Grant's dreams were now just over the horizon where the sun was rising, and all we had to do was get across the rest of Ohio, a smidge of West Virginia, the long part of Pennsylvania, across New Jersey and then go either over or under the Hudson River to get onto Manhattan Island. New York, New York! My study of the road map seemed to show going under the Hudson would be the best route. I had a route selected to get us to and through the Lincoln Tunnel. But, while in snarled New Jersey traffic, we saw a sign that pointed us toward the Lincoln Tunnel, but at different exit than the one I had planned. Uncharacteristically of me, the confident navigator, I changed my route and inched toward the signed exit that promised to get us to the tunnel. The result was not unexpected, but still, a glacial-paced movement of trucks and cars. I can wait, but I was not sure if our next turn was to be to the left or to the right, and therefore, I had no confidence in which traffic lane I should be squeezing into. I had hoped against hope that we might arrive in Manhattan in daylight, but that hope was fading with the ever darkening sky. I veered onto the approach for the Lincoln Tunnel, choosing a lane that would require us to scratch out $15 (!) for a toll [I'd always heard New York is expensive].
I thought the saving grace for driving in New York was the fact that the city was laid out in a nice orthogonal grid where the streets (and some avenues) were sequentially numbered. As I had it figured, we would come out onto 33rd, count down the avenues until we reached 3rd Avenue, turn left and proceed 3 miles to 62nd Street. Bingo! Alas, nothing in New York is really as it seems. Once we'd crossed under the Hudson we emerged smack dab in the middle of New York traffic and all the horrors that entails - only as (mis)fortune would dictate; we had arrived while President Trump was also in Manhattan. Oh Lordy, the chaotic mayhem that passes for normal in this town has now been turned into a herculean navigational task for us newcomers. All of the turns and exits that normally would have gotten us to where we wanted to go were blocked by police cars with flashing blue and red lights. We ended up being forced to the very eastern edge of Manhattan and driving for miles northward on the Franklin Roosevelt Drive into Harlem before we could exit and return south. My passengers quickly found an opportunity to seethe with contempt for Trump for causing our problems, but when I suggested that the very same dilemma would've confronted motorist if was President Obama leaving the UN, they would hear none it. I further suggested this seems par for living on a crowded island where most seem to feel the world revolves around all and only things New York. That bitter opinion was met with a sigh of disapproval, for their part this was an exciting place - if only the Secret Service would allow us to get where we wanted to go.
Before we had realized the tangle that the presidential motorcade had caused, I was impressed (not favorably) by New Yorker's callous approach to those that share social space with them. Pedestrians strolling, sauntering, darting and dashing into the street and cutting in front of cars, cabs and buses; driving here meant not only watching for the moves of other drivers but sharing the street with not only motor traffic, but with foot traffic in the hundreds. Chaos. We crept back toward our destination on the Upper Eastside where Kaileen was tracking Grant's GPS position on her phone and wondering why we'd detoured into Harlem. It became a group navigational effort to get us 62nd Street. Of course there is no parking available along narrow 62nd Street where Kaileen had a 6th floor walk-up i.e. no elevator, only stairs. The lack of parking was anticipated, so our plan was to use what we used to call a "Chinese Fire Drill"; where the car comes to a stop, and all of the passengers pour out of the vehicle and run around, only rather than reseating themselves in a different configuration, my passengers were to throw open the rear hatch of the 4Runner SUV, grab armloads of all of Grant's worldly belongings and rapidly cast them onto the curb. Sue would guard the pile there on the street, while Grant would carry his stuff up the six flights to Kaileen's place - and now to be his place too. Meanwhile, once my pit crew shouted "She's empty!" and closed the rear hatch, I would then step on the gas, cease blocking the through traffic on the street and head for our boutique hotel a few blocks away. A simple plan that almost worked well.
I was solo now, navigating NYC traffic and looking for our hotel's porte cochere. I looked at the corner where the hotel should be, the light turned green and I saw nothing that looked like I was expecting a hotel to look like. So I found myself quickly back on Roosevelt Drive heading toward Harlem... again. Only this time I knew where I was going, I'd just run this route before. I worked my way back to Manhattan, got to the same spot where the hotel was expected, but found myself being pushed by flagrant horn-honking traffic to move onto Roosevelt Drive... once again. By now the Presidential motorcade had passed so I could take an early exit off of FDR Drive and return south. This time I pulled into a parking garage a couple of block away from York Ave and 61st so I could get a good look around while on foot. It turns out the hotel had no porte cochere [bad assumption on my part there] and no street-level marquis to designate it as the hotel [one had to look up several floors to see the sign, which I failed to do while driving] and the undistinguished parking garage was on the other side of the block, again not signed in any way. But I'd found not only my reasons for missing the hotel, but now I found the hotel itself. I guess I should be happy, but I'd just shelled out $45 to pull into the parking garage a few blocks away, so I hauled our luggage to the hotel and checked in, leaving the SUV where I had parked it 3 blocks away. The desk clerk acknowledged my reservation for two nights and inquired, "How was your trip in tonight Mr. Suneson?" I replied, "Horrid! Perfectly Horrid!".
Once I got to our room, I reconnected with my wife, Grant and Kaileen, and they said they'd meet me in the lobby in a few minutes. Kaileen suggested dinner just up the street at an all-night diner, so New York.
Walking back to our hotel after a late dinner, we were met by the sight of a car stopping on the street and a man getting out and pissing like a race horse a great torrent onto the pavement while calling on the name of "Sweet Jesus"; all right there in front of God and everyone on 62nd and York. Witnessing the Great Pee within an hour or so of my arrival in new York City gave rise to some vivid first impressions, they being as follows:
President Donald Trump (of New York City) is a prime reflection of his native environment, like the skyline and Trump Tower and so many other edifices around town, NYC has a look of wealth, opulence, glitz and class - but a closer look at street level shows that underneath it is just a crowded, uncouth place where people freely piss in the street- while invoking the name of Jesus.
There is the constant inane tweeting of Trump and the constant inane tweeting and honking of car horns. To what end for either, I can not say. My impression is NY denizens are proud of their lack of grace, and display such short-comings to all others packed in the same street with them. I learned to ignore these useless and ignorant NY horns in only a few minutes, as they mean nothing of import, like the presidential tweets. At one point I was the second car from the intersection, the car in front of me was being help up by a traffic cop even though the light was green, the car behind me immediately leans on his horn, imploring me to move along - "buster!" He should have been able to see that the cop was holding all of us up. Just go ahead and hit your horn, see how much that helps anybody in this situation. I ask myself, "What are these folks thinking? I see no decency in their conduct with their fellow citizens."
Comparing the Trump White House with New York City; Rules, What Rules? Lanes marked 'Buses Only', are filled with all manner of vehicles. I can only conclude, "Only", is taken as a suggestion.
Rules, What Rules? I actually witnessed a driver stop for a red light, but the traffic cop was telling him to pull into the intersection despite the red light. The driver hesitated and did not move into the intersection quick enough, so the cop stopped the driver and started chewing him out. The driver was adamant in his own right, throwing his hands off the steering wheel while telling the cop he was only stopping for "A RED Light!" The cop wouldn't have it an lit into the guy. Every other place I've been, red means stop and green means go - and when everybody follows that social and legal code, traffic moves smoothly (more or less). First Impressions: New York is a different place, with different rules (or no rules) for social norms and civility, or as may be the case, not 'different' norms, but completely lacking what passes for civility in other locations. I think what I saw in my first day in New York City explains a lot of what I see from President Trump.
But, hey. Grant loves the Big City life - "so much to do and experience!" One could rhetorically ask, Can all 8,538,774 New Yorkers who choose to live there be wrong? As a contrarian who prizes civility, social grace and some space and an accommodating approach, I'd have to answer, "Yeah, all them crude knuckleheads, they are all wrong."
I thought the saving grace for driving in New York was the fact that the city was laid out in a nice orthogonal grid where the streets (and some avenues) were sequentially numbered. As I had it figured, we would come out onto 33rd, count down the avenues until we reached 3rd Avenue, turn left and proceed 3 miles to 62nd Street. Bingo! Alas, nothing in New York is really as it seems. Once we'd crossed under the Hudson we emerged smack dab in the middle of New York traffic and all the horrors that entails - only as (mis)fortune would dictate; we had arrived while President Trump was also in Manhattan. Oh Lordy, the chaotic mayhem that passes for normal in this town has now been turned into a herculean navigational task for us newcomers. All of the turns and exits that normally would have gotten us to where we wanted to go were blocked by police cars with flashing blue and red lights. We ended up being forced to the very eastern edge of Manhattan and driving for miles northward on the Franklin Roosevelt Drive into Harlem before we could exit and return south. My passengers quickly found an opportunity to seethe with contempt for Trump for causing our problems, but when I suggested that the very same dilemma would've confronted motorist if was President Obama leaving the UN, they would hear none it. I further suggested this seems par for living on a crowded island where most seem to feel the world revolves around all and only things New York. That bitter opinion was met with a sigh of disapproval, for their part this was an exciting place - if only the Secret Service would allow us to get where we wanted to go.
Before we had realized the tangle that the presidential motorcade had caused, I was impressed (not favorably) by New Yorker's callous approach to those that share social space with them. Pedestrians strolling, sauntering, darting and dashing into the street and cutting in front of cars, cabs and buses; driving here meant not only watching for the moves of other drivers but sharing the street with not only motor traffic, but with foot traffic in the hundreds. Chaos. We crept back toward our destination on the Upper Eastside where Kaileen was tracking Grant's GPS position on her phone and wondering why we'd detoured into Harlem. It became a group navigational effort to get us 62nd Street. Of course there is no parking available along narrow 62nd Street where Kaileen had a 6th floor walk-up i.e. no elevator, only stairs. The lack of parking was anticipated, so our plan was to use what we used to call a "Chinese Fire Drill"; where the car comes to a stop, and all of the passengers pour out of the vehicle and run around, only rather than reseating themselves in a different configuration, my passengers were to throw open the rear hatch of the 4Runner SUV, grab armloads of all of Grant's worldly belongings and rapidly cast them onto the curb. Sue would guard the pile there on the street, while Grant would carry his stuff up the six flights to Kaileen's place - and now to be his place too. Meanwhile, once my pit crew shouted "She's empty!" and closed the rear hatch, I would then step on the gas, cease blocking the through traffic on the street and head for our boutique hotel a few blocks away. A simple plan that almost worked well.
 |
| Kaileen and Grant's Place Upper Eastside, Manhattan |
 |
| Grant and Sue at the top of 6 Flights of stairs |
I was solo now, navigating NYC traffic and looking for our hotel's porte cochere. I looked at the corner where the hotel should be, the light turned green and I saw nothing that looked like I was expecting a hotel to look like. So I found myself quickly back on Roosevelt Drive heading toward Harlem... again. Only this time I knew where I was going, I'd just run this route before. I worked my way back to Manhattan, got to the same spot where the hotel was expected, but found myself being pushed by flagrant horn-honking traffic to move onto Roosevelt Drive... once again. By now the Presidential motorcade had passed so I could take an early exit off of FDR Drive and return south. This time I pulled into a parking garage a couple of block away from York Ave and 61st so I could get a good look around while on foot. It turns out the hotel had no porte cochere [bad assumption on my part there] and no street-level marquis to designate it as the hotel [one had to look up several floors to see the sign, which I failed to do while driving] and the undistinguished parking garage was on the other side of the block, again not signed in any way. But I'd found not only my reasons for missing the hotel, but now I found the hotel itself. I guess I should be happy, but I'd just shelled out $45 to pull into the parking garage a few blocks away, so I hauled our luggage to the hotel and checked in, leaving the SUV where I had parked it 3 blocks away. The desk clerk acknowledged my reservation for two nights and inquired, "How was your trip in tonight Mr. Suneson?" I replied, "Horrid! Perfectly Horrid!".
Once I got to our room, I reconnected with my wife, Grant and Kaileen, and they said they'd meet me in the lobby in a few minutes. Kaileen suggested dinner just up the street at an all-night diner, so New York.
Walking back to our hotel after a late dinner, we were met by the sight of a car stopping on the street and a man getting out and pissing like a race horse a great torrent onto the pavement while calling on the name of "Sweet Jesus"; all right there in front of God and everyone on 62nd and York. Witnessing the Great Pee within an hour or so of my arrival in new York City gave rise to some vivid first impressions, they being as follows:
President Donald Trump (of New York City) is a prime reflection of his native environment, like the skyline and Trump Tower and so many other edifices around town, NYC has a look of wealth, opulence, glitz and class - but a closer look at street level shows that underneath it is just a crowded, uncouth place where people freely piss in the street- while invoking the name of Jesus.
There is the constant inane tweeting of Trump and the constant inane tweeting and honking of car horns. To what end for either, I can not say. My impression is NY denizens are proud of their lack of grace, and display such short-comings to all others packed in the same street with them. I learned to ignore these useless and ignorant NY horns in only a few minutes, as they mean nothing of import, like the presidential tweets. At one point I was the second car from the intersection, the car in front of me was being help up by a traffic cop even though the light was green, the car behind me immediately leans on his horn, imploring me to move along - "buster!" He should have been able to see that the cop was holding all of us up. Just go ahead and hit your horn, see how much that helps anybody in this situation. I ask myself, "What are these folks thinking? I see no decency in their conduct with their fellow citizens."
Comparing the Trump White House with New York City; Rules, What Rules? Lanes marked 'Buses Only', are filled with all manner of vehicles. I can only conclude, "Only", is taken as a suggestion.
Rules, What Rules? I actually witnessed a driver stop for a red light, but the traffic cop was telling him to pull into the intersection despite the red light. The driver hesitated and did not move into the intersection quick enough, so the cop stopped the driver and started chewing him out. The driver was adamant in his own right, throwing his hands off the steering wheel while telling the cop he was only stopping for "A RED Light!" The cop wouldn't have it an lit into the guy. Every other place I've been, red means stop and green means go - and when everybody follows that social and legal code, traffic moves smoothly (more or less). First Impressions: New York is a different place, with different rules (or no rules) for social norms and civility, or as may be the case, not 'different' norms, but completely lacking what passes for civility in other locations. I think what I saw in my first day in New York City explains a lot of what I see from President Trump.
But, hey. Grant loves the Big City life - "so much to do and experience!" One could rhetorically ask, Can all 8,538,774 New Yorkers who choose to live there be wrong? As a contrarian who prizes civility, social grace and some space and an accommodating approach, I'd have to answer, "Yeah, all them crude knuckleheads, they are all wrong."
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