New York – I took my bite, and my hunger still isn’t satiated…

You’d think that it would be possible to pretty much see everything if you spend thirty-seven sporadic days in the city of lights, horns and smoke. But no, I absolutely have to go back. I must discover the reason that everyone queues to shoot themselves up the Empire State Building, I need to take a sneaky peak inside at least one beautiful theatre, and have a swanky evening meal in the Upper East Side.  

 Naughty treat of wine and sushi in Long Island 

I may not have taken part in these rather expensive experiences this time around, but I still managed to spend a decent portion of my poor backpacker fund. ‘Don’t worry,’ I would tell myself, ‘you’ll be in Central America soon, so have one more of those tongue tingling, free-poured gin and tonics that you love so much.’ Thankfully I’m writing this blog from Mexico where my daily spend is roughly thirty of those special Great British Pounds that I intensely saved. This budget includes my accommodation, food and sightseeing. It is around the equivalent of six hundred Mexican Pesos. Stay tuned to find out what I spend those pesky pesos on in my next post.  

So back to New York City. There’s so much to tell you. I have a list (I love lists) of everything I did, everywhere I went and sweaty photos to show you where I ran. My original plan was to run around Central Park like a local, but as I was staying in Brooklyn, I would have had to use the Metro to get there and back. In resisting the urge to do so, I saved the whole of the subway from having to endure the after effect of my sport session during an unseasonable heatwave. 

Running is addictive, especially when you’re in new places where you accidentally hit distances of eight miles because you get lost, or completely underestimate the length of a road. Did you know that the longest road in New York City is Broadway? The reliable internet states that it is sixteen point three miles long.  

I did not run this road.  

In fact, my favourite place to run was Prospect Park in Brooklyn. There is a track that circles the entire ground, specifically for those who wish to run, cycle, walk, etc.  

Cheeky selfie in Prospect Park during a morning run

Each time I took the route to the park, I passed the beautiful gold mythical mural surrounding the entrance to Brooklyn Public Library. One quiet rainy day, I wandered around the building and read the majority of a haiku poetry book. I was soggy, but it was bliss. 

The door to Brooklyn Public Library

I arrived in New York City at the beginning of September and left on the twenty-fifth of October. With a couple of road-trips in between, I was able to experience the city during a time of intense heat, and witness the slow transition into a chilly red and orange wonderland. Winter was coming, and with it, so was ice hockey season. A quick search on Stubhub and I had my hands on two pre-season tickets for the game between New York Islanders and the Philadelphia Flyers at the new Barclay’s Centre in Brooklyn. 

Singing the National Anthem in harmony… Before the match mayhem…

It’s a great place to watch sport, but, I warn you now, if you want a pint, or a liquor with a mixer, or even a cocktail in a plastic cup, expect to cough up thirteen of your hard earned bucks. THIRTEEN. But beyond that, what a show. Talented men glide around the ice like they knew how to do it from birth, or even before. Underneath all the padding and oversized Jerseys was a sport that was instilled in their very being. They weave in and out of the other players on the ice like a rehearsed musical. Naturally, a seemingly harmonious dance between rivals wouldn’t be complete without a friendly punch-up or two. Or six.

Game time

New York is full of surprises during every season. As you may have read in my previous post about the 9/11 memorial, I am interested in the preservation of history and memory. On the eleventh of September, I made it my mission to scour the city for the best location to view the tribute of light. A couple of local friends advised that I head towards the piers on the Westside of Manhattan, so I made my way through Greenwhich Village, resisting the enticing soft serve in Big Gay Ice Cream, towards Pier Forty-Five on the Hudson River. It was half past six when I arrived and the sun was already setting. I meandered along the wooden boards and thought of home. I looked down and remembered the years I would stomp along the planks of Weston-super-Mare’s Grand Pier, desperate to get to the Pavilion, where I would spend all Mum and Dad’s money on the teddy grabbing machines, and eat my weight in deep fried donuts.

I reached the end of the pier and found fifty or more people partnered up and dancing to a Waltz. I watched the pairs traverse the wood until the sky faded and the clouds turned from white fluff, to a rainbow of orange, yellow and pink candy floss. 

The sunset across Hudson Bay

A few moments later I saw it, a blue beam of light streaming from it’s bulb in the financial district. But something wasn’t right. I could only see one. There should be two. I was in completely the wrong place. Drawn to the dramatic sky, I stayed until the pretty melody stopped and the dancers dispersed before I headed towards the nearest Metro. 

Dancers on Pier Forty-Five

A couple of misjudgements and an hour later, I finally figured out the best location. Perched on a bench at Brooklyn Heights, I gazed at that blue number eleven against the blackened sky. The ghost of the Two Towers. 

This beautiful picture (somewhat blurry – I need to perfect my photography skills) needs no caption.

I realise, as I think about closing this post, that I am yet to discuss Lady Liberty. How dare I. That one hundred and fifty one foot gift from the French (three hundred and five foot including the stone pedestal) was a symbol of freedom and new beginnings for thousands of weary travellers that crossed the ocean in search of their American Dream. I will admit that I almost didn’t bother doing the trip to Liberty and Ellis Island. I had seen both from the free Staten Island Ferry, but something piqued my interest as my New York City stint drew to a close. I also owed it to the friendly people of the United States, that are so proud of their country’s heritage, by taking my time to absorb the most dominating piece of their history. At eighteen dollars, it is one of the more affordable historical attractions in New York, and probably the most informative. This is where it began. This is how the United States of America became the super power that it is today.

Morgan Bear asked to have his photo taken with the iconic Statue of Liberty

Obviously Lady Liberty herself is quite a special sight. The crew that take you to the island will cut the engine and allow the boat to drift onwards. This is the perfect opportunity to take close-up snaps and study the statue as a whole, rather than craning your neck as you stand beneath her. As the vessel glides, you’re already imagining the wide-eyed foreigners staring at the crown of sunshine and the fierce gold flame; her mighty presence asserts promises of freedom, opportunity and improved lifestyle. Even today, when Ellis is nothing more than an island for learning and memories, Lady Liberty sits upon her plinth, and continues to look straight ahead, determined and unfazed. Regardless of the number of people that mill around her island every day, it is a peaceful idyllic location for a Copper deity who bears the burden of the Nation’s prayers upon her stone tablet.

View of Manhattan from Liberty Island

After gawking at the statue for an hour or two, I hopped on the shuttle boat to Ellis Island. I really wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d heard many a story of how the conditions on the ships were horrendous, and that many people died along the way. I heard that once on the island, there were still no guarantees that you’d be granted the right to enter the United States. In my mind it had never been a very welcoming place, and to an extent, it wasn’t. But it certainly wasn’t as bad as I imagined either.

Entrance to Ellis Island’s immigration centre

The audio tour is included in the price, so I followed the invisible voice as she took me through the stories of the thousands of immigrants that had trudged the halls of Ellis Island. She took me up the staircase where I would have been obliviously examined by doctors for approximately six seconds. They would have determined whether or not I was fit to enter the country. If I failed the test, they would pre-determine an illness and chalk a symbol on my clothing to establish the ailment. 

View of Ellis Island’s hospital buildings

If I passed this test, I’d have entered the iconic hall where my whole life would be examined via a set of rigorous immigration questionnaires, before being granted the freedom to join the American Civilisation. In the present, as I entered the now echoey hall, I could sense the buzz of multi-lingual conversations that would have bounced around the room all those years ago; frightened voices of people realising that they had just entered a completely foreign world with no concrete plans of where they would live or work.

The hall in Ellis Island’s immigration centre at the end of the day

But it wasn’t all doom and gloom, apparently, throughout the sixty-two years that Ellis was in operation, the island let ninety-eight percent of the immigrants onto American Soil, that equates to more than twelve million people. Another fun fact is that around forty percent of Americans today, are able to trace part of their heritage back to Ellis Island. If you’re lucky, you might catch a talk presented by one of the grand-children of an Ellis Island immigrant.

A New Yorker that works at Ellis Island – her grandmother was an immigrant here

What a fascinating and haunting place.

This post was written to the sound of my iPod songs on shuffle, some of which included the childhood tunes of Steps…