A Day in the Life of NYC

We just took a trip to DC to watch our baby son be awarded his Master’s Degree in International Communications from American University’s School of International Service. It was not my intention to continue blogging after our return from the southwest. However, as I continue to observe big and little things that pique my interest and poke at my brain cells, I find myself with an unanticipated urge to write them down and share them. Perhaps you will enjoy my random, sporadic notes about life as I see it.

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Those of you who’ve known us for years know how much we enjoy live theater, especially on Broadway. Our relatively frequent trips to Philadelphia and DC give us the chance to stop in NY when we have the extra time and foresight to buy tickets.

This time we saw an outstanding performance of Death of a Salesman, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman. The cast was well-balanced and more than capable of supporting PSH’s commanding presence as Willy Loman. When PSH, as Willy, first trudged on stage with his back bowed by the weight of his sample cases, it took him a full two minutes to get to his front door and ultimately collapse in a chair at the kitchen table. The dejection and despondency expressed by his footsteps silently said more than any two minutes of dialogue could have  done. Before anyone had said a word I was already asking Bob for a Kleenex! Needless to say, the rest of the performance, dialogue-rich and well-paced, lived up to the opening scene.

New York is so fascinating to me. We generally go there to see a Broadway show or two, which means we tend to hang around the Times Square area. There is so much more, and we promise ourselves that next time we will get back to Soho, etc. Meanwhile, we realize that the "city that never sleeps" provides its visitors and denizens with its own clock. It's totally unnecessary to wear a watch or even check your cellphone.

We arrive around 2pm, and the streets are full of shoppers, preponderantly women, carrying their "Medium Brown Bags" from Bloomingdales and store-bags from FAO Swartz and other well-known merchants. Food carts on the corners are wafting their most delicious smells our way. We had a late breakfast and will be having an early dinner, yet it takes all our willpower not to pick up some falafel or sausage or just a hot, salty, fresh soft pretzel with mustard.

At our hotel, we can easily tell it's 3pm - check-in time - by the line of people wheeling their luggage to the checkout desk. Fortunately we were able to get in early.

It must be 5pm as there is a mass exodus of better-dressed people, including ourselves tonight (black slacks and top with scarf; ubiquitous navy blazer over blue shirt and khakis) headed toward restaurant row on W. 46th Street, trolling for a restaurant prior to a 7pm or 8 pm performance. The restaurants are well-trained for this, and food all but flies out of the kitchens.

There is also a parade of business people, heading home after a day of work, men with ties loosened and women wearing sneakers instead of their Blahniks, some ducking into the subway, some flagging down one of the multitude of cabs, and others fortunate enough to walk directly home.

At 630pm or 730pm, depending on the day and show time, the same people who had rushed toward the restaurants now line up at the theaters between 42nd St. and 52nd St. The queues are orderly and polite. As we walk to the theater we notice some of the street vendors closing up for the day, and others setting up to catch the post-theater crowd.

After the shows, between 10 and 11pm, the last of the street vendors push their wares and then finally close up for the night. All the coffee shops and bars are open and doing a bustling business. We make our way through and around piles of cardboard and garbage bags, waiting to be collected. We enjoy the obligatory nightcap of tea and Calvados, respectively, at the restaurant adjacent to our hotel before retiring to our room for the night.

It's about 530am, and neither of us is ready to wake up, but it's hard to ignore the garbage trucks picking up last night's mountains of deposits. Bob takes an early morning picture of dawn in the city. We look out the window to see the restaurant and business owners hosing down the now-cleared sidewalks. The street-sweepers drive by, readying the city for another day.

We go back to sleep, knowing that the early morning vendors and food carts are already setting up. By the time we get up, we can confirm that it is 7am by the parade of business people marching crisply, now toward their offices, ties tightened up again but Blahniks still in hand. Those with a free hand have stopped by one of the street carts now offering breakfast, and are sipping coffee, munching on a bagel, or holding one of those square cardboard carriers with food and drink to be eaten when they arrive.

At the same hour, the side streets are filled with delivery trucks. The sidewalks that just last night were heaped with garbage bags are now covered  with equally high mountains of boxes. Crates of pineapples, lettuce, and oranges compete for space with boxes of napkins. It takes so much to supply this amazing city. It's stunningly organic: boxes of supplies in the morning, bags of garbage at night.

We leave around 10am, and there is a bit of a lull, but from previous visits we know it doesn't last long. The bagel carts, almost magically, become sausage and falafel carts once again, anticipating the noontime rush of customers. The cycle starts anew.

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Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog

We are home now.  It is Easter Sunday, and it's just the two of us here, preparing a dinner of chicken tacos, rice, and beans; the Southwest is still with us.

We logged 7600 miles.  Would we do it again?  You bet, in an instant!  We are already making plans to spend at least part of next winter in Arizona.  But more importantly, we enjoyed the journey as much as the destination.  It was educational, it was interesting, it was enlightening.  And it was fun!

We in the Northeast are so very insulated from the rest of the country.  We have the advantage of living in an area dense with institutions of higher learning.  Politics here tend to be very liberal, and although there are dissenting opinions here and there, overall it is a very homogeneous, left-leaning crowd.  It is so easy to forget that we are just a small part of a very large country with diverse culture and opinions.  Everyone should have the opportunity to drive at least past Ohio, and preferably past the Mississippi River.  And I do mean drive - flying doesn't count, because you miss so much along the way, whether it's a field full of corn or cows grazing or a wind farm or part of the dust bowl sprinkled with shacks that people live in - the road is the way to go to expand your views.

I learned a lot along the way - some big things, and some things that will help me out the next time I play pub trivia.  If you look for it, there is always something to learn.  We learned about rice growing in Arkansas; the ecology of the Southwest, including the many varieties of cacti; the vast amount of land that is open across the country; the great disparity between rich and poor; and the kindness of people in general.

There was a lot that we disagreed with, and many places we knew we could never live in because of the differences in culture and political views.  Despite that, we found friendly people everywhere, and many opportunities to talk about ordinary things that were common to everyone.  We spoke with bikers in New Mexico about the weather and the best route to Sedona.  We learned that Boston, rather than being seen as part of the "elite Northeast", was a very desirable destination.  People were eager to tell us about their trips to Boston, their experiences in Boston, or their desire to get to Boston someday.  We are very lucky to live here.

I left on this trip with a number of books on my Kindle, ready to be read.  I arrived in Arizona with all except one untouched - there was so much to see along the way that I read very little, afraid to miss things.  We were lucky to be driving a new and very comfortable Volvo, and I am fortunate that Bob is not only a very good driver, but enjoys driving.  After the first few days, it felt very normal to get up in the morning, hop in the car, and go.  Bob had little trouble driving 6 to 8 hours a day, and I had no problem sitting for that time and enjoying the road ahead. There was always something to talk about.

We had several books on CD with us, and I would highly recommend them for anyone traveling any distance.  It's good to have a variety of fiction and nonfiction.  We listened to a couple of Tony Hillerman's books as we drove through the Indian reservation areas.  It was fun comparing the locations in the books to where we had been or were going.

On a more personal note, driving for so many hours and being together, just the two of us, for so long, gave us an opportunity to talk without everyday distractions that we would otherwise have had.  There is a wonderful privacy and intimacy in driving.

Our time in Arizona was indeed special, being able to catch up with two college friends and meeting and getting to know the husband of one of them.  Being there for a couple of weeks instead of just a day or two was special beyond words, because it gave us so much time to just sit around and relax and chat, rather than always being on the go trying to cram in this or that tourist attraction - although we also did some of that.

As we said in the beginning, we are looking forward to going back next year, so we are looking to rent a house of our own for couple of months in the same area as our friends.  This will not only give all of us a little bit more privacy that is needed for that extended period of time, but also will allow us to act as hosts for our friends and family from back east.  We are really looking forward to it and hope it all works out.

This ends our saga.  I hope you have enjoyed these notes as much as we have enjoyed writing them down for our memory book.

Keep On Truckin' One Last Day

Between Nashville and Philadelphia we saw nothing but trucks.  Sometimes we felt as though we were the only car on the road. Occasionally, there was also rain.  We passed by a truck that had been on fire in the opposite lane; all that was left was a skeleton of the trailer.

Suddenly the traffic on our side of the road came to an abrupt halt.  We knew this had to be due to an accident of some kind but were not sure quite what.  Veering slightly to the left, we are able to see that a large tractor-trailer had slid across the slick road and was blocking both lanes.  Just before we had resigned ourselves to sitting there for hours, another truck decided to go around it on the grass in the median, carving a path for the rest of us.  We kept our fingers crossed that we would be able to get by before the police and rescue equipment arrived, since we knew they would take hours to clear up the mess.  We did, and made our escape to Lexington, Virginia unscathed.

The hotel in Lexington was just a Hampton Inn, but surprisingly, rather luxurious.  The main house, which held the registration office, was a beautiful, brick 1827 Manor house.  The rest of the hotel was also brick, built in the same style.  We were amused by one of the roads on the property labeled "horse traffic only, cars prohibited".

We spent a nice night there, and made our way to Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, the next day to stay with my sister and her family for a couple of nights.  On Thursday night we had a Seder celebrating the first night of Passover, which was actually on Friday night, but we did it a day early since that was the only day my niece was able to take off from work. A number of Paula's Jewish and non-Jewish friends attended.  It was most enjoyable, and we had delicious food.

On Saturday morning we realized we were actually heading home, after almost 6 weeks on the road.  It was an odd feeling - both greatly anticipated and somewhat disappointing that we couldn't continue our adventure for an indefinite period of time.  We reached home a little after 4 PM, and within an hour were on our way out again to another Seder at a friend's house in Acton. We had another enjoyable evening with a completely different group of friends, and finally settled back into our home around 10 PM.  It felt a little odd looking around at the walls that should have been familiar to us but were not, and we stayed up quite late doing this and that, but around 1 AM settled very nicely into our own bed.

And so to sleep.

Jambalaya and Gospel

The road to Nashville was long and straight.  We are getting to know route 40 really well.  There are trees by the side of the road in many places, but they're not very dense, and it's easy to see all of the farms beyond them on both sides.  They are growing some rapeseed, and probably cotton, but what we saw most were fields ready to be planted with rice. The rice fields are easily discerned by their unique preparation: as they are tilled, every so often an earth dam about 18 inches wide and equally high is created. The fields and dams are built so that they curve around, making quite a pretty pattern.  In the winter, the fields are filled with water so as to minimize soil erosion.  I learned that eastern Arkansas is the major producer of rice of the six states that produce it, and is responsible for 48% of the rice grown in the US!

I also saw my first armadillo along the way.  Unfortunately, it was a dead armadillo lying on its back by the side of the road, but I was pretty excited anyway.

We watched a crop duster fly back and forth across the fields for while.  It was obvious he was having a lot of fun at his work and must have been a very skilled pilot, as he was flying just 25 to 50 feet above the fields.  Whatever he was dusting the crops with was tinted yellow, and at the end of a pass he would emit a small white cloud to mark where he left off. I thought this was very clever, and at the same time realized just how many details like this go into so many endeavors I'm unfamiliar with.

For a large part of this trip, we have seen many religious billboards, with everything from Bible quotes to warnings that we would be going to Hell. Equally numerous, and sometimes directly next to these, were billboards advertising "Adult Superstores". What to say - wgo to sleep to want to say anything about our dinner at Chili's we have a picture of the tortillas havee were amused, bemused, and appalled.

When we got to Nashville, we quickly checked into our hotel and then headed off to the Grand Old Opry. It was just as we expected, with all the kitsch.  We walked around the grounds for a bit, looking at the azaleas and other plants in full bloom.

Before the show, we had dinner at Chuy's, a Mexican restaurant  in the adjacent mall  .Dinner was good - no better or worse than the Mexican food we had in Tucson or Santa Fe - but the highlight for me was that we finally got to have and see handmade tortillas!

At the entrance to the Opry was yet another sign I was surprised to see: "No guns allowed, even if you have a permit".  There was, however, no metal detector, so apparently there are a lot of people in Nashville who carry guns, but they're very honest.  Interesting.

The show itself was great.  Yet another thing I didn't know before this was that the Opry was one of the inspirations for Garrison Keillor's  "Prairie Home Companion". It was easy enough to see why - each of the shows is broadcast live on radio, so in addition to the performers they have an announcer who introduces them and also reads the commercials from the sponsors between sets. We were lucky enough to have the Oak Ridge Boys on the bill, along with an assortment of other performers singing everything from Hank Williams' "Jambalaya"  ("on the Bayou") to a variety of gospel songs.

Although country is not our number one favorite song genre, we had a wonderful time at the Opry, singing and clapping along with everybody else.  We're really glad we took the time to stop by Nashville.

I Miss Bill!

Sunday
What a change today!  In one day we dropped 5000 feet in elevation, from 7000 feet in Santa Fe to just under 2000 in Elk City, Oklahoma. And we also went from the nice, dry 10-20% humidity to about 55% here right now.  This is not really humid - but compared to what we had gotten used to in Arizona and New Mexico it smacked us in the face as we stepped out of the car.

Today and tomorrow are driving days as we make our way back east.  Tomorrow we expect to reach Little Rock, Arkansas, where we will go to the William J Clinton Library and Museum.

Monday
As we reach the eastern edge of Oklahoma, we realize that everything is green! When we came this way on Route 40 about a month ago, everything was brown and about to be planted.  Today the fields are brilliant green, or in some cases yellow with rapeseed (canola).  It looks like a totally different place. There are cattle everywhere (including lots of calves) and even a few bison.

Going farther east into Arkansas, we suddenly realize that we can no longer see the expansive landscape that we had gotten used to because there are trees on either side of the road.  It isn't quite like New England, but now we understand the comments that people from the Southwest make about feeling closed in when they reached the Northeast.  We don't feel that way, but it is a startling difference in just a short stretch of road.

We are staying in Little Rock at the Peabody Hotel, which bills itself as the only "4 star, 4 diamond, and 5 duck" hotel. They have a fountain in the lobby in which the ducks splash during the day.  Every afternoon at 5 PM the ducks march out of the fountain, down the red carpeted steps and around the red carpet to the tune of John Philip Sousa's "King Cotton"  march, into a large cage on wheels so they can be transported in the elevator to their evening abode on the ballroom level.  The promenade is repeated in reverse at 11 AM every day.

Today's agenda had only one major item on it, which was to visit the Clinton Museum and Library.  It is very inspirational, and I almost bought one of the "I MISS BILL" T-shirts.  But I got a mug instead.  Every exhibit, and every stop on the self-guided audio tour is narrated by Bill.  Listening to him, being reminded of what an amazingly charismatic speaker he was, and remembering his accomplishments in office, makes one wish for many more politicians of his caliber.

Little Rock has an area along the Arkansas River, just the other side of the Clinton Museum and extending for about five blocks, called "River Market". Many restaurants and shops, and fun to browse around. It seems like a very nice small city. We walked along the river path, and looked at all the plantings and sculpture.  It was a barge that caught Bob's attention and interest.

We have shared the hotel with a very large contingent of Arkansas youth here for the FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) competition. They have to present business plans, interview for (mock) jobs, and participate in business simulations. I don't know how many PowerPoint presentations they have to do; despite all this they seem to be the normal exuberant high school kids you would see anywhere. Just so many of them in one place...

Do You Know the Way to Santa Fe?

Now that it's been through one carwash, the car looks like a car! It's going to need a couple more. There is even dust in the crevices under the hatch lid where a carwash won't reach, but the dust did. Perhaps we can get the dealer to detail it when we take the car in for its 7500 mile checkup the day after we get back (!). We are over 5000 miles now (!!).

Before we could get out of Cortez, I made Bob stop at the Notah-Dineh trading post where I bought a beautiful Hopi pot I had hoped to acquire on this trip.

We did not have an agenda today other than to enjoy the beautiful back-country and two lane roads as we meandered through southern Colorado and New Mexico on our way to Santa Fe.  The mountain parks transformed gradually from green ponderosa pine and grasses to dusty scrub as we approached Santa Fe.

Our hotel was old, cozy and quaint, right near the Plaza, so we were able to walk to just about everything.  At four o'clock they serve Sherry, and we had a nice conversation with various folks from Idaho, West Virginia, and even a woman who came from Perkasie, Pennsylvania, not too far from where I grew up in Willow Grove. The folks from West Virginia were part of a group who are actually a "club" that supports the Art Museum in Charleston. I wasn't totally clear on how they raise their money, but every year or two they go on a trip (that they pay for themselves) specifically to acquire new pieces for the museum.  The woman I spoke with was very animated and explained that she actually had no background in art, although many of the people in the group had studied art history, but that over the years she has learned a lot and finds the trips as educational as they are fun.  Sounds like a great way to spend time!

The hotel room also had a working fireplace in the shape of a Navajo kiva oven, so we enjoyed a real fire each night.  It was great, and in the morning the maid service later new fire for us already to go.

We had a nice dinner at La Plazuela, sitting next to the fountain in an inside "Plaza" reminiscent of many that I have seen in Mexico.  Our waitress's name was "Stormi" so we had a good laugh over our respective names.

The next day we went to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, and were given a brief talk by one of the docents prior to looking around the museum.  What a fascinating woman she was!  She lived until she was 99, and worked into her 80s, albeit with some assistance at that time, since she had developed macular degeneration.  During her marriage to the much older photographer Alfred Stieglitz she split her time between New York City and Santa Fe, but after his death she moved permanently to a ranch she lived in until her death in 1986. Wonderful works in many different styles.

The rest of the day we strolled around the Plaza and the surrounding area, poked our heads in and out of stores, perused the wares of the street vendors, and ate street food for lunch. After an hour or so sitting outside by the pool reading, we decided to skip the sherry hour and went to see "The Hunger Games" instead. It was a very enjoyable, if not great, movie, and it definitely helped to have read the books.  As with most movies made from a book, there is a lot of back story that is difficult to get into the film.  But we had a good time.

Virtually all of the architecture in downtown Santa Fe is of a similar Pueblo adobe style, single-story, flat roofs, and either real or faux roof beams extending out beyond the walls. There are a few two-story buildings in the same style, but nothing higher than that.

How to eat in Santa Fe on $20 a day (for two): breakfast is included in the hotel price - $5 tip; lunch, two tamales and a pork taco, $9 plus $1 in the tip jar; dinner in the hotel bar with a $25 credit and a $5 tip - $4.98.  Total for the day: $19.98!

Forget Russia - We Can See Four Corners From Our Car!

Chinle is another rather poor town in the middle of the Navajo reservation in Arizona.  There are some nicer sections of it with neat tract houses, but much of it was rather heartbreaking to me.  Just down the road from our motel was the regional school administration facility, with a youth correction facility on one side, complete with razor wire, and shacks that people were living in on the other side of the building.


Although the roads are well paved, and many sections have sidewalks, there is dirt everywhere else - no gravel, no landscaping.  When the wind blows, the reddish dirt gets into everything.  


We had breakfast at the same restaurant as last night, and saw many of the same people, including a very nice group of four Harley-Davidson bikers on their way to Arizona bike week in Scottsdale.  We chatted with them briefly; they were hoping for warmer weather since riding a bike even at 60° can be very cold.  Of course, none of them was wearing a helmet, since that is not required in Arizona.


Random observation: all of the school buses I've seen in Arizona are white on top and have air conditioning.  My assumption is that the white top helps to reflect the sun.


Canyon de Chelly is a much smaller Canyon east of the Grand Canyon and within the Navajo reservation. Chelly is actually the Anglicized version of the Navajo word Tse' Yi'.  Besides the size, Canyon de Chelly differs from the Grand Canyon in two other regards.  First, the sandstone walls that have been eroded are sheer cliffs, leaving a flat valley below with interesting formations sticking up.  Secondly, the Valley is home to a number of Navajos who farm there.  In some cases these farms are just summer homes because the weather in the canyon can be very severe.  At this time of year is starting to become green and we could see the fields prepared for planting.  The area surrounding the canyon also has many individual homes.  A number of these homes have "hogans", which are six sided huts used as additional rooms.  They may or may not have windows, and they are always made with just one door, which faces East to catch the morning sun.  As a people, the Navajos are very reluctant to have their photos taken, so we did not take any others than in the canyon itself, as a matter of respect.

The spider woman formation was particularly important to the Navajos.  They respected the spider woman God, because she taught them how to weave.

From Canyon de Chelly we traveled on a variety two-lane roads through Arizona and into the bottom of Utah to get to Monument Valley.  This was a change of pace for us, for instead of looking down at all of the rock formations in the canyons, we were able to look up at Monument Valley.


The way to Monument Valley was all "high desert", meaning that it varied between six and 7000 feet in elevation and was relatively flat with some mountain ranges here and there and had enough grass for open grazing for cows, sheep, and horses.  We frequently saw them right at the side of the road as we passed by.

Monument Valley comprises some spectacular rock formations that are left standing after severe erosion, and in addition  there are a few lava plugs, such as El Capitan, that were left after the rest of the volcano was eroded.  Monument Valley has a 17 mile long, unpaved dirt road that allows you to get up close and personal with many of these rock formations.  It was a challenging drive, taking us over two hours, but Bob was able to test our new Volvo as an off-road vehicle.  It passed with dusty colors.  The fine dust on the road is carried into every crevice of everything.  We will definitely have to wash the car tomorrow.

The rest of the afternoon was spent going through more of Navajo nation, into Utah and then Colorado, through Mexican Hat and finally to Cortez to spend the night.  Tomorrow we will make it down to New Mexico to complete our trip through the corners of the four states.


Since we knew we were going to New Mexico, we didn't feel the need to visit the actual four corners Monument, but we did take a peek down the road, about 5 miles, as we passed the turnoff to it. We're pretty sure we saw the monument - after all, we were way closer to it than Russia is to Wasilla!