Empire State of Mind
April 7th, 2010 by Dan Hugo
JFK. It’s where it starts after 19 hours of imprisonment in a cell with a French-speaking father and toddler. I did not manage much sleep, some after the refueling and ridiculous security search in Dakar. JFK. And I’m to disembark with a heart pounding my throat knowing it’s my 5th return in three and half years on a tourist visa. JFK. The door to New York, to Manhattan, to the liveliest space I’ve stumbled into. JFK.
Welcomed and wished well for my racing – honesty still working its charm. Airtrain, Howard Beach Station, and a Metro Card start the rail commute, big bags and big sunrise. Easter Friday; the first without my family. The outskirts of Brooklyn are a mess, more third world than most of Cape Town. But I like the graffiti and toppled gravestones while mesmerized by the vibration of the train. At some point it goes underground to a network of names, one being West 4th, the station I need to find on the A line.
Second time round this after three and a half days with my sister Nici last July. This is Spring though, I can tell, the air is crisp and trees are bare except for snow white blossoms like chandeliers seen down every street; perfectly beautiful.
I’m walking up Avenues of the Americas into Soho, to Reed’s apartment. But I need a fix, I divert to his local coffee hang of Grey Dog. Smelling bad, hesitant to leave my bag, I order a cappuccino and some Irish Oatmeal with fresh berries. I like that. The spot reminds me of little offbeat breakfast cafe’s in Queenstown New Zealand like Joe’s Garage and Vudu Café.
Smoked but still burning after a shower I head to Central Park like everyone else does on Easter Friday when the sky is clear blue except for the convoy of choppers. Never seen that. Zuma has nothing on that. The air is crisp and skin tingling as my Garmin tries to find the usual satellites on the corer of Die Laan. It and I are a long way from the familiar. Taking my usual slash after five minutes is not as simplistic in Central Park.
A different world – like Avatar – where the usual species I cohabit with are the minority. Everything, everyone. 50minutes of amazingness.
Often I amused more at my personal reaction to the amusement around me. I’m so conservative. It’s all so relative? Moments to many to mention. But I like a lot. I like being there, wondering what I’ve done to deserve the gift. I like walking through people and craziness and streets and avenues and the sound of life happening.
Lunch, a red bus, Time Square, big sleep and its Saturday and I’m walking from the nearest station on 86th and 2nd to the pool I know of. I walk and I’m reminded it’s where Nici and I had a melt down last year as its far, far further than I’d ever walk in Stellenbosch. I walk past young boys playing baseball with feverish excitement I envy and don’t possess for my swim session. But I walk right in, tumble every few seconds in a 25yard pool, and again start walking. Walking.
Later I’m seated in a graveyard on an old wooden bench alongside the Trinity Church at the start of Wall Street and its surreal and it’s the only sunshine we could find. We look for more sunshine back Uptown in the park after raiding Wholefoods for picnic treats. This is New York. I’m in New York. I’d been so looking forward to this weekend through the blur of the past three hashed weeks. It had been there, in the distance, now here in the present. Wish I lived more in the present.
My food is fantastic and an imitation of Ingrid’s usual selection at Greengate. The week was too chaotic and I did not get my final steals in. In fact Thursday was so chaotic I made check in at Cape Town by a hair. And then the Joburg connection by a hair after getting a Yellow Fever, Tetanus and Hepatitis A at the clinic at the airport. In fact, in the end, I had 25minutes to pack for a three-month trip. There is no excuse for such recklessness. I was livid with self but relieved to end the chaos and make the flight. But poor planning means no relaxed Greengate farewell, which I’d have loved to do. The little daily ritual that I treasure and am now reminded of a few thousand miles away.
Picture dusk lighting with mist gently resting over the skyline as we get round Central Park. I’m running. She’s riding. It’s magical. It’s perfectly beautiful. The park is quiet now and the bridges are dark caves in which my feet echoe. At Sheep’s Meadow one of the white blossom trees are lit. It’s a moment and I’m just running by but it’s a picture, another perfectly beautiful one, and part of me is lost to it, that tree and its sacred splendor. That was a run. That was living. And I like that.
Fine food with a Pinot Gris on a vibrant East Village corner where everyone has more fashion sense and social savvy than I. Fine food with a Pinot Gris and ten glasses of water before signaling to a yellow cab.
More coffee and a three berry smoothie at Grey Dog, its on the way to subway after all on another picture perfect spring morning. I’m headed to the financial district and start running on the West Side like I did 9months ago with Reed and Nici and many memories flood back of awe and bewilderment.
I’m running and its great to be running. A weekend that’s been like intravenous adrenaline during resuscitation; my hearts beating, my lungs are filled, and I’m guided by heart and not mind, by senses and not reason. I’m running and I’m lost and I like getting lost. But not being lost.
New York has an air of perpetual possibility. It’s seen its felt its sensed but it cannot be grasped or made my own.
It ends as I knew it would it always does.
Reed’s back in town after days in Argentina. Its great seeing him again and catching up – we live in different worlds – I like his and he likes mine. We are off to a friend’s apartment for Easter Sunday dinner. Home cooking is special, but when you’re full time into exclusive cooking classes in once of amazing venues, you’re guests are in for something really special. Alaskan salmon and a strawberry tart made with only strawberries, almonds and dates were the pinnacle of eating pleasures for the evening. We walk and talk and philosphy back down 6th.
Baseball, bed and the sunrise commute back to JFK. I leave not as I arrived. Different and JFK is different and I don’t want to be different.
“Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There’s nothing you can’t do,
Now you’re in New York!!!
These streets will make you feel brand new,
the lights will inspire you,
Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York”
- Empire State of mind – Jay-Z ft Alicia Keys
| Garmin West Coast Warm Water Weekend | Intersport Running Magazine |
April 7th, 2010 at 7:18 pm
Amazing blog entry Dan. One of your best. Really enjoyed it.
April 8th, 2010 at 2:56 am
From the journalist that means a lot to me. Thanks Eunice.
Start with Switzerland this year, but put New York in Spring Time on your bucket list.
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