We emerged from the subway at the WTC stop and were quickly facing the footprints where the towers stood. The place is packed with construction workers and their equipment preparing to rebuild on this site. Thousands of tourists wandered along the fenced perimeter as they have done so every day for almost five years. The site itself is difficult to describe. Physically, Ground Zero is simply a construction zone in the middle of Manhattan, another place to snarl traffic. The meaning of this place invariably becomes personal to everyone who stares into this gaping hole. We all fill it with our memories. Mine are not particularly trenchant, they involve being woken up by Jenny and being told, "I know you hate to get up early, but you should see this." For hours thereafter, I stared at the television and faced a kind of fear that Americans had not been able to comprehend, I suppose, since Pearl Harbor.

So on a boiling summer day nearly five years after the attacks we stared and wandered among a small number of hawkers selling water and street orators offering lectures for our dollars. A group stood at one corner claiming to offer evidence of the "9/11 hoax" to anyone who would listen. Their most determined audience was another group of hoax debunkers. For us, the most meaningful part of this visit to Ground Zero was our moments in St. Paul's Chapel. In this place police officers, fire fighters, and other rescuers slept in pews and cots for days and months that followed while receiving ministry from hundreds of volunteers who came because they had talents to offer, along with a need to fill their own internal holes created by that awful morning. Without saying it, we all agreed it was soon time to leave.

After a couple slices of pizza, we returned to the subway and headed uptown for a visit to Central Park. One of Jenny's contributions to our trip includes a set of stops on our cross-country journey west: we will visit a number of sites that are significant to the Mormon faith. Thus, we would first visit the Manhattan Temple that stands a few blocks west of the Park. Without much of a visitor's center, we could do little but enjoy a brief chat with some folks inside while enjoying the air conditioning that took the edge off the outside glare. Outside once more we picked up some fruit from one of the stalls that lined the road and headed into the Park.

I must be honest: I had no interest in seeing Central Park. I'd grown up hearing about how the seventies-era Park was infested with drug-dealers, winos, and gang members - a far cry from the glorious "social safety valve" designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux. But Jenny wanted to see this place, so we went. And I'm glad we did. We learned what New Yorkers have known for decades: Central Park offers a cooling respite from the sweltering summer. The trees and lakes and paths can transport you away from the pulsing traffic to an Elysian field of folks sunning themselves, paddling boats, and climbing the steps of Belvedere Castle to enjoy a panoramic view of the city. We stayed for about three hours, I guess, but lost track of our time as we enjoyed a relaxing and drowsy afternoon.

By late afternoon we decided to check out Times Square, to see if we might snag tickets for Spamalot. Months ago, I'd checked and found that even lousy seats would cost a bundle, and I couldn't abide the expense. Perhaps we could get a deal on standby - we'd been lucky the last time we came here and saw Rent. Vienna and I had been listening to the Holy Grail movie soundtrack during our trip, and Jenny's been a Monty Python fan forever, so I couldn't get the idea out of my head: it'd be so cool if we could see this play. Entering the lobby, I prepared myself for the inevitable. Either "we've got no tickets left" or "we've got lousy seats at exorbitant prices." On a Saturday evening, what else could we expect? Well, we got a third choice: incredible seats (center orchestra level, about a dozen rows from the stage) and exorbitant prices. For these prices, I'd previously been offered (online) partial-view nosebleed seats. Jenny and Vienna thought the idea was crazy but I couldn't resist. Before I could think more clearly about the budget, I slapped the plastic down and bought the tickets.

We got dinner at Junior's Restaurant, a nearby restaurant known for excellent meals and transcendent cheesecake. While I can't stand the latter, Jenny and Vienna love the stuff. We enjoyed a slow-paced dinner, which filled us up nicely. Then, as is our custom, we ordered dessert anyway, taking most of it with us in plastic containers. Afterward, we walked a block to the line waiting for the performance to begin. I love holding tickets for confirmed seats, knowing that we have a place reserved for us. We stood amidst fellow travelers in shorts and t-shirts, and with fancy dressed socialites for whom Spamalot offered yet another chance to hit the town. The evening had begun to cool and we entered the theatre ready to enjoy the show.

Spamalot offered an outrageous spoof of Broadway excess, Vegas smarminess, and British humor. The innovative set, lighting, and visual effects offered clever contrast with the cheesy pop culture references and bawdy innuendos (where else do you expect an audience to howl with laughter when Tim the Enchanter says "below me"). The show ended with the audience on its feet singing along to that Life of Brian classic, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." We poured out of the theatre and onto Times Square.

By now the dazzling lights and gawking crowds had reached a crescendo, and we simply couldn't yet go home. So we wandered in this place that seems like the center of the universe. Folks heading for the bus terminal with their suitcases, pushers of newspapers forcing their wares into our hands before demanding a couple bucks, artists drawing caricatures of tourists seeking to transform this place into their personal memory: Times Square offers a vivid kaleidoscope of humanity in one tiny place. Our subway passes set for a midnight deadline, we found an entrance into a fetid stop where crowds of folks roasted in the underground heat. We melted with the crowd until our blessed express train opened its doors. Twenty minutes later or so we returned to Queens Boulevard and walked the last six blocks to our hotel.