Trip to Brooklyn
I have decided finally to break my extended hiatus from this blog, following my embarrassing few posts, and a general disinclination to put into words my new life.
I have not conquered this disinclination, which is most probably just laziness. However, I am compelled (to your misfortune dear reader) to recount a day of comparatively bland exploits.
So, with Rachmaninov behind me and Goethe ringing in my ears, I shall tell briefly of the Saturday I have just lived.
My friend and I spent the day - or what remained of it - in Brooklyn. In fact, we only arrived at 4pm, and spent a good deal of the time in a cartoon book shop on a side-street of Atlantic Avenue.
We were not in Brooklyn long, of course. We were obliged to leave early to walk in daylight across the Brooklyn bridge back into Manhattan. The subway had brought us, but the bridge afforded a grand view of Manhattan, extending from far into the upper east side through to the Statue of Liberty. Through the haze we could see the Chrysler building marking the area we spend our weeks, and off the tip of the island, the Statue of Liberty. She is a surprisingly impressive landmark that, when seen from afar, seems to stand above the aura of cliched impotence that becomes the banal banter of brochures. From afar, she is symbolic - not merely a symbol - and she stands apart from the buildings and the dock cranes to provide a glimpse of a power divested in aesthetic endeavour. Distinctly European, I think now.
Anyway, the trip was but a brief glimpse of the famous borough. From the sights along the avenue and the snippets of impressions of others' descriptions, I slowly form an idea of the place.
It appears to be entirely relaxed beside Manhattan, but aggressively multicultural and messily artistic. It is as dirty as Manhattan - in all the boroughs of NYC I have seen, the uncleanliness does not seem to diminish in the face of wealth. The rubbish in the street, the putrid odours from the drains, the dishevelled homeless askew in the doorways, are as prevalent in the financial district near wall street as they are in lower Harlem. They are ignored though, especially when one's sight is drawn by the ornate decorations of Grand Central or the bombastic crashing colour of Times Square.
Brooklyn is joined to downtown Manhattan with umbilicals of subway tunnels and bridges, and is similar to it. It exudes individuality on an ironically large scale. One feels rebellious walking with a collared shirt tucked into plaid trousers. This, I must make clear, was not my attire, I mention it hypothetically. Beware of beige. The difference between Brooklyn and its faster brother borough is the marked absence of buildings over 5 stories. The skyline is visible in Brookyln. The buildings appear as endless spaghetti-western sets. I kept expecting a flannel-shod body with holster and spurs to tumble from a flat roof balconied.
Never were we graced with this apparition of a cowboy tumbling to death. The gods certainly deemed such a thing too absurd, in the presence of a Dunkin Donuts, joined in holey matrimony with Baskin Robbins.
Our trip culminated in a return to Manhattan into the Nassau region, through China-town and Little Italy - as authentic to their original countries as can be determined by one who has never travelled there.
I have not conquered this disinclination, which is most probably just laziness. However, I am compelled (to your misfortune dear reader) to recount a day of comparatively bland exploits.
So, with Rachmaninov behind me and Goethe ringing in my ears, I shall tell briefly of the Saturday I have just lived.
My friend and I spent the day - or what remained of it - in Brooklyn. In fact, we only arrived at 4pm, and spent a good deal of the time in a cartoon book shop on a side-street of Atlantic Avenue.
We were not in Brooklyn long, of course. We were obliged to leave early to walk in daylight across the Brooklyn bridge back into Manhattan. The subway had brought us, but the bridge afforded a grand view of Manhattan, extending from far into the upper east side through to the Statue of Liberty. Through the haze we could see the Chrysler building marking the area we spend our weeks, and off the tip of the island, the Statue of Liberty. She is a surprisingly impressive landmark that, when seen from afar, seems to stand above the aura of cliched impotence that becomes the banal banter of brochures. From afar, she is symbolic - not merely a symbol - and she stands apart from the buildings and the dock cranes to provide a glimpse of a power divested in aesthetic endeavour. Distinctly European, I think now.
Anyway, the trip was but a brief glimpse of the famous borough. From the sights along the avenue and the snippets of impressions of others' descriptions, I slowly form an idea of the place.
It appears to be entirely relaxed beside Manhattan, but aggressively multicultural and messily artistic. It is as dirty as Manhattan - in all the boroughs of NYC I have seen, the uncleanliness does not seem to diminish in the face of wealth. The rubbish in the street, the putrid odours from the drains, the dishevelled homeless askew in the doorways, are as prevalent in the financial district near wall street as they are in lower Harlem. They are ignored though, especially when one's sight is drawn by the ornate decorations of Grand Central or the bombastic crashing colour of Times Square.
Brooklyn is joined to downtown Manhattan with umbilicals of subway tunnels and bridges, and is similar to it. It exudes individuality on an ironically large scale. One feels rebellious walking with a collared shirt tucked into plaid trousers. This, I must make clear, was not my attire, I mention it hypothetically. Beware of beige. The difference between Brooklyn and its faster brother borough is the marked absence of buildings over 5 stories. The skyline is visible in Brookyln. The buildings appear as endless spaghetti-western sets. I kept expecting a flannel-shod body with holster and spurs to tumble from a flat roof balconied.
Never were we graced with this apparition of a cowboy tumbling to death. The gods certainly deemed such a thing too absurd, in the presence of a Dunkin Donuts, joined in holey matrimony with Baskin Robbins.
Our trip culminated in a return to Manhattan into the Nassau region, through China-town and Little Italy - as authentic to their original countries as can be determined by one who has never travelled there.
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