Another eventful journey on the subway. Deeply engrossed in the New Yorker (a great read, if not a bit too frequent) on the way home on my own, when suddenly there is an uproar in the carriage. A rather relaxed, possibly high, old guy is standing there nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. The smell is over powering and fills the carriage very quickly. The people sitting near him are shouting at him to put it out, telling him that he can’t smoke on the subway. He is getting it from all angles, I have never known so much passion on the subway before. He smiles and seems confused. He looks at his cigarette longingly and drops it on the floor, lightly stepping on it to put it out. The he picks it up, blows on it and in an attempt to re-use it later, he pops it into the brim of his woollen hat and walks out of the carriage at my stop. His hat is smouldering.
Category Archives: Using the subway
I don’t think we’re in Manhattan any more
There are five boroughs in New York, with Manhattan being the most well known. Staten Island suffered horribly in the Hurricane and is often forgotten as the island off the bottom of Manhattan. The Bronx is at the other end of Manhattan and whilst I have discovered there is a zoo and a botanical garden there (to be visited on warmer days) it still makes me think of scary New York of the 70s. Ed Koch, Mayor between 1978 and 1990 died recently and was credited with transformation of the Bronx and other run down parts of New York. This leaves Queens and Brooklyn. The latter is of course well known because the Beckhams called their eldest son after the borough – it’s certainly up and coming now, with Park Slope known as the nappy valley of New York. I visited the Transit Museum today and got my first glance at Brooklyn. I only saw the civic parts around city hall and the MTA (transport authority) but it was a world apart from Manhattan. Lower built and more interesting to look at than the high rises of the Upper East Side. And as for Queens, well, I wouldn’t go there again unless there was a good reason. We went to Astoria, which is across the East River from the Upper East Side of Manhattan and it is pretty unloved and run down. The Museum of the Moving Image has been there for 20 years but it hasn’t led to any regeneration in the neighbourhood a la Tate Modern in London. The museum is great, hosting a computer games through the ages exhibit (or excuse for middle aged men to play with computer games dating back to their teens) and it did make me laugh to see the Wizard of Oz as part of the permanent exhibition, when the first thoughts I had when we emerged from the subway were “I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, Toto”.
Subway salon
I don’t use the subway much, but have started to work out the best place to stand on the platform, the right time of day to be there with a buggy and the best place to sit in the carriage. I do this much aplomb today. I am sitting opposite J, who is wide awake. He and I exchange smiles then I read, he stares. Then the guy opposite me says, ‘oh my Lord, I thought that woman sat next to me (next to J) left without her baby!’ Realising the baby is mine, he looks noticeably relieved as I explain it is better for me to see him this way, than sat next to him. J is getting a lot of attention today. One woman catches his eye, he smiles coyly and to his right another woman goes out of her way to wave at him but he’s too busy with the first lady. We speed on down town and I hear a clipping noise. A man is standing nearby clipping his nails, getting the dirt out with the blade and snipping the rest. Yuck. We are out of range for the clippings but I am not the only one to look on in mild disgust. And towards the end of ride, two older ladies sit beside me and opposite J and proceed to play peekaboo with him the rest of the journey. He is in heaven, in his very own salon.
Subway sermon
So I’m sitting on the subway reading the advertising and looking around and through the carriage door between the cars comes a man looking very confident, wearing a suit and looking a bit like a ticket inspector. He walks purposefully to the other end of the carriage and stops, pauses to look out of the window and then marches back down the carriage to alert us all to the dangers of sin. He proffers that we are all breathing therefore we can be saved. He is zealous in his assertions and starts to tell us (well, those not wearing headphones or looking down to avoid any eye contact) that there is a computer held by the Pentagon called Huck (sic?) and that it controls the weather (I kid you not), it determines when there are to be earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and hurricanes. He stays with us for two stops and then thanks us and moves on to the next carriage. He’s still there on the train when we get off, same act, same words. Impressive. Still, I think I prefer to the two man Mariachi band I experienced last time I went on the subway. Thankfully Boris seemed to get rid of all this entertainment from the tube in London. What’s next?
The kindness of strangers
First time on the New York subway (that’s the underground or tube to my fellow Londoners). Taking my buggy (must learn to call it stroller here to avoid yet more confusion – we speak the same language apparently) down the endless steps, making sure to go the right direction (uptown or downtown), learning which are the fast trains, which stop everywhere – numbered lines go up and down, alpabetical lines go across. Boring but functional. The subway looks pretty unloved, it’s dingy but post Guiliani, it’s supposed to be safe and it’s pretty cheap at $2.25 flat fare. Getting a buggy through the turnstyles is challenging. I am told to swipe my Metrocard (Oystercard, but not as clever), turn the turnstyle manually and then pull the heavy metal gate to gain access. At which point an alarm invariably goes off and I look like a fare dodger. Marvellous. The stairs are way steeper than I’m used to, but so far I’ve been offered help most of the time, by men and women alike. I think they are mostly shocked and take pity on me, brave enough to do this on my own. I treat my final helper to a little British humour and say I’ll see him here same time next week. He responds by looking at me like I’m a crazy person and walks off quite quickly. Must work on my jokes.
nw3 to nyc 