my trip #3, or meeting interesting people

Reading a map is a skill I am proud of having. But, every now and then, it fails me. Like when I’m coming up to street level from a subway. Subway entrances can be very disorienting. So I was rechecking the map, one more time, after having walked for hours and hours.

“Where you going? You already been looking at that map.”

“I’m just checking the best way to get to the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Oh, girl, you almost there. Here, I’ll show you, come on.”

I really wish I could share his accent and his laugh, but you’ll just have to imagine it.

“I was going to play there, but man it’s cold. I was going to play my sax on the bridge. Sometimes I’m here, or on 42nd St” “You play a sax? On the bridge? Isn’t it awfully windy?”

“Yeah and cold. Man, it’s cold. But, well, maybe I’ll try. Maybe there’s some other crazies on the bridge and I’ll make $3, $4. Come on, there it is, see?”

“I’d love to hear you play. Did your sax warm up enough in the subway so you could play for me?”

I give him a dollar as he searches for a cigarette. He needs a light, but no one else seems to have one either. I wish I’d brought the matches from my hotel room. I remember the next day to put them in my pocket in case I run into him on 42nd St., even though I have no plans to be down that far.

More talk, about Brooklyn, how long he’s lived here, tourists… I stop to get my camera out, he’s still talking and walking on ahead… suddenly realizing I am lagging…

“Oh man, you got a camera, I might have known. Come on girl, you gotta keep up. And stay on the right. Don’t stop to take pictures or you gonna get run over by some crazy guy on a bike.”

He is happy to finally get a light and heads to a bench to get out his sax. He plays for a bit, but the sun is setting and I need to take pictures. When I come back, he’s gone.

Then there is Erna. She needs a big shout out. I met her at the airport. She was searching for a student and I was standing out in the cold, waiting for a limo that never showed up. Sound familiar? First visit, I lose a hotel; second I lose a limo! A friend had insisted on ordering me a ride, so I wouldn’t have anything to think about when I got off the plane. It was a nice thought that went awry. Erna’s student was nowhere to be seen and after several phone calls on my cell and me hopping into her car so she could run inside at two different terminals to look for her… eventually the girl is found and Erna offers to drive me into the city for my help. I pay the tolls and she takes me right to my hotel. We chatter the whole way. Much more fun than being on a shuttle bus, or train with stone-faced people. I perked up when I saw the skyline and maybe even squealed when I saw the Statue of Liberty (because I hadn’t expected that for some reason) even though I was not all that interested in her – but it was a sign that I really was on holiday. We drive uptown and I give her a running commentary on the things we were seeing that she didn’t know about,

like the Highline, the old railway tracks that has been converted to an above ground natural park space and

the IAC building that is shaped like an iceberg, built at the pier where the Titanic should have arrived.

now, where were we?

What was I writing about before getting so distracted...
Oh yeah, New York's Central Park.

I left my place in a snowstorm and arrived in New York in balmy 38F sunshine. Of course, I'd been working all night and it was mid afternoon when I got in the airport bus to take me to the hotel. I was meeting an old friend whom I hadn't seen in years. She was actually a friend of a friend I had met while travelling in Belgium in 1979. I met her when I went to visit him in Australia in 1989. We had kept up a Christmas card correspondence ever since. This trip had been planned for months and I was simply going to see her for a couple of days during one of her layovers on those extensive round the world things that Australians do so well.

New York is only an hours flight away, and after a delay of two hours which involved snow clearing and de-icing, I got to the hotel she had booked for us and was prepared to check in and grab a bite to eat and wander around to get a feel for where we were in Midtown before she got in from Peru sometime after midnight. Fine. Except there was no booking for me, or her, at this hotel. Nothing. No help. Never heard of her.

With a heavy heart, and a heavy extra sweater and boots (remember the snowstorm?), I wander up and down the streets asking at EVERY hotel I came across, and there were quite simply, no vacancies. Long story short, I call my friend who likes to help and knows NYC very well and after a couple more hours I get a hotel room and I crash into bed watching the news that Heath Ledger has died. My luxury room on 56th St is now a basic room on 97th St. It is under renovations and the room has no view, but has at least a comfortable bed.

The next morning I get some maps and plan out my two days of solitary touring. I decide to do Midtown and Central Park the first day then head down to Soho and the East Village the next day. I walked and walked and walked. It was still so very warm for a late January day, and clear and almost windless. It wasn't quite dark yet when I thought I'd get something to eat and watch the skaters at Rockefeller Center before heading up to the top for the night view (because by then I was too tired to walk to the Empire State Building). I walked down Fifth Avenue, taking architectural pictures of the very expensive shops instead of actually shopping in them when suddenly I hear someone call out my name. In a very distinctive Australian accent. I turn around, and there is Fiona. She was coming out of some shop about a block away and saw me and followed awhile to make sure. We had not seen each other in almost 20 years. It took me a few moments to bring my jaw back up off the pavement where it had fallen open in shock. I used to be amazed (and slightly unbelieving) at how that Seinfeld gang used to run into each other in such a huge city. Now folks, I am here to tell you it is possible. On the street. On Fifth Avenue. At 5pm. (the point being rush hour, not the coincidence of the fives).

Turns out, her travel agent screwed up the dates, so a frantic phone call to her back in Australia, and a few hours later, (remember Heath Ledger has just died, so rooms are still filling up) she gets a room booked. An upgrade to a suite in a very swanky hotel in Soho.

We had a much shorter visit.

And in the meantime, I fell in love with New York.

where I use up the leftovers

My family is not one of those to over gorge themselves with food.

I am still eating leftovers from Sunday's dinner. I tried to give away as much as they could carry, but it was a struggle at times as I pointed to my freezer, "do you see the immense smallness of that thing?" after protestations of keep it, you can always freeze it y'know. Yes, I could make soup, I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner and snacks in between. But, I don't want to. I will be sick of it long before the week is out, then it will be bad by the time I remember it sometime next month. The times I have bought fresh produce, with all the greatest of intentions, only to bung it in the non-clear crisper bins and promptly forget about it. Or use a small portion, then ... end up throwing it out days weeks later after it has sat forgotten decomposing, because, really, just how much parsley does one person need?

Of course, part of this week's particular problem involves the vast amount of food I bought because feeding six is a lot more food than for one. With the help of my friend (yes, the one who likes to help - though at least this time it did not involve travel plans). He has access to the "market" that is actually the Ontario Food Terminal. That massive swath of land under the highway in west end Toronto where growers and wholesalers of all things vegetable, fruit and plant sell their wares to retailers of all manner of grocery stores. The general public is not invited. I love going there. The shear size of the market, and the quantities of food, blows me away every time. Watching the guys zip along on their motorized forklifts and scooter type things is fun, too. (click on photos to embiggen)
The thing is, you can't just buy one or three cauliflower. You must buy the whole flat or box. As in 15. I split it with my friend, then gave away some to the family and to a neighbour. I still have four. But, the price of this stuff makes it worthwhile, and now I know how much of a mark-up some of these grocers take to their advantage. Pusateris and Longos and the Asian shop on the corner all shop at the same food terminal. My cauliflower was much less than a dollar each.
Oh right, and I thought I had problems using up a bag of parsley...
I have some spinach and caulifower soup to make. A modified recipe involving:

• a head of cauliflower cut into florets and 2 shallots chopped up and sauteed in a pan with lots of butter, then add some vegetable broth and simmer covered for about 10 minutes
• top it off with couple hundred grams several handsful of baby spinach and let it wilt in the heat, add lots of nutmeg, and a bit of salt and pepper, stir it all up, then let it cool before blending
• when ready to eat, stir in the creme fraiche you bought but forgot to use, and garnish with some fontina or gruyere or other melty creamy cheese, and maybe the rest of the walnuts just for some crunch

spiralling into a calm

So, I have this friend....

With a heart of gold. Who would offer to do anything for you. Expect nothing in return, except your happiness. Who is always blindsided when his generosity is not appreciated because sometimes what he wants you to have is not always what you want.

I fly out on Thursday with a 75 minute layover at JFK and arrive for my cousin to pick me up at 6:55 am. She will be so excited to see me she won't mind getting up at dawn...

I have no idea what this has cost my friend. He refuses to say. He is just happy that he thinks I am now happy. And that he was able to make it all better.

It's a complicated relationship.
I am biting my tongue. I am too exhausted to do anything else.
Thanks for putting up with my venting.

spiralling

So, I have this friend.....

The short version is that this friend made my travel arrangements. He belongs to some barter thingy that gets deals and while searching on my own, he says, I'll see what I can find. This was when I realized that airfares had truly skyrocketed. So fine, go ahead. He finds something, but it takes a week to get it arranged and in the mean time fares go up, considerably. He didn't think they would change. Huh?

Then, Air Canada looked like there might be a flight attendants strike which rather worried me and I asked what the possibilities and options were...

Next thing I know he tells me I've been switched to Continental for the same since the Air Canada thing was "volatile" according to travel agent. It would involve going to New York and two planes, but would still be under my definitely nothing over 8 hours limit. I don't believe him. But I offer to pay the change fee. He refuses it. (and in the end no strike last weekend)

I find out on Monday night, as an aside, that he has also changed the travel date to Friday the 15th. This totally screws up my plans at the other end. He hangs up in anger at my ingratitude and turns off his cell.

Confusion reigns as I see on the website that Continental flies out of Newark and is actually a 16 hour travel time. I wait, extremely impatiently, for him to phone me back. Turns out, he got it wrong, it is American. And has a 40 minute changeover. I am still freaking out, now with this added. All I need is a slight delay ... and I must wait until the following morning for the next flight. After having worked all night already. And I see that the airfare is considerably more expensive with American on the Friday. Very considerably. $688 to $1588. plus taxes.

This morning I find out, when he finally phones again, is that all he wanted was for me to "be happy and have no worries about the trip". So he paid all the charges and the fees etc. Now to put it back to Thursday will cost a further $450.

I have until 4pm to decide.

It is far more convenient for me to arrive on Friday, get settled overnight then head off to Bath than to arrive on Saturday and continue travelling. The day off work has already been arranged for my cousin.
But I really hate that he will be paying more in change fees than the original fare (excluding taxes).
Even if it is all his fault.
And even if he has said he will pay it all.

this day was all about I

I do not particularly like having people do things for me that I am quite capable of doing for myself. I don't mean the opening of doors, or fixing you a meal, or helping you with getting something done. It is the taking over, the "you could never do this unless I come with you" kind of attitude that really gets up my nose.

I've never understood the women - and it is usually women - who voluntarily give up all control of the day-to-day running of their lives. The ones who need to ask for assistance with everything. I feel for the older women who are left widowed and knowing nothing of their financial situation. I don't understand how they could live that way, but I do feel for them.

I have had a day of trying to deal with a friend who likes to do things for you. He isn't looking for thanks, he just likes being helpful. So, ever polite, I allow this every now and then and hold my tongue. He likes to be in charge when he helps. So much so that he doesn't bother with niggly details to "worry your little head about". (not a direct quote, but it could be) And as a result you are left hanging when something goes wrong. He says, "don't worry". Is there a worse phrase when you feel an anxiety attack looming? "I'll take care of everything." Then you don't hear anything for hours. He wants to be a rescuer, yet had it been done together, or at least as you wanted, there'd be nothing to rescue. Had I just done it all myself, I could have spent the day irritated but in control, with all the details, as the problem was fixed.

Postscript: This has now spiralled out of control.