Yesterday I made my way to Central Park, a place that will probably take me years to get to know. I entered at 96th street, on the west side (or "Central Park West" as they like to say), and as you can see from my classy map here, made my way down...down...down. It was quite a walk made a bit harder by the idiot in me that brought a very sizeable backpack along (it had all my workout clothes including my tennis shoes, bottle of water, etc.). By the time I reached Central Park South, I was red-faced, soaked in sweat, and exhausted. (I know, sexy image, eh?). I even considered walking down to the 40's after that, but quickly discovered that was stupid and got on the subway at 57th street.
But let's take a moment to re-visit that journey of mine, since it was so nice, shall we? It was really a beautiful day! A little warm, but the park offers plenty grassy knolls and shady trees. I got off the subway at 96th and had to walk a few avenues east until I reached the park. 96th street was kind of nice, and as I have been prone to lately, my eyes scoured every doorway on the off-chance that there is a sign advertising a vacant apartment (this has actually happened twice now, including one viewing for me). No such luck.
My path through the park
I entered the park and began trying to make my way east. I saw the sign for the giant reservoir and headed toward that. I like large bodies of water. Okay, maybe this wasn't "large," but it sure wasn't a duck pond! I stared at the water for a bit, headphones in, thinking DEEEEEEEP thoughts. I then settled on the grass to read my book, Taking Lives, and take occasional glances at the lake and the hundreds of joggers huffing and puffing by. And when I say hundreds, I do not joke. If I had one of those people clickers that fat guards hold as you enter the museum, I'd be clickety-clacketing away. I was amazed. There were so many I felt some sort of societal pressure to jump up from my sluggish roost and join them with gusto.
Yeah, I just read my book, and ate green grapes, and stared at the water, and felt good. I go to the gym enough.
I also watched or rather, looked at those giant, gloroius apartment buildings that make up the famous "Central Park West" or "Central Park South" where the super rich live. They make such an interesting backdrop to the park, which seems like a bubble world, especially that one with the two towers.
That's not the greatest picture, it kind of takes away from the image I had, but it'll do for now.
This picture's a little bit better:
I want to be rich. I know, it sounds disgusting to say it, and I'm not sure that anyone can be really rich without really hurting others or forcing others into poverty themselves. I guess what I really mean is, I want to not have to struggle so much. Living in Bangkok, for the first time in my life, money wasn't SUCH an issue. When you don't have money, it's like this constant, dark cloud over your head. It affects your happiness, your stress levels. Does it mean you can't be poor and happy? No, of course not, but it sure as hell affects your happiness! And money CAN buy happiness! It can buy enjoyment, ease, comfort, and peace of mind. In Bangkok, if I needed something, or wanted something (within reason), it was possible. It wasn't crazy, but there wasn't this constant denial of oneself. Constant "wait 'til the next check to
ANYWAY!
I walked on toward Central Park South where the playground is. I had been there before, where I had spent a very nice few minutes on the swings. I'm an adult and still love the swings, though now I have a fear of breaking the whole swingset. The place was filled with kids though, and I do like kids enough to not want to take over a swing when there's plenty of children vying for one. I thought I'd use the bathroom which I had been pleasantly surprised with on my last visit.
YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was absolutely, totally disgusting. The bathroom was flooded with watery excrement that covered the floor in a vomitous flood. I was very happy to be wearing my 'water'-proof, foot-covering shoes. I found one bathroom that had a) toilet paper, b) a working lock, and c) the least amount of flood waters on the ground. We can stop the story there.
I walked to the main sidewalk where all the horse, or is it 'hansom' cabs were. The smell of horse manure was a bit overwhelming. I don’t mind the smell so much, since I was around horses occasionally as a kid (especially with those memorable trips to “Rawhide!” out in the desert, but it was pretty pungent stuff.
I passed by all the vendors with their touristy stuff. When I have lived abroad (particulary in Europe, since this is rather hard in Bangkok), I would make some effort to blend in. Wearing black shoes, my hair up, not bouncing too much when I walked or not smiling too easily. Sheesh, it makes Europe sound depressing, doesn't it?
I never wanted to be seen as a tourist and always felt a little embarrassed by others, especially the American (or other nationalities) who were obnoxious, loud, and totally out of touch with their surroundings and the people in it, or worse, the hippies who thought they really WERE. Yet, my one weakness was tourist crap. I love it. I loved my Eiffel Tower keychain (now gone, *sniff*), my Gothenberg sweatshirt, my Kiwi necklace, etc. I totally go for that stuff. I love postcards (and sending them), and find great joy in taking many photos of something that everyone else has seen a thousand times on other postcards or books or tv or movies. The NYC stuff is of course, a bit less interesting, but I still slow down a bit when passing.
How do you blend in in NYC? You wear dark colors, you dress relatively well (not in the Midwestern sweatpant/big t-shirt uniform I'm used to), if you're a girl, you don't wear masculine shoes (I like to wear fake doc martens, stomp stomp, oh well), you walk very fast, you look pissed off, you have little patience, and you don't look up. Ever.
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