Now we’re finally getting weather more like I hoped to find in the South! I brought along clothes for every kind of weather imaginable – from bitter cold and snow, which I experienced in New York City for a couple of days, to sleeveless tops. We’re not there yet, but the sun is shining, and I only need a light jacket or sweater on top of my normal winter clothes when outdoors. Not so bad! And the sun is shining.
Rhett will be down for most of the day today, so it’s a day out for Natalie and me. We join her friend Jill and head for the Texas Hill Country, a geographically unique area and the border between the Southwest and the Southeast. It’s a pleasant drive through rolling hills wooded with live oak trees. Live oaks, I have been told, are oak trees that don’t shed their leaves in winter, hence the term “live oak”. You can find huge oak trees here that are hundreds of years old.
Our destination is Myrtle Falls, where we are booked for lunch at the famed Blue Bonnet Café. Apparently this restaurant is so popular, you have to book days ahead of time to get a table here. “Wait till you try their pies,” promises Natalie. “They’re spectacular.”
There is a line outside the café when we arrive, but we don’t have to wait long to get inside, where we have to wait several more minutes. We peruse reviews of the restaurant posted on the walls from newspapers as far away as New York City’s Wall Street Journal.
We peer at the pies displayed in the glass cases along the corridor. Massive piles of meringue or whipped cream alongside more modest-looking fruit pies. Hm-m-m. What kind of pie shall I order for dessert? But first we need a table, a menu, and then we can order.
I’ve been seeing catfish on the menus of the restaurants I’ve been in thus far in Texas. Apparently catfish is a popular southern, or Texas item. I’m familiar with catfish, having grown up in Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lakes. But in Minnesota, with its huge northern lakes and Lake Superior, the largest fresh-water lake in the world, catfish is considered inferior. In Minnesota, walleyes, lake or river trout and northern pikes are much more prized. But we’re in the South – or rather Texas, where the lakes seem to be man-made reservoirs. I order fried catfish. It comes with corn on the cob, green beans and a salad. It’s not bad, much better than I had imagined. Jill has ordered deep-fried okra as her vegetable. I try a piece. Wow! I thought I didn’t like okra, but this has everything – mushiness, rich flavor and a crispy crust. All the meals come with tender, luscious dinner rolls, which seem to be popular in the Texas restaurants.
And now for the hard decision – which pie to order. I love the tang of lemon, so opt for a lemon cream pie and coffee. It arrives with at least a cup of whipped cream on top! The other two order chocolate cream pie – one with meringue and the other with whipped cream. The pieces are huge, but I have to admit, I am a bit disappointed. In my piece I can barely discern the lemon. It is wonderfully creamy, but there is no tang to this pie. Give me a tarte au citron any day! Or my mom’s lemon meringue pie. That was was mouth-puckering tangy! The chocolate pies are likewise lacking in intensity. Oh, well. The pies are fine otherwise, and the lunch was, on the whole, delicious.
After lunch we explore the town a bit. It reminds me of Georgetwon, with small, tasteful boutiques along the main street. But there don’t seem to be many shops to choose from, so the town somehow lacks the charm that I sense in Georgetown. We find a lovely gift shop, though, and I buy some soap scented with blue bonnets. Oh, to be in Texas when the lupines, as blue bonnets are also called, bloom! Rhett has rhapodized about the field across the street from their house, transformed into a blue carpet humming with bees every spring. I have to settle for a picture post card. Texas is the “blue bonnet State,” it informs me.
We drive a little outside the town and admire the landscape. Here I can really see that I am no longer in the eastern part of the United States. Not only are there live oaks, but also prickly pear cactuses. The homes look very different too, almost Mediterranean.
We drive on. We want to do a Texas wine tasting. Natalie explains that viniculture is becoming increasingly popular in Texas. We stop at the Flat Creek Estate, a short drive out of Marble Falls. It is beautifully serene, tidy with precisely pruned vines, reminiscent of vineyards I have seen in the rolling hillsides of Italy and France. I love the Meditarranean-style wine-tasting room! I could spend a couple of days here, which is entirely possible, because they rent rooms here.
We sit down at a table in the tasting room and order two wine-tastings, one red wine and the other white. We are going to mix and share. The friendly sommelier explains that most of the wines they sell are combined from several vineyards and mixed here. This is unexpected. In the vineyards I have seen in Europe, each vineyard tends to sell exclusively their own wines and not to mix, although I have seen shops that sell both wines from the vineyard and imported wines bottled elsewhere. Jill doesn’t like wine, so will not taste. Natalie and I sample the wines. We both discover that we like the same wines. As we leave, she asks me, “What did you think of the wines?”
“They were nice,” I say, “but I must say, I prefer the European wines I have had in Europe.”
“That’s just what your Peter said, last time y’all were here.” So, Peter and I shared the same opinon. I don’t remember either of us having tasted wine the last time we were here, but Natalie remembers. I am comforted, affirmed in my judgment from beyond the grave. I always thought Peter had excellent taste in wines. I sense companionship with him, even though he is on the other side of eternity. We are still in accord with one another, even in how we perceive Texas wine.
I finally get to pay for our wine-tasting. Natalie has been paying for me wherever we go, and I am impressed with her generous hospitality. Is this also Texas?
We drive home in the late-afternoon sunlight, and stop for gas. What a deal! Today, premium gas is going for $2.55 a gallon. The last I checked in Germany, it was about €1.50 a liter! Natalie explains. “Petroleum products are hardly taxed in Texas.”
We drop Jill off and drive home. Rhett is finally awake and up, and we can talk about the day. Natalie has brought two pieces of pie home for him, and he eagerly opens the cardboard box. He is so sick, but how lovely to be able to enjoy things like a piece of pie, no matter how ill we are.
Our last day in New York City. We have seen so much, almost everything on my friends’ list, and more. There’s one more thing Johanna wants to do – visit the Metropolitan Museum. The guys aren’t interested in that. Instead, they head down to lower Manhattan. Johanna and I spend most of the day at the Met. She is impressed by its size. “We can never see everything in one day,” I have already told her. So we decide to focus on the things we want to do. She heads for the impressionists. I begin with the Dutch and Flemish masters because there is a special exhibit. I spend most of my time, though, in the American Wing, looking at early American art. There was an exhibit several months ago in Cologne called “Es war einmal in Amerika” – “Once Upon a Time in America”. I attended this exhibit in a guided group tour with some Americans and learned about artists I had never heard of, artists from as early as the time of the first settlers. I learned details about American history I had never known too. I hope to learn more about American art in this wing. I am not disappointed.
I even find some of the same paintings I saw in the Cologne exhibit, or similar ones, like these by the Quaker artist Edward Hicks, comparing the treaty between William Penn and the American Indians with the peace found in the Kingdom of God. The painting of the Garden of Eden clearly shows the connection with Quaker theology to me.
Just as in the Cologne exhibit, I am entranced with the beautiful paintings from the Hudson River School. Here is one by British-born Thomas Cole. I learned in the Cologne exhibit that many of the early American artists were born or studied art abroad in Europe. Thomas Cole was a typical example, but one who used his art to not only depict the beauty of America, also comparing it with a heavenly kingdom, but also to warn against the destruction of that beauty. He was a critic of unfettered industrial expansion. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/15/arts/design/thomas-cole-american-moralist.html
In the Cologne exhibit I learned that at least one of the painters of the Hudson River School, Albert Bierstadt, was from Germany, and that he studied art in Düsseldorf (nearly a stone’s throw from Cologne), a city famous for its art school. He seems to have been influenced by the German romantic artist Caspar David Friedrich, one of my favorite German artists. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caspar_David_Friedrich
Johanna and I meet for lunch in the cafeteria and compare what we have seen. We are both impressed. Near the cafeteria there is more beautiful American art, Tiffany glass pieces, and other stained glass works by John LaFarge. I admire the glass and continue on to many of the furnished rooms Johanna has told me about, as well as some exotic musical instruments. What’s cool about this room is that you can actually listen to recordings of several of the instruments to get an idea of what they sound like.
We have spent an entire day at the Met! We walk back down Fifth Avenue and across to our hotel, where we all meet. We pack our suitcases and then go down to the theater district for pizza. Timo has heard there’s a good one called John’s of Times Square. https://www.johnspizzerianyc.com/ We are lucky to get a table! This place is crowded. But the pizza is authentic New York pizza, just what my friends want for their last evening in New York. And it is delicious! The restaurant also has very unusual architecture. I ask the waiter about this. “Was this once a theater?” No, he says. It was once a church.
We return “home” and finish packing. My friends thank me for a fabulous week. It has been really special. I have been a tourist in the city I once lived in. They have been able to do and learn about many things they would have never known about if I hadn’t been with them.
I will be back to New York at the end of my long visit to America. My friends – and I – are all curious to know if I will want to return here to live. So far, the answer is no. But I’ll talk about that later, at the end of the trip.
For now, there’s more to see, many more loved ones to visit. Tomorrow I fly to Austin, Texas, where I’ll be staying with my cousin Rhett and his wife Natalie.
Timo, ever interested in tall buildings, wants to see New York City from above, and decides the best location for this is from Rockefeller Center https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rockefeller_Center – the Top of the Rock. We of the older generation opt not to go up, but rather explore Rockefeller Center from the ground level.
This is one location I am familiar with, but have never really paid much attention to. I have done temporary office work in one of the office buildings, have watched the Jimmy Kimmel show broadcast from here, have walked in the concourse countless times, have walked past Rockefeller Center on Fifth Avenue even more countless times, but have never been particularly interested in it. I now believe it is because I never understood it. I always wondered, why do all the tourists flock here? Even in the summer, if you pause to sit down among the flowers and flags of the promendade, you are likely to sit next to some tourist eager to practice their English on you. Why is this? Is it only the ice skating rink, or perhaps the famous Christmas tree? Then why the attraction all year round? Only because it’s on Fifth Avenue?
I pick up a brochure about Rockefeller Center in the lobby and read from it as we look, and weeks later, after returning to Germany, do more research on Rockefeller Center to understand it more fully. Now I think I could explain it better to tourists, and also appreciate it for myself much more as well.
The Rockefeller family has everything to do with Rockefeller Center – and New York City as we know it. That helps me relate to it better, but what about all the tourists or young people who have no idea who the Rockefellers were, or are? It seems as though one of America’s most influential families, one whose name I grew up with, has been quietly dropped from the public eye.
John D. Rockefeller (1839-1937) was the one who first made his name. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_D._Rockefeller He is considered the wealthiest American of all time, and the richest person in modern history. He made his fortune in the oil industry, which began in the late nineteenth century. The Exxon Oil Company was formed from the Standard Oil Company, which he founded and owned. He was also a very devout Christian who fervently believed in philanthropy. His views on business and philanthropy were engendered by the words of a minister he met while young. The minister told him, “Make as much money as you can, and give away as much as you can.” So that is how he lived his life. He developed a philosophy of philanthropy, creating foundations to increase wealth devoted to philanthropy. The Rockefeller Foundation is one of them. This passion for philanthropy continued down into the following generations of the Rockefeller family.
And I suspect that John D. Rockefeller and his son, John D. Rockefeller, Jr., https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_D._Rockefeller_Jr. have had a much more substantial influence on my own life than I imagined. My father was also a devout Christian, also a Baptist teetotaller, who began his life in poverty. While still relatively poor, he, like Rockefeller, gave one-tenth of his money to charity, gradually increasing the percentage. He was also a Republican with moderate to liberal tendencies, like the Rockefellers. Did they serve as models for him?
John D. Rockefeller, Jr. (1874-1960) continued to follow the faith and philanthropic practices of his father. He financed and was intimately involved with construction of Rockefeller Center. Columbia University owned the land, which they leased to Rockefeller. They are also the owners of most of the buildings, which the Rockefeller Center continues to lease. Construction of these buildings was incredibly important and helpful for the economy because construction occurred during the Depression years, offering employment to thousands of workers. It is uniform in style, a wonderful example of the Art Deco period. I never realized while working there how important Rockefeller Center is both architecturally and artistically.
Just down the street, on 53rd Street, is the Museum of Modern Art. The land and museum were gifts from John D. Rockefeller, Jr., who first lived in a house at this address, then had it razed in order to construct the museum for his wife, a passionate lover of art. He then moved with his wife and family into a forty-room triplex apartment at 750 Park Avenue. This apartment and building are considered the most exclusive of all apartments and buildings in New York City. Rockefeller also bought the land for the Cloisters and paid for the monastery buildings in Europe to be dismantled and brought, piece by piece, to New York City. He donated the piece of land that now houses the United Nations. What would New York City be without the Rockefellers?
The original tenants of the buildings at Rockefeller Center were businesses Rockefeller was involved in, businesses he thought would be profitable. Some of those tenants continue to operate there today. NBC, one of the largest US television networks, has been there since the time of Rockefeller. So that’s why all the NBC shows are there! Also, the RCA (Radio Corporation of America) recording label was centered here. One of the popular tourist attractions in New York City is an evening at Radio City Music Hall, located in Rockefeller Center. And the famous Rockettes, the kick dancers who dance at the performance, are named after Rockefeller.
Rockefeller Center originally consisted of fourteen buildings, now nineteen, extending between 48th and 51st Streets, and between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. They also own some buildings on the west side of Sixth Avenue.
The theme of Rockefeller Center is the humanistic “March of Civilization”. Hence the global symbols originating in Greek mythology, with sculptures like Atlas holding the universe on his shoulder, or Prometheus bringing fire to humankind.
The Rockefellers were cosmopolitans, interested in art and culture throughout the world. This love was demonstrated in the construction of Rockefeller Center. One building at its center is called the International Building. Another is called the British Empire Building. I always wondered why there were flags from so many nations at the promenade, and why institutions like Alliance Francaise, or shops like Godiva Chocolates, Victorinox, Lego or Swarovski Jewelers flank the sides.
Sculptors and artists the Rockefellers admired were hired to do the artwork. The themes are noble, meant to inspire, but to me they exude a similar feeling to architecture of the Nazi period. No wonder – it is from the same time – the 1930s and 40s. But to me, both also impart the sense that a message is being conveyed, be it propaganda or something morally uplifting. Throughout, though, is the theme of civilization marching on, ever more cultivated, ever more humane.
The Rockefellers donated this center to the City of New York as a place to benefit people physically, with the ice skating rink, culturally, with art work throughout, with entertainment through the NBC studios and Radio City Music Hall, commercially through shops and offices, and in tranquility, with the roof-top gardens, which are, sadly, now closed to the public.
I have heard that Brooklyn is the place where things are happening these days. I have been in Brooklyn several times, also as a social worker on home visits, but have never felt at home there nor had much knowledge of life there. I decide to check out one of the rooftop gardens. These gardens differ from that at Rockefeller Center in that they are agricultural, providing locally sourced produce to New Yorkers. I head for Greenpoint, Brooklyn, to the Eagle Street Rooftop Farm. There are several rooftop gardens in Brooklyn, but I decide to go to this one because it is the easiest to reach from Rockefeller Center. https://www.timeout.com/newyork/things-to-do/the-best-rooftop-gardens-in-nyc Even so, it is not that easy to reach, necessitating not only a subway trip, but also a long wait for one of the infrequent buses and a bus ride. But I amuse myself looking at an old-fashioned diner, the kind you used to see in New York forty years ago. I check out the menus displayed in the window. These are quintessential New York breakfasts! Just like those I ate over thirty years ago, when I lived here. Only the selection is broader than in the old days.
I arrive in what appears to be a working-class neighborhood with some warehouses close to the river. I find Eagle Street, right next to the East River, and the house number where the rooftop garden is supposed to be, but everything is locked up – probably for the winter. Of course, I realize! It’s winter after all, only the beginning of February. How could there be a vegetable garden in February? The views of Manhattan from across the street are great. This could be the site of the next building boom, I think. And turn my head to the direction of the sound of saws cutting through metal. I see cranes. They’re tearing down a warehouse next to the river to build a high rise, obviously. Is Greenpoint going to become a noisy, trendy hotspot? I love the tranquility and seeming normality of this neighborhood.
I do spot a café on the corner that looks possibly alternative, but that’s the only thing I see that looks even vaguely other than blue collar. I order tea there from someone with an English accent. I drink it and leave, eager to explore a bit. The buildings here are decidedly not trendy. Just functional row houses, many of them broken up into apartments, judging from the mailboxes. I see American flags in some of the windows, for me, unfortunately, a symbol of a certain type of conservatism. Why don’t all Americans fly the flag at their homes, ask myself, annoyed. Then I catch myself. I’m being judgmental! Perhaps people of all political persuasions do, and I’m so out of touch with life here I don’t know it. After all, I don’t know the people living here in this neighborhood. Perhaps because of this very aura of conservativeness, the neighborhood attracts me with its clean orderliness. There’s no stench of marijuana here. I encounter a nice lady from eastern Europe while walking, and ask her for directions to the subway. She can barely speak any English. This is supposed to be a fledgling artisic community. If so, it’s just starting to bud. I like the neighborhood. It is unpretentious, and it comforts me like the old flannel shirts I used to wear in my hippie days. I never had to iron them, never had to worry about how I looked. Here is a neighborhood where you can just be yourself. At least until the high rises take over.
My friends will try and fit a glimpse of Grand Central Station into the time remaining. I decide to have a brief look at the lobby before walking westward along 42nd Street to meet Johanna for a musical. Yep. It’s just as I’ve always known it, beautiful and tasteful as ever. How good that Jackie Kennedy Onassis saved this iconic Beaux Arts structure (1880-1920) from demolition. http://mentalfloss.com/article/62979/how-former-first-lady-helped-save-grand-central-terminal
I still have a couple of hours before I am to meet Johanna, and am also hungry. How best to fill this time? I start thinking about my son Jayden and his wife Dahee. How is she doing? Their baby is coming in a few months. Oh, how I miss them! But I just saw them – first, last summer when I visited them in Korea, and then when they came to be with Peter when he was dying. They stayed until after the funeral. What a support they have been!
A friend of mine in Germany told me before I left, “When you go to New York, be sure to go to K-Town and, if possible, eat in Miss Korea. They have terrific Korean barbecue there.” I decide to make a little detour and walk down 32nd Street to Koreatown, also known as K-Town, or Korea Way. New York has a Koreatown, a Japantown, a Chinatown, a Greektown, a Little India, and who knows what else?! I love that about New York.
Here, I expect to find a few restaurants with Korean stews and kimchee. I’m not very fond of either one. What I actually do find delights me.
I reluctantly finish my mandu and continue down 32nd Street. I see the Korean cosmetics chain Nature Republic has a store here. https://www.naturerepublicusa.com/ I buy a couple of sheet masks to surprise Johanna with on our last evening. We’ll have a bit of a spa experience at home before we go our separate ways, just like I did with Dahee in Seoul. I feel almost as though I have my Korean kids with me, seeing all these stores. I pass a restaurant with Korean fried chicken. We ate the best fried and also barbecued chicken ever in Seoul in a restaurant that looks very similar to this one. http://pelicanausa.com/ I quickly check my cell phone to see what time it is in Korea. Can I talk to Jayden now? No, it’s the middle of the night there. Too bad. I send the photos of Koreatown on to them and tell them I miss them. I miss them – and my husband, whom I will never again see on this earth. I can’t ask my father about the Rockefellers because he’s also passed on. Why does life have to be this way? Why is my family this way? Why are we scattered all over the globe? With a pang, I walk on. I am about to meet my German friends – in New York. Such is life in the 21st century. For my family, it seems, even more so.
I find Johanna near the TCKTS booth at Times Square. “Tickets to a Broadway show are outrageously expensive,” she moans. She wanted to see Anastasia. “The reduced rate tickets are $60! I don’t want to pay that much unless you do.” It was her idea to see this musical. I don’t really care. There is a movie showing, in German, just a couple of blocks from where we’re staying, “Never Look Away” (in German “Werk ohne Autor”), based on the life of the German artist Gerhard Richter. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerhard_Richter We opt to do this for the evening. Patrick wants to see this film too, and Timo decides to come along, even though he’s not that interested in art films.
We call it a day for sightseeing. We’ve seen enough for a while. We buy take-out food we can heat up in the microwave and salad for dinner, and rest or do our own activities for the remainder of the afternoon.
How odd to see a German film with English subtitles with Germans in New York. But it’s the one theater-like activity we can do where we can all really understand what’s going on. We find the film particularly interesting because Richter lives in Cologne, where we live. I find solace for an evening, and perhaps longer, in realizing I have touched base with my deceased father, husband, Korea, Germany and America, all in one day. We have just watched a German film in New York about a man who, in a way, is also an immigrant because he has lived in Nazi Germany, then in East Germany under the Communists, and now in Cologne in West Germany. Does he also wonder where home is? Does he, like me, struggle to connect all the pieces of his life?
Timo wants to see the architecture, especially to get a good view of the Chrysler Building – and all the other tall buildings. We walk again to Rockefeller Center and then take a cross-town bus to the East Side. I enter the Chrysler Building for the first time in my life. We can only see the lobby, but the lobby is worthy of a stop. Beautiful woodwork, beautiful masonry. This is truly a landmark building, to me much more interesting than the Empire State Building. The woodwork, the marble, the brass – it is all so warm and inviting. And imagine – gargoyles on a secular building! The gargoyles are eagles, the symbol of the National bird of the United States.
It is spectacular, but not enough to satisfy Timo. He wants a better view of the Chrysler Building.
“Why don’t we try and take a bus downtown?” suggests Johanna. “We’ve
been on the subway so much, maybe we can get some good impressions of
the city on the bus.” We’ve been trying to ride the bus, but have been
unlucky enough to usually miss the buses we want to catch. But this
time it works.
We take a bus heading downtown, getting off at Union Square, where Timo takes some more photos. Then we board another bus for SoHo. Today we’re going to explore SoHo (short for “South of Houston Street”) and take in a little of the Chinese New Year. And do Wall Street. And more. Another full day is planned. Time is running out – this is already our fifth day in New York, and there are only two more to go before we separate, I to go on to Texas, and my friends back to Germany. We’re tired, after miles of walking, but they don’t want to miss anything!
My niece Gillian has been staying in a hotel in SoHo, her favorite place in Manhattan. She’s a fashionista by profession, so she should know. I haven’t been to SoHo in years. We find her hotel, a quiet hotel on a short street. I would never have known to book a room in a place like that.
We need to go to the bathroom. It’s not always easy finding a place to use a toilet, since some restaurants are only take-out establishments. We find both a restaurant with restrooms and also promising-looking pastries at a bakery on Prince Street with a newspaper article in the window advertising the “Best Chocolate Cake in the U.S.” Well, we have to test this place! The cheesecakes look tempting too at the Little Cupcake Bakeshop, which has much more than cupcakes. http://www.littlecupcakebakeshop.com/ I have tea and a slice of another cake I’ve always been curious about – red velvet cake. It is delicious. But none of us tries the best chocolate cake in the US. We’ll have to go back to find out if it lives up to its reputation.
We walk on in SoHo. I venture into a shoe store that has interesting, sturdy but feminine walking shoes. I need new shoes. But these are over $250! Above my budget. We walk down Broadway, snapping pictures of the beautiful late nineteenth century cast iron buildings this area is famous for.
We walk on into Chinatown. This is the first day of the Chinese New Year, February 5, and it looks as though all the Chinese in all five boroughs of New York have congregated here. We want to explore, but the streets are so crowded, you can hardly move.
We head for a park where there are supposed to be fireworks, or firecrackers, or something. We know we’re going the right direction by following our ears. The sound of firecrackers becomes ever louder. We find a playground with hundreds of Chinese children and families, and a carpet of pastel-colored paper confetti on the ground. Children are somehow setting off long colorful tubes that make noise, and confetti goes flying through the air. And it seems like everybody is wearing red or pink! I later learn that red symbolizes good luck, and also joy. We watch for a few moments, then head south, passing through Little Italy, where we board a subway for Wall Street.
It is afternoon, and we are hungry and tired. “We still haven’t had New York hot dogs,” says Johanna. So we buy hot dogs at a stand in Wall Street and munch on them as we walk around. What is this?! The commercialization of the New York Stock Exchange! As if it weren’t commercial enough. They’ve plastered the facade with a poster advertising Arm and Hammer baking soda! Anything to make a few extra bucks, I guess. They say money is king in New York. What will people in a hundred years think of scenes like this, public permission to deface buildings. It’s almost as bad as graffitti.
Another thing polluting New York City is the pervasive smell of marijuana. It seems people smoke it everywhere. It is no longer illegal to possess or to smoke marijuana. But the streets reek of it. I hope public smoking of marijuana can one day be banned.
We want to visit the 911 Memorial museum, which offers free admission after 4 pm on Tuesdays. But it is not yet 4 pm. We find another museum, actually operated by the National Parks, which is also free and open – Federal Hall, at 26 Wall Street. It claims to be the birthplace of American democacy.
Patrick and I enter the museum, which is now located on the ground where George Washington first took the oath of office. New York City was once the Capitol of the United States! There is an interesting exhibit about the life of Alexander Hamilton. There seems to be a furor about a musical playing right now in New York based on the life of Alexander Hamilton. In the exhibit I learn that he was a visionary, one of the first to envision a federal, centralist nation, and also to plan a stable monetary and banking system. I wish I could go to the musical, but tickets are never available for this one. Johanna and I hope to see a musical tomorrow.
We all meet at the World Trade Center visitor center and receive our tickets. There is still an hour before we can enter the museum. Johanna and I walk around the concourse of the new World Trade Center, while Timo and Patrick explore outdoors. It is a beautiful, somehow comforting, yet inspiring structure. It feels like being in the hull of a light-filled ship, or in the womb of a loving giant mama.
The only problem I see with the concourse is that the shops are only upscale, exclusive ones. You can’t just make a quick jaunt to the pharmacy here after work and pick up something, as far as I could tell. I see no inexpensive fast food joints where you can eat a quick lunch. But then I haven’t had time to explore everything. Being inside the new World Trade Center is an eery feeling, especially because I worked in the old one for a few weeks many years ago, picking up a few extra dollars so I could return to Germany, where I met Peter. Now I wanted to return and marry him. I have often wondered if any of the people I worked with at that time were still working there when it was hit. I used to go window shopping or do actual shopping during my lunch breaks.
The rest of us are taken down, down, further down on long escalators, into the bowels of the old structures. We see the concrete walls that held back the Hudson River, and metal girders. We see two rusty broken-off supports in the shape of a cross. I had read about that. We see the names of all the victims, gaze at them a while. There are audio-visual stories about some of the victims, bringing that day sickeningly back to life. We hear the voice of one of the victims, on the phone with his mother, telling her everything is all right. We quickly finish the tour of part one, and think we have seen nearly everything. A guard tells us there is much, much more to see in part two. Each exhibit is in one of the twin towers. We find the other tower and enter a maze of exhibit rooms with films and sounds of sirens. We see a fire truck and read about some of the fire fighters who gave their life here. We see dusty high heel shoes someone left behind to run away as quickly as possible. It is impossible to see everything in one hour. But in that somber hour, we are all brought back to that day in September, 2001 that changed lives everywhere. On that day, when I watched the towers fall on TV, I said to myself, “September 11 will be a day everyone will remember now.” And so it is.
Each of us is on our own for this tour, reliving our own memories of that day. Sometimes we run into each other and compare impressions, then separate again. Except for the sounds of recorded sirens, conversations with the airport towers and films, the exhibit rooms are silent. Visiting this museum is a holy, private act.
We rejoin at our agreed time. We share memories of that day. We watch the water at the pool outdoors, and let the water wash over our souls, like a purification. We need some time to transition into mundaneness of everyday life.
Reflecting pool on the site of the old World Trade Center.
But we are hungry. We have decided to eat Chinese tonight in honor of the Chinese New Year in the area of New York where most of the Chinese immigrants live nowadays, in Flushing, Queens. We ride the subway for a long time, reminiscing about the experience in the museum, about our day. We eat a meal that is too authentically Chinese for our Western tastes, but we find something on the menu that we can eat. We are surrounded by dozens of Chinese families.
Finally, at around ten pm, exhausted from another long day, we ride the subway back “home”.
Sunday, our second full day in the City, we go to church. We are all committed Christians, and finding a church we may have heard about as far away as Germany becomes as much a part of our touristic experience as any other. In preparation for this trip, Johanna mentioned a church I had been to once before with Peter, Redeemer Presbyterian Church https://www.redeemer.com/ on Park Avenue. It has the reputation for having good, solid theology, a church that thinking people can go to and be challenged by. I opt for the classic service because the time works well for us, so we go there together. Timo wants to go to a church where young people would feel more comfortable, so he and Patrick go to Hillsong Church. https://hillsong.com/nyc/manhattan/
At Redeemer Presbyterian Church, I notice that there is not a single black person in the entire congregation, but there are many Asians. There are also a few families there. The music is definitely classical, with a string quartet and old church hymns. It is the first Sunday of the month, so there is communion. For the communion, ushers come to us in our chairs, serving first bread and later grape juice.
After the service, Johanna asks if the way communion was served is the American way. It is not necessarily, but it is the reformed/dissenting church way, the way they usually do it in my Baptist church in Cologne too. But Johanna belongs to a Lutheran church, where everyone walks to the front of the church, and they stand in a circle together. “I don’t like this passive way of doing communion,” she says. “It’s so impersonal, perfunctory.” I ask her how much she understood of the sermon. “I got the gist,” she says. This was not a good choice of church for Johanna. As for me, it also feels a bit dry, but at least it is not offensive to me theologically. I have heard many cringe-worthy sermons in my life.
Johanna meets Patrick and Timo, and I separate to do some shopping. But we do talk on the phone before we part. Patrick and Timo loved the services they attended.
I have arranged to have dinner with my sister Beth and niece Gillian. I want my German friends to meet more of the English-speaking people in my life. Beth is the sister my sisters and I adopted, and she adopted us, at the time of the marriage of my sister to Beth’s brother. Gillian, living in Australia, has never been able to meet Beth, who has never been to our big family reunions, although most of us we have met up at smaller gatherings. But Gillian just happens to be in New York on business this week, and we have arranged to meet. The logistics aren’t all that easy. Beth has difficulty walking for more than about a block. Gillian has celiac disease and can’t tolerate gluten, but she is hoping to eat Italian food. The Italian restaurant Beth recommended has no gluten-free options – I went there and asked. So I go online, looking for restaurants in the neighborhood that have gluten-free pasta. I find one, the Serafina Osteria. https://serafinarestaurant.com/serafina-italian-restaurant-osteria-new-york
This is good news, but Beth tells me she can’t walk all the way to the restaurant. I call the restaurant and find that they deliver. We eat in, “at home”. After all, we are staying in a sort of apartment, complete with dishes, cutlery and wine glasses. Gillian brings wine. Beth brings us beautiful long-stemmed roses.
I organize more dishes, cutlery and glasses. Beth and Gillian, and my Germans all meet for the first time, in our apartment. We eat a delicios meal at home in peace and quiet, a rare thing in New York City restaurants, and laugh and talk, communicating in a language that doesn’t come very easily to Johanna or Patrick. Timo blends right in. After dinner, we watch the super bowl together on TV, the same activity millions of Americans across the country are doing in their homes too. American football is not a German sport, but Patrick loves American football. I am no football fan, and know very little, so my German friend Patrick explains the moves of the game to his American friend.
We wake up to another day of frigid temperatures in New York City. New York is much colder than Cologne! But we will not let a bit of cold weather deter us from our plans. My friends enjoy a breakfast of bagels and coffee. I eat cooked oatmeal, the same breakfast I always eat in the winter. We put on our long underwear and head out for Central Park. Central Park turns out to be my favorite part of the day, perhaps the highlight of the week, because of a couple of wonderful discoveries. We see lots of squirrels scurrying throgh the park, but one in particular catches our attention. It runs back and forth between the ground and its burrow in a hole in a tree. I love it – nature in New York! This squirrel knows nothing about rental prices in the city or gentrification. He lives the same lifestyle squirrels have been living for thousands of years, and it’s comforting for me to see this in Central Park.
The other discovery is a community of cardinals in the park. My last trip to New York City I saw a cardinal and thought it must be a rare occasion, because the only birds I usually notice are sparrows and robins. But here there must be twenty of them flitting around. What a wonderful aesthetic experience to see flecks of red hopping around the ground, then darting into the air and back down again!
On we march southwards, through the city. It is only noon, and my feet are already tired, and all we have seen is Central Park. We glimpse at the ice skaters at Rockefeller Center, and walk into St. Thomas Church and witness a wedding in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I love St. Thomas Church and walk in there almost every time I am in New York City. I once went to an unforgettable Christmas Eve choral service there. I love their boys’ choir and the liturgy of the service. But it is my first time in the St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I am not Catholic, so never found a need to be inside this church, but Patrick is. I am impressed by its size. Surely it must be the larget Catholic church in America, I think. It isn’t, but it is the largest in New York City. We walk past the New York Public Library. This is another place I have never set foot inside, but I have been told it is a worthy tourist attraction, its lobby so beautiful, you can rent it for weddings – for upwards of $60,000! https://www.nypl.org/space-rental/your-event
If only my Peter had seen this place, is the main thing I think, walking around the beautiful rooms with carved oak walls, golden molded ceilings and gorgeous masonry. This would have been heaven to my husband, who loved books – and maps – so much. He used to spend hours at a time, just studying maps. Once visiting friends in England, they drove us to visit a town none of us had been to, but they thought they knew the way. We would have gotten lost, had we followed their directions, but Peter assured us, he knew the way. He did, and they marveled at his sense of direction.
The NY public library has a room dedicated to maps. I mourn my husband as I marvel over the most amazing globes I have ever seen.
On we go, southwards on Fifth Avenue ever since Central Park. By now it is a bit late in the afternoon, and we are all feeling the effects of our long hike in our legs and feet. Now we are headed for our last destination, the Rooftop Bar at 25rd Street. A friend of mine in Germany told me about this place, not written up in the tourist guides, but known by many young people, including her son, who spent a semester at a language school near New York City. It turns out that there are several rooftop bars in New York, but this one seems to attract mostly young people. That’s what we see at this one at 230 Fifth Avenue. https://www.230-fifth.com/ The interesting thing about this place, to me, is the heated plastic igloos where you can sit and enjoy the view.
We drink a cup of hot chocolate for $10. We have to hurry, because the bar closes at 5 pm. The hefty price is worth it. We leave, inspired and strengthened for our return home. We have seen enough for the day.
Two hours later, friends of mine join us at our suite. We have a drink together, and head out again for dinner at Der Krung, a tiny Thai restaurant only New Yorkers would know about, it is so far west of Fifth Avenue. Because of its location and tiny size, the prices are reasonable. It’s fun exploring New York with New Yorkers. I enjoy introducing my German friends to friends from New York. I am in the middle, part of each culture. This must be symbolic of who I am. Am I a bridge between cultures?
Perhaps the two questions ex-pats ask themselves more than any other are, “Where is home?” And “What is home?” I certainly do. I recently heard a travel commercial today, trying to entice people to come to Denmark on vacation. They asked this very question, “Where is home?” For them, the answer was, home is where you feel secure and comfortable, and this is a state of mind. Therefore, presumably, you could travel to Denmark and be right at home.
I only have one major regret in life – I didn’t buy my apartment in New York City when I had the chance. My building was going coop, and I could have bought my studio apartment for $50,000. My father could have easily financed it for me too, but I didn’t want to owe him anything, so I never asked him. That apartment is now worth over $400,000, and there’s no way I could afford it, even it were available. If I had bought that apartment, I would have had my own abode in New York, the only place that has ever really felt like home. Or does it only feel like home when I return to visit, because nowhere else feels like it either? Because I got so sick of my entire life in New York City – twice, I only wanted to leave, and eventually did. But did I find home?
I don’t think of New York City as a place where I feel secure or even comfortable. But I do feel like I fit in. There’s room for everybody in New York! And there are eight hundred languages spoken there, making it the most ethnically diverse city on earth, according to the World Population Review. http://worldpopulationreview.com/us-cities/new-york-city-population/
I have an
inquisitive, curious nature, and I like to be involved in interesting
discussions. New York is discussion
paradise. People philosophize about
everything, and they’re really interested in what others think. Here, if you overhear someone talking about
something while waiting on line for your coffee (they say “on line” in NYC, not
“in line”), you can jump right into the conversation. People in New York are passionate about life
and all its details. You won’t find
passive bystanders here, but active participants engaged in conversation
wherever you go. They make eye contact
on the subway and smile at one another when they find something ironic or
amusing. Life is shared in New York.
There is so much to do in this city, I’m never bored. Home for me is not a place where I have to stay indoors to feel good. I can go outdoors and join the rest of the world in New York City any time I please. When I want to feel secure and comfortable, I can stay indoors and watch the same TV shows, cook the same foods, read the same books, or water the same plants I would anywhere else. But where else could I find such interesting people to invite over for dinner, if that was what I wanted to do? Where else could I sit in a café and enjoy such an intense discussion? That is the DNA of New York. Once New York gets into your blood, it’s like getting the hepatitis virus. My blood type is irretrievably changed after having lived there twice, for a total of ten years. I’m infected with the NYC virus. My blood type is NYC – both positive and negative.
And now here I am, returning to NYC – from Germany, my adopted country, with German friends. I was here a year ago after my sister’s funeral, where I attended the funeral of my friend’s father, and stayed with my sister. This time I have arranged to spend a week there as a tourist, spending very little time with family and friends. In fact, we will be staying in a time share apartment, just like many other tourists. Most Germans I know have never heard of a time share, something most Americans know about, so this is something of my culture I can share with my friends. How will this week be? How will New York feel to me, experiencing it again, but with Germans?
We – that is Johanna, Patrick, their son Timo and I – arrive at JFK airport on the bitterly cold afternoon of February 1. It is cold in Germany, but this cold is insane! Minus ten degrees Celsius and a huge wind chill factor. We can feel it walking off the plane into the terminal.
It takes an age to get through immigration, even for me, with the luck of going through the US citizen line. This time no one asks me any silly or loaded questions, simply welcoming me to the United States. When I arrived in Seattle, the agent leafed through my passport, noticed all the stamps from previous trips to Egypt and Turkey and asked in a friendly voice if I had family over there. It was only hours later that I realized this agent wasn’t merely making small talk with me. He was feeling me out to see if I was trying to smuggle some people from Muslim countries into the USA. That experience didn’t feel very welcoming. Today feels better, even though I’m separated from my friends, who aren’t allowed to go through the line with me.
I wait for over a half hour for my friends, wondering if they have somehow gotten through before me and are waiting for me somewhere. But no – immigration takes very long these days, especially if you’re not American.
We finally meet again, and leave the airport for the Airtrain, a monorail that circuits between the terminals and the Sutphin Boulevard subway stop on the E line, which is also the Long Island Railroad stop. I don’t know how to work the machines to get a ticket. I am just as much a tourist as my friends. We end up buying a ticket from a salesman at a kiosk, paying him a tip for the privilege of buying from him.
We enter the subway train and are immediately entertained by a performer who does incredible acrobatics on the train. I have seen performances like this many times in New York, so this feels familiar to me, and I know he expects about a dollar from each of us, which we gladly fork out to him. He leaves the car by forcing the door to the next car open, something that is strictly prohibited by the Transit Authority. But perhaps I am the only one who knows that, because everyone smiles, waving him a farewell as he leaves.
I had forgotten how long the ride is from the airport to 53rd Street and Lexington. Almost an hour long! New York is a huge city. We leave the train and I am disoriented and begin walking in the wrong direction until Johanna asks, “Aren’t we going in the wrong direction?” What is wrong with me? I have always been able to get around Manhattan. I just stand somewhere, figure out whether the Hudson River on my right or left is. If it’s on my right, I’m heading south. But this time I can’t figure out which side of me the Hudson is on.
Before we left Germany, I checked online where the nearest supermarket is. Morton Williams on 57th Street. I have never heard of Morton Williams. Another change in New York. There is also Whole Foods at Columbus Circle. I read about how Amazon bought them. When I lived in New York there was no such thing as Whole Foods.
Our suite is really nice! We will be living in more luxury than I have ever enjoyed in NewYork. I have a huge bed all to myself and my own bathroom. We have a microwave to heat food in, and a little drip coffee machine. I inquire and find that they renew the coffee supply each day, as they also do with dishwasher tabs. My time share is again proving itself worthy of the money I pay each year!
After checking into our suite and unpacking we head out for Morton Williams. I recognize Carnegie Hall on the way, and right across the street from there is Calvary Baptist Church, the church I belonged to when I last lived in New York. I scarcely recognize it now, a tiny structure sandwiched between two very high buildings. Normally, my trips to New York don’t take me to 57th Street or midtown Manhattan. No wonder everything seems so strange! But I am familiar with the choices available in a New York supermarket. We find everything we will need for breakfast tomorrow, when Timo will go out again and buy bagels. The bagels look really good. When it is time to pay, I am again overwhelmed. There are many cash registers with numbers. It seems you have to stand on line, like at the bank, and wait for the next available cash register. Some are unattended. Apparently you have to scan your own groceries and pay with a credit card. Can I do this? I can. I manage this as easily as if I had been doing this my entire life. I even ask for cash back, and get it. But only $50. Johanna and Patrick don’t know about cash back. I learned about cash back in Germany, where they even use the English word for this system of getting cash off your debit card when you pay for something with it.
Johanna and Patrick have a comfortable sofa bed they make up each day in the living room. Timo has a rollaway bed in the corner of the living room. We have a comfortable home for the week.