Sophia says …
E ach time I fly back to Prague for school, I take a slightly different route. The last time, I flew back through New York City because I’d never been and I thought it was about time.
I spent less than 24 hours in the city, which is not enough time in any city, let alone the Big Apple, but I tried to absorb as much as I could about the nation’s unofficial capital and learn a few things during my walk through the boroughs.
I set out at the beginning of the bright, sunny day with a whisper of a plan; all I knew was that I was going to walk from the Brooklyn Bridge to Central Park. That’s about 140 blocks, or seven miles.
But I ended up zigzagging my way through neighborhoods, passing through Chinatown, the lower East Side, the financial district, Times Square, and plenty more. I wanted to see as much of the city as possible. I wandered into every store or building that looked interesting. I heard somewhere that you could walk into the Chrysler building (a la Annie) and so I did.
I made it halfway across the lobby until a kind young security guard very politely asked me what I thought I was doing. Turns out the lobby is open to the public, but they very much appreciate it if you stick to the outskirts of the large foyer.
When I was finished admiring the ceiling paintings and threw a nod and small smile in the security guard’s direction, I found myself waiting at the corner of 21st Street with a very eclectic woman. She seemed to be in her early sixties, hair almost all the way greyed out, with a lace midi dress and kneehigh boots. Now this outfit is not unusual of course, in New York City, so that’s not what drew my attention to her.
No, that would be her chattering. She was speaking to a man next to her, someone she’d clearly just met, about the weather. This may seem like an ordinary conversation to you, but in a city where everyone has somewhere to be right now, this was odd. I was a newcomer and already, I knew this.
When we began to cross the street together and her conversation partner turned the other way, she gave me a friendly compliment. I encouraged her conversation, asking questions in return. After all, it was past noon and this was the first non-service worker I’d spoken to all day. It was revealed that her name was Gigi, she was a New Jersey native, and was back in town for her 40th high school reunion.
She was on her way to retrieve her luggage, after the Greyhound bus she took from her residence in North Carolina abandoned her midsmoke break on the side of the road in Pennsylvania.
“This is your warning.” She said, “Never take the Greyhound. I don’t care how desperate you are.”
Gigi and I made the trek of twenty or so blocks together, and all the while we talked, even as she doled out compliments and comments to every third person we passed. This was no life changing conversation, but I was struck by the flippity of this woman, who, despite having lived in the city for over half her life, paid no mind to the unspoken rules of the bustling streets.
The world was hers for the taking, and while I marched alongside her toward the Port Authority bus station, it was mine for the taking as well.
We parted ways when we reached the station, punctuating the end of our conversation with a brief hug. I do hope she found her luggage, but she made me promise that I would never step foot on one of those buses, regardless of if they kept her luggage or not. I promised: I prefer the train, anyway.
