Spring in New York

                                                           Spring

   When T.S. Eliot wrote that “April is the cruelest month,” he lied. April is just wonderful, especially when it comes after a rainy March. Last week, spring hit New York big-time, and we celebrated by taking some very long walks.

   Staten Island. We proceeded downtown along the Hudson, stopping briefly at the slip in front of the World Financial Center, where two Spanish sailboats were tied up. They were preparing for an attempt at setting a world record from New York to Barcelona. (http://www.bymnews.com/news/newsDetails.php?id=67581) At Battery Park, we marveled at the miles long queue of tourists waiting to take the excursion boat to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. We did an end run around them and hopped on the ferry to Staten Island (free; 20 minutes).

   About two miles from the ferry landing in St. George, along Richmond Terrace, is Snug Harbor, an extremely interesting collection of buildings set in a spacious park. This was the site of a former residence for retired and infirm merchant seamen, and has now been converted into museums, a cultural center, and botanical garden. A delightful place with almost no one around. (http://www.snug-harbor.org/)

   We then bushwhacked across Staten Island, some parts of which are not very appealing, to the Verrazano Bridge. Unlike the day of the New York Marathon, pedestrians are not allowed on the bridge, so we had to take a bus to Bay Ridge.    

   We then walked many miles along 4th Avenue, stopping at a fine Mexican Restaurant for lunch. We then continued up to Brooklyn Heights, where we walked the Promenade, with its incredible views, and caught a subway back to Manhattan.

   Upper West Side. Our plan to visit the New York Historical Society, on West 77th St., came to grief after we got there and discovered that the main collections were closed for renovation. (I declined to pay the $18 to visit the temporary exposition on the Grateful Dead.)

   We ran for a half hour around Central Park, which was teeming with people celebrating the advent of fine weather. On Columbus Avenue, we ran into a Good Friday Procession of Spanish speaking Christians. One young man was playing Jesus, more or less a la Mel Gibson. Others, dressed as Roman soldiers, were pretending to beat him, several times pushing him to the sidewalk. An elderly woman walked a bit behind reading Scripture. And they say that Holy Week in Seville is weird!

   We walked back downtown from 59th St. and sidetracked off on the “Highline” at 20th Street. (This is a restored stretch of industrial elevated railroad, which runs through the heart of the Meatpacking District.) (http://www.thehighline.org/)

   We were getting hungry, but were disinclined to fight the crowds at Gansevoort Market. Once on Horatio St., wed lucked out at the El Faro, run by a couple of Spaniards whose families have been running the place since the 1920’s. Jose, the owner, claims that El Faro is the oldest Spanish restaurant in New York. Great paella, wine, and interesting conversation. (http://elfaronyc.com/page/o14v/A_70-Year_History.html)

   Red Hook. Red Hook is a hard-nose industrial/port district in southern Brooklyn. You can get there for free by taking the New York Water Taxi from Pier 11 (near Wall Street). This is a delicious ride, with amazing views of Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Statue of Liberty, and Governor’s Island. The boat leaves you off right in the front of the new IKEA store, which has more or less redirected the destiny of Red Hook—some say for the worse. We walked around the port area, where there are Civil War era warehouses and lots of industrial-maritime decay. We had key lime pie at Steve’s, on the waterfront, and then walked along Van Brunt Street, which seems to be the best the area has to offer. We got a bus back to downtown Brooklyn, walked around the Heights a bit, and then came back to Manhattan.

   Easter Sunday. The sun shone brightly, and it was very warm. Blanca chose to go to the Easter Parade and then to the Guggenheim. I, being more traditional, decided to go to church: another go-round with the Baptists at Canaan on 116th Street. ( http://www.cbccnyc.org/) As one would expect, things were hopping. The place was filled to the brim, and there was a long line for visitors. (I by-passed the line, paying the price of sitting through Bible Study for an hour before the main service.) Pastor Johnson was in his glory, and everyone seemed especially pumped up. The sermon was “Good News from the Graveyard” and featured an “Extra, Extra, Read all About It!” motif. (Three guesses what the news was!) One thing struck me particularly. During the latter part of the service there was a choreography number. Five women in diaphanous white appeared before a cross at the back of the stage, where they did their movements. But then a guy dressed as Jesus appeared from behind the curtain at the side of the cross. He lifted his hands in prayer and then began to circulate around the church. Some people appeared to fall on their knees and worship him; he patted the heads of children who adoringly surrounded him. Apart from the inherent bizarreness of the scene was the fact that “Jesus” was a white guy with dreadlocks! I must also confess that hearing the Disciples referred to as “the boys,” was a bit of a culture shock. Entre nous, however, I sort of liked it. But as before, everyone from the Church was extremely gracious and welcoming. I think that they are genuinely good people.

   Emerging into the blinding sunlight, I walked up towards 125th Street, where I found a completely empty African restaurant (“South Beach”), where I had jerk chicken, rice, and beans (for $6). I walked across 125th and stopped in to the Studio Museum of Harlem, where there is a moderately interesting collection of mostly very modern paintings and multi-media offerings. (http://www.studiomuseum.org/)

   Back in the Village, I noted a total absence of anything like a financial crisis. The restaurants were all jammed to the gills, with waiting lines at many. Streets like Bleecker were almost impassible. It looks like the Euro-tourists might well save N.Y.’s butt after all. That’s O.K.: they owe us.