NYC June 11, 2008
The day began simply enough. We ate our breakfast, we dressed. Mom arrived to pick us up with plenty of time
to get to the airport, and we had already packed and repacked our bags so that all we had to do was load them
up and head out.
Actually, I had begun packing and planning as far back as Spring Break, because I got all hung up on New York
being the capital of style and I wanted Katya and I to fit in, vogue-wise. I erred in this regard by over-packing,
and under-packing. I brought my Chinese fish skirt, my flow-y Indian skirt, a black and gray skirt way too short to
wear, and my gold silk Jackie O style dress, when honestly, all I needed was a decent pair of jeans, some comfy
blouses, and a wrap because even though New York had had a heat wave the week previous, it got down into
the 60s three evenings in a row, and it rained twice. A wrap each for Katya and I would have been perfect. We
under-packed warm clothes for Katya, too. She needed some long pants and a sweater; they keep those
museums awfully cold, and some of the landmarks (Empire State Building, I mean you!) were breezy.
Okay, so Mom dropped us at Austin-Bergstrom Airport two hours before our flight time, which was perfect. All
went well with check-in except that I packed a 12 oz. bottle of Banana Boat Sunscreen in my purse the day
before and forgot to remove it. It didn’t clear security and we had to toss it. Too bad, too. It was brand-new
and cost $10. Drat.
The flight took off, no worried and we were in the air by noon. We were happily chomping our cinnamon Orbit
gum at 34,000 feet and winging east. We had a negligible layover in Raleigh-Durham (we didn’t even de-plane) and
then landed in LaGuardia at 6:26 p.m., one minute late of our scheduled time. The neat thing was getting to see
all of the New York landmarks and skyline in miniature on the way down to the runway. We could see it all
spread out, like a visual foreshadowing of our week’s adventures, as we descended to the airport. We had a
small delay to the gate due to another plane’s late arrival, but it was nothing, really, and we were in New York
so Katya and I felt nonplussed.
Now, here’s one of the cool things that happened – one of the neat, New York coincidences you sometimes
hear about. When we went down to baggage claim, the bags hadn’t yet begun down the carousel, so Katya and I
wandered around a bit. There weren’t many people hanging around, but there was one man and woman waiting
nearby. The man turned around, and I realized that I knew him!
Baffled, I said, “Ramon?” And behold, it was him: Ramon Ornales, a man I worked with at Porter Middle School in
Austin!
Back when Porter first announced that it was closing, Ramon, or Mr. O as the kids called him, decided that he
was going to try to find a job teaching in New York. The last time we’d seen him was on a Friday afternoon right
after Porter had closed. He was working at People’s Pharmacy across from Porter, but told us that he would be
heading for New York on Monday, where he’d been hired unassigned to teach. And when we landed at
LaGuardia, there he was in baggage claim after a brief trip back to Texas. He was teaching in Harlem, and really
liked it, which was cool because I’d seen the man teach and he was truly good at it.
That was a fitting welcome to New York City, and made us feel like perhaps the city would not be as big as all
that. We had friends and family all over, and my initial fears that people would be impersonal and rude were
quickly allayed.
Right outside the doors and down the sidewalk from baggage claim, there was a stand of taxi cabs – all Gold
Medallion Cabs, like the ones we researched before leaving Texas. All we had to do was walk up, tell the driver
the hotel in which we planned to stay, and he did the rest. He loaded our bags into the trunk and set off.
The cool thing: NYC cabs all have GPS, back-seat TVs with touch-screen so that you can select from a variety of
informative channels, and credit card swipes. The uncool thing: Katya was ‘weak from starvation’ at this point
and turned off the in-cab entertainment which featured a number of uptown restaurants.
Now, I’m not sure how fast cab drivers go, but I think it’s at least 80. Plus, they don’t stop for anything. Not red
lights, not pedestrians – nothing. In no time, we were whipping down the streets of Manhattan at breakneck
speeds. It was better than a rollercoaster! But, not so much in Katya’s opinion. She was a little green by the
time we reached Hotel Wellington.
Initially, I worried about getting taken by cab drivers, and New Yorkers in general. I have read, seen and heard
plenty about people getting scammed and used by hucksterly characters, and me being trusting to a fault, I felt I
should probably be overly wary lest we lose all. I fumbled with that first cab transaction because I wanted to
make sure I took down the driver’s name and badge number, and get the receipt, and assure a good tip, but not
too good lest the word ‘sucker’ be imprinted upon my brow. Really, though, the cab driver just wanted the
transaction to go quickly because time is money, and there’s no need to cheat anyone because there’s plenty
of folk and plenty of money. The cab driver (Badge #29606) was brisk-yet-polite and handed us over to the
doorman of Hotel Wellington with practiced efficiency.
Little did we know at the time how just-right our hotel would be. Hotel Wellington sits at West 55th and 7th Ave,
as it has for, like, a hundred years or something, and though the art deco motif and crystal chandelier looks a
tad outdated compared to some of the sleeker, more modern hotels around it, she’s still got it. Funny thing was,
it had the front section, which was substantially classier, with mirrored-and-gilt elevators and faded black-and-
gold rugs, and it had a back section accessible by another set of smaller elevators, through the lobby, down a
short hall and an abbreviated staircase. We were not misled by Priceline.com, where we found and booked our
room. The website’s photograph of the room was exactly as reported, but the room’s location was quietly
omitted, as if the hotel felt just a little embarrassed of its less-pricey wing.
I experienced a pang of doubt when the doorman delivered us to our door, mainly because on the bronze
placard that showed our room number, someone had carefully stenciled the number 7 in front of the black,
press-formed number 3. How expensive, really, could a black, press-formed matching number 7 be? However, the
instant the doorman opened our door, those doubts were shelved. Katya plunged into the room, arms spread
expansively as if to embrace the whole thing. As hotel rooms go, it was no better or worse than ones in which
we’ve stayed, and she loved it, so all was good.
Downside, from my perspective: no in-room coffee maker, which would provide daily adventure in the quest for
my ritual cup of java. Unfortunately, it meant New York had to be subjected to me in pre-coffee zombie mode.
Fortunately, New York didn’t seem to mind.
So there we were, in New York. It was early evening, around 7 p.m., and we had arrived in relative style. We
phoned Kevin, our beautiful friend who transplanted to Brooklyn four years ago, to let him know that we had
made it. He knows Manhattan well, as he works in the design department of the Museum of Modern Art, so he
was able to give us much information about the area.
One thing about the way we like to travel. We only research so far, which is not too much at all. I give a cursory
glance to the maps and photos and guides, but I rarely sit and read detailed reviews or logs from other people’s
travels. I prefer to drop in, like a skydiver, and experience it all on my own terms. I’ve refined this a bit since
Katya’s become my companion. Knowing safety and kid-friendly stats makes the trip better for her (and my
peace of mind), but still allows us to adventure around without having someone else’s bias imposed on us.
Besides that, I feel that getting the scoop from the natives gives you a much better experience than a
travelogue written from an outsider’s point of view.
Kevin told us that we were only a few blocks from Times Square. He suggested that we spend the evening
wandering around, checking out the sites, finding out where our theatre was for Spamalot, and getting a bite
for dinner. Okay, we said, very cool. We also made plans to meet him at the Museum of Modern Art the following
morning at 10 a.m., where he would be able to give us a private guided tour of the museum, including the Olafur
Elliason Exhibit titled “Take Your Time.” I said, “Squeeee!” I think I went overboard with the repetition of this
line: “We are so excited!”
At this point, Katya felt very, very hungry. Beneath the Hotel Wellington, there is a café called Park Café. It’s an
older diner-style restaurant with cushiony booths and lots of wood grain. We went in, and the wait staff treated
us quite well. Katya accidentally spilled her entire glass of Sprite within the first three minutes, and she was
devastated with embarrassment. The waiter and the owner fell over themselves trying to make her feel better.
They called her “Little Princess” and the waiter said he would be heartbroken if she continued to cry. Poor guy
– didn’t know that such words would only encourage her.
For all of their kindness, I did not care much for the food. Sometimes you can tell just by the format of the
menu how the food will look and taste. This was the case for the Park Café. The menu was a mish-mashed font
nightmare, with overlarge greasy plastic inserts advertising the ‘specials.’ There were pixellated pictures, too, in
case your imagination could not fill in the appropriate gaps in the food’s description. Katya had a simple grilled
cheese with fries. I had a veggie burger deluxe. Deluxe meant it came with lettuce and tomato. I could have
used a photo illustration for that one to help make up my mind, because had I know the patty was lime-green
with bits of peas and carrots in it, I might have just gone for the patty melt.
In the rush of preparation for this trip, I had neglected to call my credit union to inform them that we’d be
traveling out of state. When we went to pay for our meal at the Park Café, we discovered that the credit card
machine would not accept our payment. We had ample cash on us for ‘just in case’ scenarios such as this, and
so it was only minor inconvenience. Next morning, I called and let the bank know that we’d be in New York for a
while, and so that was that.
After dinner, we went out to properly hit the town. And we were stunned! Times Square is fantastic! All the
lights and people and imagery and the buzz of activity overwhelmed us. We wandered up the street and back,
snapping pictures with our phones because we forgot to unpack our camera. We found our Spamalot theatre,
and about a dozen touristy shops packed with I *Heart* NY memorabilia, cameras, luggage, trinkets, and such.
Vendors on every street corner hawked faux-designer handbags, perfume, magazines, pretzels, hot dogs, candies
and T-shirts. It was exactly like a street fair.
One cool detail we noticed: after about thirty minutes on the street, we decided to play a little game to count
the number of distinct languages we heard as we walked. I gave up at 10. Katya counted 14 different tongues.
Coming from my hometown where that kind of diversity has always been shunned and feared, I’d say that was
one of my favorite parts of this trip. The myriad of people and cultures all mixed up together but coexisting
made everything feel more beautiful.
We finally went back to the hotel room at around 10:30 p.m., but watched Nick at Night (Will Smith and The
Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire) until 11 before crashing out for the night.
All in all, I’d say it was a good start.