One of my problems in life is that I find it difficult to write short blog posts. I used to be able to, but now I can’t. It’s not so much that the Muse has left me, as that the Muse sits around for too long each time she visits. Anyway, a sneaky little trick that I’ve used before to cover up my embarrassing problem is this: I write one blog post, and then I chop it in half and call it Part I and Part II. So without further ado about nothing, here is New York, New York Part II, also known as
The Harley Davidson story
It was a surprise birthday present for my sister-in-law, organized by Charlesinparis. She’s always wanted to go on a Harley (you don’t say the Davidson bit, apparently). She had the chance to do so on holiday in Australia a few years ago, turned it down, and has regretted it ever since. All she knew was that we had to be somewhere at 2.30pm. Throughout the morning, the odd hint was dropped about helicopter trips. Sneaky, huh?
At 2.30 we were waiting to cross a street, and she nudged my arm. “Look at that gorgeous Harley”. This was something of a conversational gift for me. “Have you ever been on one?” I asked innocently. “No” she said, and told me about Australia. “Would you still like a ride on one?”, which I realized as soon as I’d asked it was something of a dangerous question, since it would have been a disaster if she had replied “Oh no, it was just a passing fancy, and frankly what a waste of time and money that would have been”. Luckily she didn’t - phew - and with perfect timing worthy of the most predictable movie script, as we crossed the road towards the gleaming burgundy Harley, she said “I’d absolutely LOVE a ride on a Harley.” (Burgundy... One might even think plum-coloured, if one had read this…)
By this point I really did feel as if we were acting out a movie script. Perhaps there’s a ham actor in us all. Charlie kept it going admirably. He simply went up to the Harley rider, said “Hi Neil”, and shook hands. “Hi Charles” said Neil. “Nice bike” said Charlie, “Mind if I take a picture of it?” "Be my guest" said Neil.
At this point, I was watching my sister-in-law’s face, and I can tell you that the penny hadn’t dropped. She was puzzled but not suspicious. “This is my wife”, continued Charlie, and she shook Neil’s hand, her face fixed in a warm smile that did her great credit. Outwardly all warmth and smiles, inwardly desperately thinking “I haven’t a clue who this man is or how my husband knows him or what is going on here - keep smiling, girl, just keep smiling”. Really, she should be in the diplomatic service.
“Would you like to take her for a ride on your bike?” asked Charlie, and at that moment, I saw that penny drop. The smile unfixed itself, and became a grin of delight. Delight, realization, amusement, anticipation, a hint of embarrassment perhaps, sheer enjoyment of the moment – it was all in there.
Charlie had made sure she was dressed warmly, since we’d got the first ferry to the Statue of Liberty (and boy, was it cold queueing for tickets at 8.00 in the morning in Battery Park). So with the addition of sunglasses and a helmet (which I had to help her do up, as her hands were a bit shaky with all the excitement), she was all ready to go. And off they went.
Oh, I’ve missed one of my favourite moments. It was when they were both installed on the bike, just getting comfy. My sister-in-law couldn’t quite see where to put her hands (not obvious), so asked Neil “Is it ok if I put my hands on your waist?” He must have been in on the movie script thing, because he replied in a bit of a drawl “You can put your hands just wherever you like”.
Apparently you can have a good chat on a Harley. I’d assumed that the noise of the engine would drown out all conversation, but my sister-in-law and Neil had quite a natter, both on the bike and when they stopped for coffee to warm up (it was pretty cold on the bike, even with warm clothes). They started off through Central Park (“always a nice ride” said Neil), headed up into Harlem (“the bits you might not go to on your own”), and then sped around and cruised around for two and a half hours, with that one stop for coffee. My sister-in-law, the Biker.
All I can say is, Charlesinparis, if this is a precedent for birthday presents to your wife, that’s some challenge you’ve set yourself for the years ahead.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
New York, New York
Do you want to know how much can be fitted into the hours between 12.30pm on Friday and 9.30pm on Monday? Let me tell you:
two 6 hour journeys (4 flights), dinner with my old friend and her new husband, visits to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Museum of Modern Art, purchase of nice stripey top in the Museum of Modern Art Design Store, trip through security measures to visit Statue of Liberty (this deserves separate entry), matinee kids’ ballet by the Paul Taylor Ballet Company, lunches and dinners in fabulous eateries, wander around Soho, walk round Central Park, glass of wine in the revolving bar at the top of the Marriott Hotel, walk along the Connecticut shore watching sea birds pick up shells, rise 10 feet in the air and drop them to crack them open (packaging these days can be such a challenge), watching the departure of my sister-in-law on the back of a Harley Davidson with a complete stranger, reading 212 pages of a 273-page book (which I then left in the seat pocket of the aeroplane - grrr), writing a post-card to the friend I visited New York with 14 years ago, and a lie-in.
This leads me strongly to suspect that when you change your watch from Central time to Eastern time, you’re not just moving into a new time zone, but into a whole new time reality. The hours must, somehow, be longer, or fatter, or more flexible. I’m sure I couldn’t fit that much into a week-end here in the Central time zone. Even just having breakfast and getting ready to go out takes half a morning. I feel I must be on the brink of some very clever discovery to do with space, time and astrophysics. Or maybe it’s just that I usually have three kids in tow and a heap of things to do less interesting than exploring NewYork City. Hm. No, I think I’ll stick with the astrophysics discovery. It could be big. Actually, we in the Central time zone had a chance to try it out a few days ago, when we put our clocks forward, but you know what? Those smug East coasters are so sneaky, they put their clocks forward at exactly the same moment. We’ll never find out their secret.
Anyway, back to New York. It was all fabulous, totally totally fabulous. Apart from the obvious things that were wonderful (family, old friends, the buzz of a big city, the inherent interest of the places visited, the freedom of it all), the biggest treat was having someone else organize me. It’s very relaxing not to have to be in charge, for a change. Someone else found places to eat, someone else read the map, someone else made decisions about what to do and when, someone else calculated how long to allow to get to the airport. I begin to see the attraction of those big organized holidays with a tour guide. And no wiping. I didn’t wipe a nose, a bottom or a kitchen counter for four days. I did swipe my credit card a few times though, which is altogether a more satisfying feeling. Swiping not wiping – that was my big city experience.
I just have to tell you about the man I sat next to on one flight. He was in his 80s, and he and his wife were travelling from Florida to Connecticut for the surprise 90th birthday party of his sister-in-law (I just hoped it wasn’t too much of a surprise for her). “Don’t like the French, but I like the English” he said, puzzled by my account of my English brother who would choose to live in Paris. And then he told me why he liked the English. He was serving as a gunner in WWII, and was shot down behind enemy lines in Burma. After he and the two other airmen who survived had been trying to find their way back for a few days, a local man found them, and hid them upstairs in a building, indicating that they were to stay put. They had no idea whether he had gone to fetch the Japanese or the Americans. The next day, they heard footsteps approaching up the stairs. They were at the ready, guns trained on the trap door in the floor. When it opened, there were a couple of British soldiers, who greeted them with “Bloody Yanks. Can’t be trusted to do anything without us, can you?”
So that was New York. Did I mention that it was fabulous? I’m thinking about my next week-end away already… Oh, and that bit about my sister-in-law leaving on the back of a Harley Davidson? It was quite true, by the way. You’ll have to wait till next time for the story, though.
two 6 hour journeys (4 flights), dinner with my old friend and her new husband, visits to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Museum of Modern Art, purchase of nice stripey top in the Museum of Modern Art Design Store, trip through security measures to visit Statue of Liberty (this deserves separate entry), matinee kids’ ballet by the Paul Taylor Ballet Company, lunches and dinners in fabulous eateries, wander around Soho, walk round Central Park, glass of wine in the revolving bar at the top of the Marriott Hotel, walk along the Connecticut shore watching sea birds pick up shells, rise 10 feet in the air and drop them to crack them open (packaging these days can be such a challenge), watching the departure of my sister-in-law on the back of a Harley Davidson with a complete stranger, reading 212 pages of a 273-page book (which I then left in the seat pocket of the aeroplane - grrr), writing a post-card to the friend I visited New York with 14 years ago, and a lie-in.
This leads me strongly to suspect that when you change your watch from Central time to Eastern time, you’re not just moving into a new time zone, but into a whole new time reality. The hours must, somehow, be longer, or fatter, or more flexible. I’m sure I couldn’t fit that much into a week-end here in the Central time zone. Even just having breakfast and getting ready to go out takes half a morning. I feel I must be on the brink of some very clever discovery to do with space, time and astrophysics. Or maybe it’s just that I usually have three kids in tow and a heap of things to do less interesting than exploring NewYork City. Hm. No, I think I’ll stick with the astrophysics discovery. It could be big. Actually, we in the Central time zone had a chance to try it out a few days ago, when we put our clocks forward, but you know what? Those smug East coasters are so sneaky, they put their clocks forward at exactly the same moment. We’ll never find out their secret.
Anyway, back to New York. It was all fabulous, totally totally fabulous. Apart from the obvious things that were wonderful (family, old friends, the buzz of a big city, the inherent interest of the places visited, the freedom of it all), the biggest treat was having someone else organize me. It’s very relaxing not to have to be in charge, for a change. Someone else found places to eat, someone else read the map, someone else made decisions about what to do and when, someone else calculated how long to allow to get to the airport. I begin to see the attraction of those big organized holidays with a tour guide. And no wiping. I didn’t wipe a nose, a bottom or a kitchen counter for four days. I did swipe my credit card a few times though, which is altogether a more satisfying feeling. Swiping not wiping – that was my big city experience.
I just have to tell you about the man I sat next to on one flight. He was in his 80s, and he and his wife were travelling from Florida to Connecticut for the surprise 90th birthday party of his sister-in-law (I just hoped it wasn’t too much of a surprise for her). “Don’t like the French, but I like the English” he said, puzzled by my account of my English brother who would choose to live in Paris. And then he told me why he liked the English. He was serving as a gunner in WWII, and was shot down behind enemy lines in Burma. After he and the two other airmen who survived had been trying to find their way back for a few days, a local man found them, and hid them upstairs in a building, indicating that they were to stay put. They had no idea whether he had gone to fetch the Japanese or the Americans. The next day, they heard footsteps approaching up the stairs. They were at the ready, guns trained on the trap door in the floor. When it opened, there were a couple of British soldiers, who greeted them with “Bloody Yanks. Can’t be trusted to do anything without us, can you?”
So that was New York. Did I mention that it was fabulous? I’m thinking about my next week-end away already… Oh, and that bit about my sister-in-law leaving on the back of a Harley Davidson? It was quite true, by the way. You’ll have to wait till next time for the story, though.
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