On Nate’s things-to-do-while-in-the-East list, is a trip to New York City. It’s on my list too, buried under twenty other things, but still on my list. So I join in this excursion, which turns out to be every bit the adventure, but much different than past father & son trips into the backcountry of the Grand Canyon or deep in the sierra Nevada Mountains.
After a four hour drive down the interstate, we roll into New York about noon. We get a taste of things to come when an erroneous turn costs us a hefty toll for the Triboro Bridge and an hour of our time as we wander Queens, learning the hard way that our motel street does not cross the East River.
We finally reach Manhattan in early-afternoon and get a seat-of-the-pants introduction to New York driving, with unwritten rules of 1) never hesitate, 2) always put your car where it doesn’t look like it will fit, and 3) if you honk your horn, keep it pushed down until your hand tires from the effort.
From Manhattan, we span 119 years of history crossing the Brookylyn bridge to eat at Gerno’s Pizza, which is nestled almost under the bridge. The display of award-winning plaques in the window proclaim it to be the “best damned Pizza in New York”. The half-hour long line of people stretching out the door and down the sidewalk support the claim. Inside the restaurant, the scene is reminiscent of a previous generation with hand-tossed pizza dough, a large wood-fired oven, and large steaming hot pizzas being expertly slung about with a six-foot wooden spatula. The pizza is unique and tasty. When we leave the restaurant, from a nearby pier, the unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline across the river is framed by the Brooklyn bridge.
After a harrowing drive back to Manhattan through rush-hour traffic, we check into our motel in the late afternoon, then hit the streets on foot. We decide our trip won’t be complete without a trip to the top of the Empire State building. After a long wait in Disneyland-like lines and an ear-popping elevator ride to the 80th floor, we buy tickets. We opt not to pay the extra six dollars for a recorded narrative by “Tony the Cabbie”, which according to brochures is the best deal in the entire city. Finally we exit onto the observation deck and elbow our way through the throng for a view. Wow – the city of New York from high above, from the East River to the Hudson, from north to South. We’re not disappointed.
Back at ground level, we wait patiently on a busy street for our own personal tour guide who arrives minutes later in a silver Acura. Robbie Stillerman, whom I met several years previous skiing Stratton Mountain, is an ever smiling, non-stop talking, short and petite, 60-ish lady, a New York native who’s small frame is dwarfed by the very skyline that she knows so well. For the next two hours we are treated to Robbie’s non-stop narrative and architectural lectures. While Robbie skillfully maneuvers through a maze of horn-honking New York traffic, we are treated to the sounds, smells, and fabulous sun roof views of the city we came to see - Time Square, The United Nations, The Chrysler building, Central Park and so much more.
With night having fallen, we patiently search street after street for a parking spot. Finally we find one but the vehicle in front of us has first dibs. We watch in amazement while a pickup truck is shoe-horned into a space that appears 6-inches shorter than the vehicle itself. The driver uses a very entertaining bump and grind technique with the parked car to his rear. We move on. At long last we find an empty space, park the car, and venture out on foot. In Washington Square we pause on the sidewalk to enjoy two talented musicians cranking out some serious rock and roll with only a piano, percussion, and raspy vocals. Outside the square in a residential area, we marvel at an official New York City rat sighting. The critter scurries down the sidewalk to our left. Snaking our way down a side street in Greenwich Village, through a sea of people, we pass restaurant after restaurant brimming with energetic customers. This is a “happening place”. It’s after 10p.m. but the evening is young in this city that never sleeps.
Learning that neither Nate nor I have ever eaten Sushi, Robbie escorts us into a Japanese restaurant. Inside and seated, Robbie orders samplers for us all. Nate and I are good sports. The Miso soup is good. The well-seasoned sea weed has the consistency of polyurethane rubber. The sushi tastes exactly like the raw fish that it is - cold, slimy, and tasteless. And the item which makes me the proudest that I’ve ever been in suppressing a gag reflex, “rolls”, which are eel rolled in avocado. After these scrumptious appetizers, I might be content to give my stomach the rest of the night off. Instead we are off to another restaurant for dinner’s main course. After eating, Robbie is game for yet another restaurant for desert, but it is late and we are full.
When we arrived back at the car, we are greeted with an unfriendly parking ticket, placed there only minutes before we arrived. A $115 FINE? (CHOKE!) That alone may keep me away from the city the rest of my life.
On the way home we detour through China town and Little Italy for yet a few more sights. At his hour many of the sidewalks take on the appearance of an alleyway as garbage sacks stacked waste-high await collection. It is about midnight when Robbie drops us off. We say a warm, heart-felt goodbye to our friend who has been so kind to spend her evening sharing with us the sights, sounds and cuisine of her beloved New York City. We trudge our tired bodies to our motel room and fall into bed.
Saturday morning we conclude our visit with a subway trip downtown. As the subway rolls, our car is filled with the perfect harmony of four black men singing a cappella. While their deep rich voices serenade, they unabashedly solicit tips before passing into the next car. On the south side of Manhattan we enjoy views of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island where Nate’s Lithuanian and Italian ancestors entered the country many years previous. In a walking tour we see Wall Street and the ornate exterior of the New York Stock Exchange. Farther north, we stand in the midst of a crowd, many of whom are moved to tears by the memorial at the World Trade Center.
It’s mid afternoon when we finally retrieve our vehicle and leave the city. It is only fitting that we leave the way we arrived – by making a wrong turn and getting sucked once again into paying a hefty toll to cross the Triboro bridge. This time we reverse direction quickly and head north. We arrive home in the early evening, glad for our experience, and glad to be home.
After a four hour drive down the interstate, we roll into New York about noon. We get a taste of things to come when an erroneous turn costs us a hefty toll for the Triboro Bridge and an hour of our time as we wander Queens, learning the hard way that our motel street does not cross the East River.
We finally reach Manhattan in early-afternoon and get a seat-of-the-pants introduction to New York driving, with unwritten rules of 1) never hesitate, 2) always put your car where it doesn’t look like it will fit, and 3) if you honk your horn, keep it pushed down until your hand tires from the effort.
From Manhattan, we span 119 years of history crossing the Brookylyn bridge to eat at Gerno’s Pizza, which is nestled almost under the bridge. The display of award-winning plaques in the window proclaim it to be the “best damned Pizza in New York”. The half-hour long line of people stretching out the door and down the sidewalk support the claim. Inside the restaurant, the scene is reminiscent of a previous generation with hand-tossed pizza dough, a large wood-fired oven, and large steaming hot pizzas being expertly slung about with a six-foot wooden spatula. The pizza is unique and tasty. When we leave the restaurant, from a nearby pier, the unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline across the river is framed by the Brooklyn bridge.
After a harrowing drive back to Manhattan through rush-hour traffic, we check into our motel in the late afternoon, then hit the streets on foot. We decide our trip won’t be complete without a trip to the top of the Empire State building. After a long wait in Disneyland-like lines and an ear-popping elevator ride to the 80th floor, we buy tickets. We opt not to pay the extra six dollars for a recorded narrative by “Tony the Cabbie”, which according to brochures is the best deal in the entire city. Finally we exit onto the observation deck and elbow our way through the throng for a view. Wow – the city of New York from high above, from the East River to the Hudson, from north to South. We’re not disappointed.
Back at ground level, we wait patiently on a busy street for our own personal tour guide who arrives minutes later in a silver Acura. Robbie Stillerman, whom I met several years previous skiing Stratton Mountain, is an ever smiling, non-stop talking, short and petite, 60-ish lady, a New York native who’s small frame is dwarfed by the very skyline that she knows so well. For the next two hours we are treated to Robbie’s non-stop narrative and architectural lectures. While Robbie skillfully maneuvers through a maze of horn-honking New York traffic, we are treated to the sounds, smells, and fabulous sun roof views of the city we came to see - Time Square, The United Nations, The Chrysler building, Central Park and so much more.
With night having fallen, we patiently search street after street for a parking spot. Finally we find one but the vehicle in front of us has first dibs. We watch in amazement while a pickup truck is shoe-horned into a space that appears 6-inches shorter than the vehicle itself. The driver uses a very entertaining bump and grind technique with the parked car to his rear. We move on. At long last we find an empty space, park the car, and venture out on foot. In Washington Square we pause on the sidewalk to enjoy two talented musicians cranking out some serious rock and roll with only a piano, percussion, and raspy vocals. Outside the square in a residential area, we marvel at an official New York City rat sighting. The critter scurries down the sidewalk to our left. Snaking our way down a side street in Greenwich Village, through a sea of people, we pass restaurant after restaurant brimming with energetic customers. This is a “happening place”. It’s after 10p.m. but the evening is young in this city that never sleeps.
Learning that neither Nate nor I have ever eaten Sushi, Robbie escorts us into a Japanese restaurant. Inside and seated, Robbie orders samplers for us all. Nate and I are good sports. The Miso soup is good. The well-seasoned sea weed has the consistency of polyurethane rubber. The sushi tastes exactly like the raw fish that it is - cold, slimy, and tasteless. And the item which makes me the proudest that I’ve ever been in suppressing a gag reflex, “rolls”, which are eel rolled in avocado. After these scrumptious appetizers, I might be content to give my stomach the rest of the night off. Instead we are off to another restaurant for dinner’s main course. After eating, Robbie is game for yet another restaurant for desert, but it is late and we are full.
When we arrived back at the car, we are greeted with an unfriendly parking ticket, placed there only minutes before we arrived. A $115 FINE? (CHOKE!) That alone may keep me away from the city the rest of my life.
On the way home we detour through China town and Little Italy for yet a few more sights. At his hour many of the sidewalks take on the appearance of an alleyway as garbage sacks stacked waste-high await collection. It is about midnight when Robbie drops us off. We say a warm, heart-felt goodbye to our friend who has been so kind to spend her evening sharing with us the sights, sounds and cuisine of her beloved New York City. We trudge our tired bodies to our motel room and fall into bed.
Saturday morning we conclude our visit with a subway trip downtown. As the subway rolls, our car is filled with the perfect harmony of four black men singing a cappella. While their deep rich voices serenade, they unabashedly solicit tips before passing into the next car. On the south side of Manhattan we enjoy views of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island where Nate’s Lithuanian and Italian ancestors entered the country many years previous. In a walking tour we see Wall Street and the ornate exterior of the New York Stock Exchange. Farther north, we stand in the midst of a crowd, many of whom are moved to tears by the memorial at the World Trade Center.
It’s mid afternoon when we finally retrieve our vehicle and leave the city. It is only fitting that we leave the way we arrived – by making a wrong turn and getting sucked once again into paying a hefty toll to cross the Triboro bridge. This time we reverse direction quickly and head north. We arrive home in the early evening, glad for our experience, and glad to be home.
