4 hours behind schedule, courtesy of freight traffic, mysterious chemical spills, random stops, etc. Only the Lord knows what else kept us so long on the tracks between Chicago and New York City. We emerged mentally exhausted and 87% sleep deprived. Upon exit, the first people we observed were disappointingly Jersey Shore-esque girls who were strapped, glammed, and shined to the maximum sporting orange skin, frilly tops, and skirts much too tight and short. I suppose 2 am does bring out the best. Our next task was to locate a relatively cheap hotel for the night and so we walked. Or rather limp-hopped from hotel to hotel looking for something under $200 for the night without success.
Apparently, Penn station brings you into the heart of Manhattan, something I didn't know until told. What a noob. We began our explorations that same morning at a later hour, grabbing the hotel's complimentary breakfast. Quite amused, I noticed a few stylishly dressed foreign guys lounging around an automatic pancake maker as it was doing its thing. I didn't know those existed and would've have tried it out if not for the lack of time.
We were to spend three days in the city, hardly enough to see one corner of Manhattan let alone the best parts of the city. We went to see Wicked on Broadway that day. Feeling very much like fish floundering slowly through Times Square which we also had no idea we were heading for until thrust in the middle, we were assaulted by colossal building ads, mass amounts of tourists, and a scantily clad tan cowboy in a hat, underwear, and boots. However the show was phenomenal. Ballin'. We had never seen a production of such caliber so anything could've impressed us. The set was elaborate, the props and costumes unique and at times breathtaking, the acting both amusing and poignant when needed, and the dancing and singing was excellent. It had me riveted for the entirety of the show. That's all on that. Afterward, we sat on the iconic red steps in the square, focused on everything but the ads. The mobs of people were much more interesting. I'll be extremely cheesy in calling them a beautiful, chaotic mosaic. The locals to tourists ratio was, I'm sure, in extreme favor of the latter.
Sunday was a perfectly lovely day. We wandered all around fifth avenue, passing a library, Bryant park, many tempting shops, and came to the Ace Hotel with the intention of meeting a fellow designer. I believe I walked passed him without realizing who he was at first. He was, at that moment, unable to see me, his head bent, watching his fingers play letters on his iphone. Twitter letters to me, I'm here. Ha. Jay Schaul shall be described first as having kind eyes and second as being surprisingly and modestly funny. We already know he's talented, no need for discussion. The next few hours with Jay were spent meandering some of the lesser known parts of the city, those we would not have discovered on our own. Madison Square Park, an old Episcopal church, a Hindu parade, Central Park (lesser known indeed), and an authentic Italian market. During the last part of our wanderings, we also met up with Ben Ritter, who we had planned to go through the McQueen Savage Beauty exhibit with. I might just say his hair was voluptuous that day, and he would agree. All four of us are graphic designers, a fact which I found amusing. No nerd speak is too nerdy or goes misunderstood.
I'm sorry, this is running long but The Met must have a paragraph of its own. Firstly, that building is huge and quite grand it its decoration and secondly, the place was packed. With the McQueen exhibit being such a large attraction and closing in one week, things were getting a little mad. The three of us, Ben, Chloe, and I had purchased tickets ahead of time so as to skip at least one line but the line (re: mob) into the actual exhibit had grown to be 2+ hours long by the time we got there mid-afternoon. Extremely displeased and already dealing with throbbing feet from the day's walking tour, Ben went to investigate. By purchasing a $60 membership fee, the line could be skipped. Had we not taken this option, we'd have never gotten in. Once I walked along it to reach the start of the exhibit, this became quite clear. I passed hundreds of people, winding through galleries unrelated to McQueen. Of course, once inside it was packed wall to wall with people but at least we were in. The pieces themselves were gorgeous feats of innovation and blatant displays of genius design. I knew little about the collections or even the designer himself before coming and I'd say that was a perfect introduction. His mind in stunning. We were not allowed to take pictures though once the security guards became scarce toward the end, we disregarded the rule entirely. How could such an opportunity be willingly missed? Chloe has posted some of those on her blog here. I have stupid phone pictures which I will not be sharing. Completely thrilled, we grabbed a cab to Soho which we were told not to miss. For future trips, I shall have to go back as well as explore Brooklyn, which we never made it to. Soho was lined with shops I'd have liked to shell out all of my money had I not be short on time or feeling slightly guilty for what had already been spent. We ate delicious pita sandwiches at a corner deli and ventured into a few shops before heading back to Grand Central Station (which is grand indeed but most certainly exceeded by DC's Union Station which I'll get to in a later post). Highline Park was the last thing we visited and it was amazing although we were unable to fully enjoy it while undergoing some serious roasting by the sun. We ate in the park but had to leave it quickly. Because it was a raised path running long like a road through and above the city, we felt like pieces of meat being offered to the sky, ready for slow broiling.
Though the dense architecture, hidden majestic churches, and gritty character pulled on my heartstrings, I did not immediately fall for New York City due largely to the way in which it overwhelmed me. I was fascinated by it but the whole thing was such a whirlwind that I need time and space for the budding of warmer feelings, whose eventual fruition I am certain of.