An Englishman In New York

(And Other Locations) – Part 1

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My first time trip to the US was in May of 2001 with my friend Chris.

There wasn’t much of a plan.

We had three weeks, with the first five nights accommodations booked in New York. After which we would collect a car, and see where we ended up.

The thought of navigating our way out of New York felt too intimidating. So, we looked at a map, decided that Boston wasn’t far, and arranged to collect the car there.

Landing at JFK, we took a train then the subway into Manhattan.

Chris had been to New York once before. Rather than staying on the subway all the way to the hotel he wanted to wow me by getting off early and emerging into the skyscraping cityscape.

Leeds was somewhat lacking in them, so yeah, it was quite a sight to behold.

May, 2001

Having beheld it for a suitable length of time, we still had to get to the hotel.

It was just the other side of Central Park, so it shouldn’t take long. That was Chris’s opinion. Misplaced confidence was one of his character traits.

Only… the other side of the park meant 51 blocks. It was hot, we had bulky backpacks and a tent – the real budget option for once we were on the open road. We adopted the characteristics of a whingeing kid (me) and the dad who won’t admit he’s wrong (him).

You’re welcome.

My pestering to get a taxi and the conditions eventually won out. We were never gonna make it on foot.

I’d heard the stereotype that New Yorkers have for rudeness. Mostly we found the opposite.

But there were a couple of times we encountered it.

That taxi ride being the first. I gave the driver the name of the hotel and 110th Street. He wanted the exact address before we set off. I told him it overlooked Central Park, so couldn’t we just drive along 110th until we spotted it? No, we could not. I had to hunt through my backpack for a printout with the full address.

Having reached our destination, the corner of 110th and Malcolm X Boulevard as it turned out, we paid the driver, making sure to include a tip.

Tipping culture isn’t as pronounced here, its still expected but not as formalised as it appears to be in the US. Our friendly ray of sunshine didn’t say a word. He just stood there with his hand out indicating that our generosity was insufficient, and he wanted more.

Our bags were locked in the trunk effectively held hostage.

There was no arguing with the now mute highway robber until we coughed up some more.

Into the hotel then. It was basic, our room had two single beds, a fridge and a chair. Like I said, we were on a budget. Homey it was not, but it did have a view of the park, and we wouldn’t be spending much time in there.

I knew the Bobby Womack song, Across 110th Street. I’d heard Bobby sing that “once you crossed that street it was a hell of a tester, where pushers won’t let the junkie go free.” While that was the 70s, from our side of the pond Harlem still had a reputation. Which seemed to be backed up on checking in, as we were instructed that during the day all was fine – but if we were coming back after dark, we were not to go wandering the surrounding area and should get a taxi direct to the door.

We headed out into the city. Being young and British, and at a time when oblivion drinking was a national pastime, we went on a bar crawl. With no idea where we were, we finished the night in a bar with a covers band playing until 2AM.

They sounded just like the records.
Unfortunately.

The first taxi we tried to hail declined to take us when we said “110th Street.” The second was more than happy, a friendly talkative Greek gentleman who couldn’t have been anymore different from our first driver. He dropped us off in front of the hotel (and was more than happy with our tip. Maybe the alcohol helped loosen our wallets). 

By this point with the time difference we’d been awake for 24 hours and hadn’t eaten since somewhere over the Atlantic many hours before. Having been rendered invincible and immune to common sense through alcohol. we decided we needed to find food. It didn’t take long to spot the inviting bright lights of Mama’s Fried Chicken. It wasn’t so inviting on the inside. The metal grille covering the counter made it look like the staff were in a maximum security prison.

I guess it was for their protection rather than ours.

But – who knows what a life of serving chicken does for your temperament?

Despite now being around 2:30am and midweek it was packed in there and most of them looked like teenagers. Its fair to say we didn’t fit in.

Not for the last time, everyone ignored us.

And as there weren’t any free tables we took our fried chicken back to the hotel. Honestly, I’ve no idea how much the warning from hotel reception was rooted in reality, but Harlem seemed fine when we took a walk round in the day.

The locals were friendly enough as evidenced when we walked towards three huge guys walking abreast along the sidewalk. They each had on puffer jackets that exaggerated their girth, it was a wide sidewalk but they filled it completely. As we moved out of their way to let them pass feeling somewhat intimidated, one broke into a big smile and in a booming voice that startled the entire bird population of Central Park asked “How you guys doing today?” I’m not used to random strangers on the street asking about my wellbeing. “Good” we replied with British reserve. “Good? Well that’s just great” he informed us and carried on.

Looking on Google maps and street view, it seems to have been gentrified somewhat around there. Apart from the hotel which has downgraded to a homeless shelter. Over 20 years on and Mama’s is still there for all your 2:30AM drunken fast-food needs.

If the taxi driver adhered to a commendable level of rudeness a waiter, we had piled it on.

Sunday morning we had breakfast at a diner near the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There was only us and an elderly couple in there. I’d say the waiter was brusque with us but we made up our minds and ordered quickly. The old couple weren’t so quick and they had questions. Some for him, and some between themselves.

The waiter wasn’t standing for any of their dithering and was monumentally rude to them, telling them to sort themselves out and stop wasting his time – words to that effect anyway but with a lot more petulance. It was a masterclass in attitude. The old dears seemed totally oblivious to it. No idea if they were locals and this was a Sunday morning routine that they played out every week or they were still so smitten with each other that the steam emitting from the waiters head didn’t register.

We decided that we’d intercede on their behalf. Not by actually saying anything – there’s no way we were confronting our seething server. Once we’d finished up and got the bill, we did the British thing of avoiding a confrontation, waiting until he’d gone through to the kitchen we left the exact money on the table with No Tip. That showed him to develop some manners.

Or probably sent him to new heights of apoplexy for whoever was unlucky enough to walk through the door next.

There were helpful characters as well.

Riding the subway one evening, we realised that we were on the wrong train. The man next to us overheard and gave us the benefit of his knowledge. He was almost the double of Woody Allen, same look, same physical and vocal mannerisms. I’m 99% sure it wasn’t actual Woody, but he could have passed for “brother of Woody.”

He explained that to go downtown, we had to go back uptown to change for downtown. He explained this in an expressive tone that for all his help, suggested deep exasperation with this uptown / downtown contradiction.

NY completed: it was on to Boston.

We’d seen the movies. We knew that the place to get a train was Grand Central Station. Walked up to ticket booth and asked for a one way ticket to Boston.

He kindly informed us that our trip would be starting with a one way walk over to Penn Station.

Who would have thought a city the size of NY had more than one train station?

We had two nights in Boston before we collected the car.

When in Boston, go see the Tea Party ships. We climbed onboard at the same time as a party of school children.

Their luck was in: two limeys, to give added colour to the re-enactment we’d unwittingly walked into.

Luckily the kids were elementary school age and didn’t get anymore fiesty than shouting “Fie!” a lot, to express their disgust at us.

“And you know what else? My dad says that you all drive on the wrong side of the road.
So, there.”

Time then to get behind the wheel and hit the open road. I was 25 years old and hadn’t driven since I passed my test at 18. Chris was the experienced driver. But it was cheaper to name only one driver, and a credit card was required to secure the booking (which he didn’t have.)

Financial acumen not being a strong point of his, I was the designated driver. I wouldn’t say I was thrilled at the prospect but I’d give it a go. Having never driven an automatic either I took an hour long lesson the week before we travelled. What more preparation could I need?

First though, the rental place had bad news.

I’d booked the cheapest economy option they had, but none were available. What they did have: A Ford Windstar or a Mustang convertible.

I’ve no idea if a Mustang is actually a decent car but it sounded fantastic and instantly planted an image in our heads of driving along with the top down, wind in our hair (I still had some at this point), attracting admiring looks as we swept past swooning women.

The dream wrecking jobsworth took one look at our backpacks and declared that we’d be taking the Windstar.

I was prepared to leave some clothes to pick up on our way back and stuff that backpack in the trunk any which way. But no, we would be setting off in comfort, not speed.

I got behind the wheel, heart pounding and foot shaking on the accelerator. I made it out of the garage and onto the street. By luck rather than planning it was only a few hundred metres in a straight line from the rental centre onto the highway out of Boston.

Not straight enough though…

(to be continued…)

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JJ Live At Leeds

From across the ocean, a middle aged man, a man without a plan, a man full of memories, a man like JJ.

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mt58
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mt58
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January 30, 2023 7:04 am

I’m chuffed to know this.

(I think. Now I have to look up what “chuffed” means.)

Phylum of Alexandria
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January 30, 2023 8:49 am

Is there a rhyming slang term for chuffed?

Like, “I’m really Marshmallow Man…”

LinkCrawford
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LinkCrawford
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January 30, 2023 7:41 am

Sounds like what we might call a “stickler”. Both are great words.

Pauly Steyreen
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January 30, 2023 10:04 am

I think your usage sounds a lot like “stickler” as we use it here. It’s rarely used in a positive context.

Phylum of Alexandria
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January 30, 2023 7:23 am

I worked in Harlem in 2014, and the gentrification you noticed in 2001 was in full effect by then. I haven’t been back in a bit, but perhaps now it’s the new Williamsburg.

The series The Deuce did a great job going into the roots of the NYC transformation effort, though it focuses on Manhattan rather than Harlem. It’s a tale of ambivalence at best.

Man, if only you had gotten that Ford Mustang, who knows what crazy adventures you would have steered into.

Or at least if Serge Gainsbourg had had the decency to write about the Ford Windsor…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTPoDcRiZ40

LinkCrawford
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LinkCrawford
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January 30, 2023 7:44 am

This will be a fun series. It’s just as interesting to read thegue’s adventures in a foreign land as it is to hear of foreigners coming to America. Of course, New York City is so different from my American experience in the rural heartland that it would almost feel like a foreign country to me, too. (I have visited once for a few days when I was 19.)

lovethisconcept
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January 30, 2023 10:12 pm

I have never had the good fortune to go to Britain, but when we were in Ireland several years ago, and we told people our plans, they always seemed surprised at how far we were traveling that day. And it was maybe 100 miles.
I have heard the expression that the main difference between Americans and Brits is that to a Brit, 100 miles is a long way, and to an American, 100 years is a long time.

Phylum of Alexandria
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January 31, 2023 6:52 am

I once worked with a guy who drove 75 miles to get to work every day, and 75 miles back.

Even here, that’s pretty rare, but it’s not as head-exploding insane as it should be.

dutchg8r
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February 2, 2023 9:49 am

If I was silly enough to be willing to drive into my office, it would clock in at about 68 miles each way. But I get subsidized commuter train passes that gives me my train nap for an hour+ each way. Honestly, if the train were canceled that day for some reason, I’m taking the day off rather than driving in.

Someone did a DC vicinity map at work once and had people stick a pin in where they lived. Vast majority of folks were over 30 miles, and there were far more of us outliers beyond 60 miles than anyone had imagined.

mt58
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January 30, 2023 9:50 am

From the interesting coincidences (maybe) files:

I had to go on a surprise business trip. In those olden days, I would generally stick to the task at hand and hold to a very tight schedule, so that I could get in, do the work, and get out ASAP. I almost never made any time for fun or sightseeing.

On this particular trip, the guy that I was supposed to meet postponed the meeting from breakfast to dinner, which left me with eight hours to kill. Overachieving younger me started to set up workspace and prepare for spending the day in the hotel room.

But in a rare moment of common sense, I decided to close the laptop, grab a taxi, and see some of this new city.

This was in May of 2001. I went up to the top of one of the WTC Towers and had a nice, peaceful looksee.

And I’d like to think that it’s possible that I saw a future friend from 3356 miles away, getting that picture taken.

mt58
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mt58
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January 30, 2023 11:48 am

Well, I mean, really, that would be insane. That kind of thing never happens.

https://www.thestar.com/life/2010/06/10/disney_world_photo_captures_couple_together_15_years_before_they_met.html?

Virgindog
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January 30, 2023 10:13 am

Wait. No story of a visit to New York City is complete without a description of your first slice of pizza there. It’s a ritual. Details, man, details!

If I remember correctly, Boston was in the middle of the Big Dig in 2001. The detours meant anything could have happened within a few feet of the car rental lot. Can’t wait for the next episode!

Virgindog
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January 30, 2023 11:26 am

Joe’s is great. Good choice.

LinkCrawford
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LinkCrawford
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January 30, 2023 1:49 pm
Reply to  Virgindog

I have one! We stopped at a pizza place in Manhattan. I got mushroom pizza. Large, thin slice with approximately 5,000 mushrooms on it. Was not disappointed.

thegue
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thegue
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January 30, 2023 3:11 pm

This is great stuff!

…but FIFTY-ONE BLOCKS? Your “friend” needs some re-education!

The great thing about the cities of the Northeast is their public transportation systems (I’d put San Francisco’s up there as well; not as familiar with Chicago’s): I never realized how great Philadelphia’s was – when I first moved there I still drove almost everywhere, but by my third year I rarely took the car out except to go to work.

By the time I’d met Mrs Thegue, I didn’t even own a car.

Virgindog
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Virgindog
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January 30, 2023 3:21 pm
Reply to  thegue

I have a friend who’s running for his third term on the Metro Council here in Nashville and I keep telling him that a city this size should have a subway. He doesn’t seem to get it so I think it’s something you have to live with to really understand its greatness.

He recently married a woman from Philly and I hope she will show him the way.

dutchg8r
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February 2, 2023 9:36 am

Wait, did I read that right JJ? You were intimidated with driving automatic??!!

I had a similar experience in Italy in 2000. I learned to drive on a stick, but basically told my parents if they ever wanted me to drive so they could stop shuttling me around they would have to get a new car with automatic transmission.

My British friend who booked our week in Italy had literally only started driving that year. I think she expected me to do the driving, and I was like, you kidding? I’ll be stalling constantly, you have more experience on stick. Which terrified her to no end, but she obliged. I remember getting out on a major highway to get from Pisa to the trattoria we were staying at, and she felt it was enough of an accomplishment to make it into second gear, we were moving, that was good enough for her. 😄

dutchg8r
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February 2, 2023 6:24 pm

BTW mt….

I spy Mr Blobby once again!!!! I think Mr Blobby has either a mancrush on JJ, or it’s Goodboy’s favorite chew toy. Either way, I’m all for your new Easter Egg game of “Where’s Blobby?!”

mt58
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mt58
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February 3, 2023 3:25 am
Reply to  dutchg8r

Stay tuned…

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