Tuesday May 8th – After yet another sleepless night filled with a snoring soundscape and nightmare visions of mice scampering through my suitcases, I decided to sleep in again; it was the only way I could get uninterrupted sleep for a couple of hours! I eventually crawled out of bed at around 10 and had a shower before going down to the cafeteria just in time to get my free breakfast bagel and fruit. The weather, once again, looked pretty ratty, and I grumpily munched on my brekkie as I searched for somewhere to sit in the common room to consider my options for the day.
As luck would have it, Hicham was sitting there with his laptop, also trying to figure out what to do with his day. I knew that I wanted to visit the United Nations, but had no other inspiration; Hicham knew that he wanted to visit Columbia University, but had no other inspiration. Perfect! We decided to team up for the day. It had never even crossed my mind to visit Columbia University, so I was happy to go along for a taste of the unexpected.
So, after finishing breakfast we grabbed our jackets and umbrellas and started walking north along Amsterdam Avenue in the direction of the university, into the Morningside Heights area. At around 112th Street my eyes were shocked by the appearance of a MASSIVE cathedral. And I don’t just mean ‘rather big’, I mean MASSIVE. It turns out that we had just encountered The Cathedral Church of St John the Divine. Now, I didn’t know much about this place at the time, but apparently this cathedral is the biggest ‘something’ in New York/the world. I say ‘something’, because there is some dispute as to what exactly it is the biggest of. The general consensus is that it is the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. It also seems accepted that it is the largest cathedral in New York City. There is some disagreement, however, about it being the largest Anglican cathedral in the world… but let’s just say that it is AMONG the largest Anglican cathedrals in the world!!! Whatever the case, it’s big, and it sticks out like a sore thumb, plopped down in the middle of northern Manhattan as it is. We loitered on the steps for a bit, considering a visit, but it looked quite imposing, the doors were closed and we didn’t want to step in uninvited as tourists. So, after admiring its grand, curvy, granite exterior, we trotted onwards and upwards.
Roughly bounded between 113th Street and 123rd Street to the north and south, and Morningside Park and Riverside Park to the east and west, Columbia University is one of those brainiac think-tanks of legend. I’ve grown up with it on the periphery of my knowledge of well-respected educational institutions. Their ‘notable alumni’ list reads like a who’s who of politicians, scientists, economists, journalists, actors, writers and everybody else who’s ever done anything cool, and also includes none other than the current president of the United States, Barack Obama.
Giving A Speech At Columbia University… Or Am I?
New York, May 2012
Hicham and I started at the Low Library, which looked a bit like a miniature Pantheon (and which, as it turns out, is not actually a library any more…!). Avoiding the visitor centre, we snuck into the central area of the building and, to our delight, found one of those fancy lecterns that are used to give official speeches and talks, complete with ‘University of Columbia In The City of New York’ emblazoned across the front of it. Checking that nobody was around, we climbed the stage and made pretend speeches to our imaginary audience of adoring fans; my theory on crunchy peanut butter and its role in the world of quantum physics and neuroscience was a hit! Jumping down off the podium before the men in white coats showed up to drag us away, we tootled around the campus a bit and made our way to the economics/business area. Hicham was looking for some info on how much it would cost to do an MBA at Columbia… when he found out and told me, I nearly choked. It was into the tens of thousands and I’m pretty sure that someone would have to be a multimillionaire businessman (or willing to mortgage off their souls and/or their first-born child) before even enrolling in something like that. Blimey!
Leaving the university, we headed northwest to Grant’s Tomb. It’s a big ol’ stone edifice, built to honour the Civil War general, Ulysses S Grant, who eventually became President of the USA. My historical knowledge of him is sketchy, to say the least, but I know he was on the side of the Union/the north, and I know that he kicked some serious ass, and that he had a formidable beard… although I guess that was common for those days. The most striking thing about the tomb is the fact that it is fronted by an avenue of trees… a nice bit of greenery in a concrete jungle. We decided not to go in; had Grant been a hero of mine I might have succumbed, but as it was I just wanted to keep wandering. We headed downhill, towards the river, taking a brief stroll through Riverside Park. I watched with glee as squirrels bounded around in the brush, enjoying the trees and the sense of calm.
We followed the wide steps down, down, down until we hit the edge of the riverside freeway. I can’t remember which of us made a joke about being all alone in the woods, and at the mercy of a knife-wielding serial killer, but I remember that I was silly enough to feel the hair rise on the back of my neck for a moment or two. I’m pretty sure Hicham was too, but being a dignified kind of guy he’d never admit it. I assured myself that the crunch, crunch I could hear from ‘over there’ was in fact a squirrel, not the heel of an inbred redneck with a harelip and a machete approaching his prey… I DO remember, though, that we ended up “challenging each other to a race up the stairs” (read: giving ourselves the excuse to run like scared rabbits out of the woods), huffing and puffing about how much fitter each of us was than the other, but both very relieved to be out of the undoubtedly all-too-close cousin-marrying clutches of the next Jeffrey Dahmer. We were both thoroughly shamed when a jogger came pelting up behind us, at twice the speed we had been going, and barely out of breath. Sigh!
We kept walking northwards, first under the subway line and then back out to the river again, passing a place that bore the sign of the ‘Cotton Club’. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought that the original Cotton Club closed years ago…? If so, this place was playing on the infamy of a name, and to be honest I would not be dragging my backside out to the arse-end of nowhere late at night to see if this place was indeed the real deal. If it’s the real Cotton Club, well then, I missed an opportunity, didn’t I?
Highway underpass, West Harlem
New York, May 2012
We noticed streams of police cars coming up the slip road from behind the club, one after the other… either that’s the police car holding yard and it was shift start time, or something funny was going on! We walked out to the West Harlem Piers Park off 130th Street, and once again I was sad that the weather was so cloudy and crap. It’s not much of a pier, but the view on a sunny day down the west side of Manhattan would have been a corker. A couple of local girls were sat having a very intense conversation; I think one had just found out that her boyfriend was a cheating bastard. I wanted to pat her on the arm but figured that it was probably best not to touch emotionally unstable strangers! We sat for a little bit, stretching our aching legs (which had been walking for at least 2 or 3 hours by this point) before walking back to the subway line and following it along until we found a station. By this point, the subway was no longer a ‘subway’, and was in fact overground, which is not terribly unusual outside the main downtown areas of Manhattan.
Blending In To The Crowd At Grand Central Station
New York, May 2012
Soon afterwards we were disgorged from the subway into Grand Central Station, and we followed the human traffic into the main draw of the station: the Main Concourse. Grand Central Station, to me, is the New York of old; stately tunnels with carved archways, commuter rail lines leading to points beyond the five boroughs, the American flag hovering over a giant hall, and people scurrying from here to there at breakneck speed. The clock in the centre of the concourse is familiar from a zillion movies (if you’ve seen Madagascar, this is where the animals get caught before being shipped out) and the trio of arched windows on each end smacks of old-time elegance. The turquoise ceiling is patterned with gold representations of stellar constellations, and the windows on the sides keep the place bright and airy. We stood in respectful silence for a little bit, snapping the odd photo, before being approached by an eerily wide-eyed girl who asked if we wanted her to take our photo. We gratefully said yes, so she took one very quickly (it was at a wonky angle and actually cut off the flag that Hicham had asked her to include), and then started jabbering about how she was actually in the middle of a job interview (!) where she had to approach people and talk to them… and then she ran off. Hicham and I shared an eyebrow-lifting moment, watching as she disappeared into the crowds. I wonder what on earth the interview was for, and how approaching us qualified her to do ANY job. She didn’t really talk to us, so what was she meant to find out…? I’m guessing sales, but who can tell?
Me and Hicham at Grand Central Station
New York, May 2012
We walked up the stairs and were surprised to find an Apple store, right there in the middle of the station, no walls to separate it from the open-air arch of the concourse. Talk about prime retail space; I dread to think what the rent would be for a store like that. And yet… think of the exposure. Even if they don’t sell much from the store, the fact that every day, thousands of people passing through the station see the giant Apple logo hanging up there is in itself a marketing coup. Genius.
We left the station, exiting onto the street and passing the shoe-shine stands. Both of us were wearing open shoes, so sadly there was no visit to the shoe-shiner that day! We were walking along 42nd Street, heading to the East River, when it started to drizzle. Eurgh. Poor Hicham’s flip-flops were rubbing and I have to say we were pretty miserable. Damn the rain! I was starving by this point, too, and I don’t make good company when I’ve got the hungers, so I dropped into a little bakery that just happened to be nearby… how convenient! The place was called ‘Baked by Melissa’, and all they sold were cute-looking mini cupcakes. They were 3 for $3, so I chose one ‘mint chocolate chip’, one ‘chocolate chip pancake’, and one ‘mini of the month’, which was triple chocolate fudge (which was by far the best). I offered Hicham one but he gallantly turned it down, and I snaffled them in about 0.3 seconds. Sugared up, I was ready to continue.
We finally reached the United Nations complex, windswept and slightly damp, but in one piece. The first thing we noticed was the giant row of flags lined up against the edge of the complex, and we followed those to the visitor entrance, which was surrounded by a few sculptures (my favourite was the gun with the knot in it) and semi-permanent security screening areas. We spotted some South American men in traditional costume; Hicham approached them and it turns out they were visiting from the Amazon.
All our bags and belongings were scanned and searched before we were able to enter the main building; I was VERY aware that we were being closely watched and that if one building was going to have some crazy-ass security in place, it would be here. We entered a surprisingly dull-looking entrance area, lined on one side by portraits of all the Secretary-Generals of the UN – including the current incumbent, Ban Ki-Moon. All of them were smiling benevolently except for one called Kurt Waldheim who, quite frankly, looked a little bit threatening. Later research tells me that he was a Nazi soldier who allegedly tried to cover up his military past… did the painter know this and perhaps try to convey it in his painting? Either way, it looks like he spent his time as UN Secretary-General honorably…
Hicham and I booked ourselves onto the next guided tour (one does not simply wander about the UN by oneself, unfortunately), and he rested his feet while I investigated the exhibition in the foyer, which was an interesting display on the voices of the Holocaust. There was a video playing witness testimonies from war crimes trials, as always compelling but disturbing. Eventually, our tour was called, and we were equipped with security badges and high-tech headphones so that we could hear the voice of our guide clearly, no matter how far we wandered from the group. What a great idea! I could really have used that as a teacher – no more voice fatigue!! Our first stop was the United Nations Security Council, where all the ins and outs were explained to us. The basic function of the council is to keep the peace, settle disputes, and take action where necessary. On one hand I was in awe, and on the other hand I was a bit, well, disillusioned. I mean, this is the same council that has been unable to stop the bloodshed in numerous countries (Syria currently foremost in my mind) and was overridden by Bush for his witchhunt in Iraq. I just had to tell myself that it probably stopped a billion or so other potential ‘disturbances’, and of course we never hear about the successes because the wars never happen… or so we hope!
Both of us took a bunch of pictures and were so tied up in it that we barely noticed that our group was leaving… before we knew it, they had slipped into a lift and disappeared. Panic hit; here we were, strolling around a highly secure area with cameras… and Hicham could not find his security card. I had mental images of both of us being shipped in manacles to Guantanamo Bay; not exactly the way I had hoped to return to Cuba! Thankfully our guide came out looking for us before I felt the need to burst into tears in the hallway; I resisted the urge to hug her knees and thank her for my freedom!
Where all the big decisions are made – The United Nations General Assembly
New York, May 2012
We rejoined our group at the United Nations General Assembly – the large hall where the magic happens. We took seats in the viewing gallery. Tones of austere green and brown abounded, and the olive-leaf-and-globe UN logo took proud centre stage. All member nations, no matter how small, get their vote at the General Assembly. They are arranged in alphabetical order from the right of the President, and at each session the alphabet is rotated. So, for example, one session will have Azerbaijan next to the President, but the next session will have Bangladesh, and the next will have Cuba, and then D, E, and F will get their turn, and so on. It’s a nice way of observing equality. There were niches and nooks and dials for translators, and I was just dumbstruck that I was actually here in this international powerhouse.
Reluctantly leaving the General Assembly, we were taken on a little tour of the UN’s global objectives, and shown some of the things they wish to avoid or eradicate. A display of land mines creeped me out, as did a terrible photograph of a van in Angola that had basically been torn to shreds by gunfire. A man rested against a wall nearby which was strewn with bullet holes, casually cradling a giant gun in his lap with his leg up. That picture shows everyday life for this man. How lucky we are, and how easy it is to forget that.
Moving on, we saw something that I had read about when I was quite young, and which had caused me some distress at the time. I read Paula Danziger’s ‘Remember Me To Harold Square’ when I was about 10 years old, a rip-roaring pre-teen tale of a young girl living in New York. Her parents send her, her dorky little brother and a (conveniently) handsome young male friend of the family on a scavenger hunt around New York City during the summer holidays. Thinking about it now, that book probably had a lot to do with my adult love of New York… hmmm. Revelations! 😀 Anyway, Kendra, Oscar and Frank (ridiculous names, thinking back on it now) spend weeks exploring the city, and one of their tasks is to visit the United Nations building. She goes on a tour and sees an exhibition featuring the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I was interested enough to do some reading about it at the time, and what I read, as a 10-year-old, absolutely horrified me; stories of burned bodies and total destruction which, I’m pretty sure, gave me nightmares. Thank god we didn’t have the internet back then or I would have been subjected to thousands of images and videos, too! One of the things that Kendra mentioned seeing on her UN tour was a statue which was salvaged from a cathedral in Nagasaki. And, walking around a corner at the UN, I was surprised to see it with my own eyes after so many years – Saint Agnes, clutching a lamb. The front looked old and a bit battered but relatively unscathed, as apparently the statue had fallen on its face. However, the rear of the statue was a twisted mass of molten, scorched rock; can you imagine temperatures so high that they melt rock? And can you imagine that heat roaring through your living room one Thursday morning, swallowing up and burning everything and everyone you know? Something like 80,000 people died in one go. Eighty THOUSAND. And that was just Nagasaki. Not to mention all the injured, and (I suspect) all the people damaged by radiation for years afterwards. Bloody hell. Eighty thousand. It feels so detached from modern man, something that savages would do in the dark ages, but it was only 67 years ago. American soldiers dropped bombs that killed thousands upon thousands of civilians. It’s no surprise that the Japanese largely retreated from international tourism until the 70s and 80s; I would have been shit-scared of going anywhere if a foreign country had exercised its right to blow hundreds of thousands of my people to smithereens. It puts the 3000 victims of September 11th into perspective a bit. We’re just lucky that Japan hasn’t developed a thirst for revenge, quite frankly, or we’d all be screwed. Maybe that’s why America is so frightened of anyone else having nuclear power, seeing as they were the only government to have actually used it on others in warfare. Honestly, I was disturbed. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars that I was born in a different place and time.
Continuing our tour, we learned about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, covering issues from torture to education and from slavery to culture, religion, childhood and motherhood. We also followed a display of the UN Millennium Development Goals, which basically covered the improvement of the aforementioned human rights, along with equality, sustainability, child mortality and disease management. It was inspiring; one can only hope that the world keeps working towards these goals. Every little helps. I can’t help but be a cynic, though, and suspect that most people are too busy looking out for Number One to really give half a second’s thought about the millions who are out there suffering. And hey, I’m not blameless either. You come out of a place like the UN questioning what YOU do to make your world a better place for others who are less fortunate than yourself. I think a lot of us have some real soul-searching to do, and a realignment of government and social policies wouldn’t hurt, either. (Understatement of the millennium!)
Somehow I don’t think I’d ever pass the height regulations to be a UN Peacekeeper!
New York, May 2012
I got to try on a UN Peacekeeper’s helmet, which was lots of fun but it was too big for me – both literally and figuratively speaking. However, I was particularly inspired by the School In A Box initiative. A paltry sum of money (less than we might spend on dinner out, for example) buys a metal box filled with all the basics for a classroom in a remote or underprivileged area. The inside lid of the box doubles as a small blackboard, and contains everything from a solar-powered radio, chalk and notebooks to paint that can be used to convert any wall into blackboard space. I was also happy to see them mention http://www.freerice.com , an initiative from the World Food Programme that I’ve always encouraged my more advanced students to use. It’s a simple word game, and for every answer you get correct, 10 grains of rice are donated. Not bad, eh? And for so little effort on our part. If you’ve got a few free seconds, go and play. 🙂
A veritable feast set out at the United Nations
New York, May 2012
Anyway, we finished our tour and my head was buzzing with all the awesome ideas I’d just seen. It was raining outside and they were ushering people outside as fast as possible because the complex was closing. True to our sneaky style of the day, we spotted something being set up and wandered over to have a look, deaf to the calls of “Please leave the building now!” It turns out that those men from the Amazon that we encountered earlier were part of a larger delegation which had come to the UN for some sort of show and demonstration, and they were setting up a stage and a display of traditional food in a colourful pattern on a raised platform. FOOD! Both of us were starving. We must have looked pretty pitiful because one of the guys who was setting up ushered us over and asked us if we wanted to try some of what they were laying out. And – what a surprise – we DID want to try it! They had a few different types of mega-corn (the kernels were about 3 times the size of the corn I usually see), some of it roasted, some of it toasted (or maybe dried), and a baking tray full of soft mushy corn that was delicious. They also had beans, and we had a good go of everything before thanking our gracious host and scarpering before the security guards (who were already eyeing us suspiciously) realised we weren’t supposed to be there.
From the UN we walked back to Grand Central Station, and Hicham and I parted ways; he went walking, and I went back through the hallways to the subway to go back to the hostel for a little bit, before I was due to meet Calvin.
Later that evening, Calvin and I met at The Hummus Place (on Broadway, between 98th and 99th Street). Calvin had told me to choose our dinner and I really fancied a good, crunchy falafel. As it turned out, Calvin had never tried hummus OR falafels before, so it was a lucky pick! We had a veritable feast of falafels (greenish in the middle, full of herbs, mmmm) with fresh warm pita, babaganoush, labneh and hummus with whole chickpeas, and it was EXCELLENT. Almost as good as the stuff I had in Jordan! ;P It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. It also came with something that I think is called za’tar – a green herby, bitey mix that you put with all the other good stuff! We tore at the pita with gusto and there was barely a morsel left on the plates – quite an achievement for two fairly small people! AND, not to be defeated (and not really ready for the night to end), we decided to go in search of dessert afterwards as well!
Calvin surveys our sweet, chocolatey feast at Max Brenner, Union Square
New York, May 2012
Calvin had heard of a chocolate cafe that he wanted to try, and I am NEVER one to turn down chocolate, so off we went, in the direction of Union Square. As it turns out, this chocolate cafe was none other than the inimitable Max Brenner, an Israeli company that has already seen great success in Australia… and I daresay that the loads of hard-earned wonga that my friends and I throw at it at every opportunity has helped with its success somewhat! The menu in the States is far more extensive than the one in Australia though, so I was happy to find that I could still find something new and different. It was past 10pm, but the place was PACKED; Calvin and I managed to get the last table for two while larger groups waited. Subdued lighting, chocolatey-brown decor and ridiculously cool loungey music made for a VERY comfortable atmosphere. Our neighbours were totally crackers (or at least, the girl was; her awkwardly loud chatter and sudden outburst of “SO YOU WANNA COME TO GUATEMALA WITH ME?!?” was greeted with open-awed shock from her male counterpart), but we ignored them and focused on the task at hand – dessert. We ordered, and when it arrived it was like heaven had come to the earth. We had a ‘Sharing Fondue’, although I reckon that – despite its monstrous size – we could have easily polished off one each out of pure greed! The dish included a tutti frutti waffle (a waffle covered with mixed berries and ice cream), brownie squares, banana tempura, milk chocolate and white chocolate bars with crunchy bits inside, chocolate fondue, fresh strawberries and bananas, marshmallows, and a chocolate sauce on the side. HOT. DAMN. The whole thing was also accompanied by a mini barbeque grill, complete with blue flame, upon which we were instructed to toast our marshmallows. Dear Lord. It was amazing.
When the cheque came, it was in a little pencil tin embossed with the words “Money for Life. Chocolate for the Soul.” Awesome. We had to basically push-start ourselves off the chairs to get moving, weighed down as we were with falafels and chocolate, but once we got rolling we were okay. We had a quick look around Union Square, but it was a bit rainy, so off we went, home to the hostel, to catch up with Hicham and Karen and anyone else who was around in the common room. What a day!
Thanks for stopping by,
Tara.
Born in Hong Kong and raised all over the world, I've been tootling around for 33 years now. A Spanish friend of mine once said that "the smallest pot has the finest marmalade"... I have to agree with her! I'm small but I can still make 6-foot Brazilian bodybuilders cry if the need arises. And I never need to whinge about legroom on a plane!
little tara 