US here we come

Here are photos from San Francisco:

This is the view from our room in the Radisson Hotel.

The sea-lions are coming!

The Bay Bridge at 13.5 kms is a masterpiece of human engineering – and very beautiful too.

Just like on TV: it really is hilly!

How could we not go on a cable-car in ‘Frisco?!

Joey in the hotel’s swimming pool.

A morning at the huge record store, Rasputin’s, made our teenage son very happy.

The chilling sight of Alcatracz island prison, as seen from Pier 39.

Thursday 22 May. It’s officially my birthday. One of the memorable things about this trip is that my daughter, Hannah, turned 12 in the USA – in Hollywood to be precise (1st May) – and I turned 57 (in San Francisco). But, now the time has come to prepare for our return to Canberra, Australia. Luckily, the flight departs around 11.00pm, so we have one final full day in Frisco.

Joey and Hannah both asked to be woken up early, around 8.00am, so I happily obliged. Joey has either been swimming in the outdoor heated pool or going to the hotel fitness center every day. He’s really attracted to gym activity – perhaps influenced by my stories about having worked out fanatically for a few years at a gym run by a professional wrestler in Sydney Road, Coburg, Melbourne, 30 years ago. Anyway, Joey was up at 8.00 and in the pool by 8.15!

Our final day was action-packed and included some photos at the Longshoremen’s Memorial Building, which is located near the Radisson Hotel in Beach Street. I had stumbled upon it. The building commemorates the killing by police of two longshoremen (or ‘wharfies’ as we’d say in Australia) in 1934 during a strike. I’ll post a photo as soon as I can of the painting on the pavement leading into the building, which is part of the memorial.

A regular feature of our daily routine in Frisco has been the IHop Restaurant which is conveniently situated next door to the Radisson. Part of the deal with the hotel was that we received two free full breakfasts at the IHop each morning. I already miss the place, the friendly staff, the lavish servings, the decor which reminded me of somehting out of a 1960s movie.

I’ve referred to the social problem of homelessness in a few posts and we had an experience at the IHop that is worth relating. We had our ‘last supper’ there before heading to the airport that night and, as usual, the omelettes were so huge that we couldn’t finish them all. Joan, like me, was affected by the people on street corners begging for money and she felt it was just plain wrong to toss out such good food. In Australia, we ask for a “doggie bag” to take any left-overs but in the US they say they want the left-overs “boxed”. Joan wanted to have the remaining omelette and some pancakes ‘boxed’ so we could give them to one of the homeless on the street. I have to admit that I was against the idea – it seemed condescending to me, too risky. Anyway, it allowed for a brief ethical discussion among us all, including Joey and Hannah, and finally Joan just got up with the boxed food and walked up the street to where she found a homeless guy, a black American, and, as she told us on return, she just asked him if he liked omlette, he replied “You bet I do!”, and she gave it to him. Apparently he looked at it and then said: “You’re spoiling me!”. So, Joan was certainly proven right on that one and did the right thing.

I don’t want to exaggerate the extent of homelessness but it was far too commonplace given the overall level of prosperity and standard of living for the majority of people. I even saw a bloke with no hands begging – he had iron claws from the middle of his forearm instead of lower arms and hands. I was tempted to go over and ask him how he had lost them – but, again, I didn’t. As mentioned in a previous post, in Frisco there’s a collective of homeless people and they publish and sell a newspaper. I think there’s a ray of hope in that, as at least they are empowering themsleves, albeit under bad circumstances, and they are not being ‘imprisoned’ by the welfare system.

Also along Beach Street is a fascinating, though slightly worrying, shop called “The Spy Shop”. You’ve guessed it: it sells spy-related stuff. Everything from stun guns to secret miniature cameras. Oh yes, and knives of all shapes and sizes. And sun glasses with little mirrors in them for being able to see behind you. Fortunately, it was the sun-glasses that captured Joey and Hannah’s imagination and fell within budget.

We went again into Union Square and, while walking the streets, came across the Museum of African Heritage. It was a worthwhile experience and I recommend it to any visitor to Frisco. As I have a background as a historian, I was very interested in the way the museum had organised a ‘listening room’ – a long rectangular darkly lit room – designed to focus the mind of those within it on sound. The only furniture in the room is a long bench around the walls. It works remarkably well and the sound recordings of actors reading the transcripts of the interviews made by the Library of Congress in the 1930s with former slaves was a powerful experience.

We also decided that day to walk to the Coit Tower, the highest monument overlooking the bay and a very popular tourist attraction; though the great majority have the sense to get there by cable car. (It has featured in many movies, including Hitchcock’s ‘Vertigo’). It was uphill all the way but worth the effort. Inside the tower there are many murals painted by unemployed artists who were given work under the ‘New Deal’ in the 1930s. Most of the murals celebrate labour and the workers as the real producers and creators of industry and economic growth. (Am I the only one to wonder why we still think we need a capitalist class to own the means of production for us?!)

Our last day was a very good one and, around 8.30pm, we caught a taxi that just happened to be driving by the hotel. Joan was a bit worried, as it was a very flash looking black car, with no taxi sign displayed on it. A tall, tough looking, black guy, with a couple of scars on his face, was driving and called out to us that he’d take us to the airport for $45, which we knew was the going rate. While I was loading the luggage into the car’s boot, Joan went into the hotel to ask the receptionist whether it was safe to use that ‘taxi’. Anyway, they said it was okay and, as it turned out, it was a terrific way to bid au revoir to San Francisco. The driver was a wonderful character, keen to talk (unlike most of the drivers we encountered), and a man of great eloquence and humor – not to mention the classical black American rhythmic/poetic manner of speech. He had it all. Like nearly everyone else we met, on explaining that we were from Australia, he immediately referred to Crocodile Dundee and the ‘shrimp’ (prawn) on the barbie. I jokingly replied: “You call that a knife”. To which he responded: “This is a knife!” The film was so popular in the US that I was able to use that line with locals on three or four occasions.

At the San Francisco International Airport, we sat down at a coffee shop – I had my last US iced tea with lemon – and Joan made a video of each of us, commenting on the trip.

To me, it all seemed surreal. It seemed a long time ago that we had boarded the plane in Canberra, for Sydney, for LA. And indeed it had been nearly a month. Yet it also seemed to go so quickly.

On the 13 hour flight to Sydney, Joey slept for about nine hours, Hannah for about eight hours, Joan for a few hours, and I probably had about two hours sleep at most.

If readers will indulge me, please, I’d like to do another post or two over the next couple of days.

Barry

Wednesday 21st May – another bright blue warm day, though chilly in the morning and after nightfall. We did some shopping in the little tourist-oriented shops by the wharves. Prices are very cheap compared to Australia. I bought a wind-jacket for $25. A similar one that I’d bought in Canberra (also made in China) had cost me $150.

We went on a ferry ride around the bay, right up to the Golden Gate bridge – the water was too rough to go under it – and then over to Alcatracz Island, the site of the famous/infamous prison. It was a great trip and I took many photographs from the ferry. (We’re having trouble again loading images onto the blog, but hope to send some in a separate post later). A pre-recorded audio broadcast from the boat’s speaker system provided a pretty solid description of the sites and I was happy to hear some oral history excerpts that further brought it to life. When we approached the Golden Gate, there was an actor reading from a transcript of an interview with an Italo-American labourer who had helped build the bridge. It was very effective. But even more effective was an actual sound recording excerpt of an interview with someone who had done time at Alcatracz. I must say it was quite a chilling experience for me to get so close to that prison. It really looks spooky from a distance.

Later in the afternoon, we decided to head off by taxi to Haight Avenue, best known for its intersection with Ashbury, where all the hippies once gathered and briefly thrived in the late 1960s. Our interest was also in a record store on the avenue called ‘Amoeba Records’, which boasted a stock of one million items. The store is like a warehouse and Joey was in his element there, again carefully buying several CDs that are important to him. Hannah was bored but was the usual ‘little trooper’. Joan and I were also fascinated with the place. I’ve spent many years trying to find a Jimmy Cliff CD that has his version of ‘I can see clearly now’ and, yippeeee!, I finally found it. ‘Amoeba’ had about 30 Jimmy Cliff CDs and only one of them had that track on it – so I was very happy. As usual, the price was cheap compared to what we’d pay in Australia. (I like the optimisim and faith in humanity, not to mention rebellious spirit, in so many of Jimmy Cliff’s songs).

We strolled along Haight Avenue up to Ashbury – it was all a bit heritage-like and commercialized. There were a few homeless people, asking for ‘some change’, but they were very different to the utterly destitute folk we saw sleeping on church steps in NYC. These seemed more like people who had a choice but had decided to live outside the system. I even walked by a young couple, who were really healthy looking and bright eyed, yet they were sitting on the pavement, dressed like 1960s hippies, asking for money. They seemed to be ‘getting off’ on it – and I suspect they had good homes to go back to once it got too cold on the street. Very different to what we saw in NYC and indeed other parts of Frisco. I was never into the Haight-Ashbury peace/love ‘Grateful Dead’ scene, even back in the 1960s. It struck me back then as a road to nowhere. Was it Marx who said history repeats itself: first as a tragedy and then as a farce? That sums up the Haight very well. Or at least my impression of it, based on one visit.

I put ‘nude yoga’ in the title of this post and here’s why. Earlier in the day, when we were doing some shopping around Fisherman’s Wharf, we noticed some police standing around a skinny looking dude who had been sitting on a fold-up chair near the corner of a busy intersection. We walked by slowly and could see and hear one of the police really yelling at him, saying “Don’t you realize how egocentric this is?!”, and the skinny bloke quietly and calmly responding “I have a right”. To which the big cop yelled: “Other people have rights too”. Anyway, my natural instinct was to identify with the skinny chap and to oppose the cops. However, my daughter Hannah, who had been walking ahead of us, pointed out that what had happened was that the skinny guy had been engaging in ‘nude yoga’ at that street corner. I must admit it did change my attitude to the situation. Egocentric indeed! It goes to show you really need to investigate a situation before leaping to a conclusion.

A final note: I turned 57 the next day – May 22nd – and we celebrated on Wednesday night at a really nice seafood restaurant overlooking pier 39. More than that, our table overlooked the bay, the sea-lions on ‘their’ pontoons, the boats in the small boat harbour, looking out to the mountains on the horizon. And a beautiful sunset. The food was very good. We strolled back to the hotel along the waterfront, walking briskly because the breeze was chilly. Street musicians of many kinds enhanced the ambience of the night. It was a birthday I won’t be forgetting in a hurry.

Barry

On Tuesday 20th May, we experienced the Frisco cable car system, travelling into the central shopping area, Union Square, up all the very hilly streets you see on television shows set in San Francisco. So often during our adventure, I felt that we were part of a movie set. This added to the excitement. What was that old 1970s show with Karl Malden? “The Streets of San Francisco”. Yes, that’s it. Well, I feel like I’ve had a guest role.

The central business district was as exciting and interesting as the Embarcadero and Fisherman’s Wharf area. Again, we found street musicians ‘everywhere’. The vibe was a happy and fun one; however, as with New York City, there’s an open homeless problem in Frisco. This time I was approached by a black guy selling a newspaper published by a collective of homeless people. I happily bought one, and later bought other copies from other homeless people. It’s a very different attitude to the homeless we saw in NYC – at least these guys were fighting back in some way.

Our 14 year old son, Joey, had been disappointed with NYC in so far as there were no really good record or CD shops. There’s a huge Virgin Records store on Times Square but Joey was after the more gritty, hard-to-get, second-hand rap stuff. Well, in Union Square, Frisco, he found what he wanted. It’s a big five-storey music store called ‘Rasputin Records’, with different genres on each of the five storeys. He was very happy and made a few purchases of importance to him. (The next day, we found an even bigger place on the Haight – but that’s another story).

A funny thing happened to us on the way to the subway to get back to the Embarcadero/wharf area. We asked an information attendant, in a glass booth, for the right train and she was very helpful. However, she spoke into a microphone when answering us and it had that typical railway-station treble-echo effect. No problem – we received the right directions and walked downstairs to the distant subway station. She had told us to go to the platform on the right, after walking down the stairs, and we mistakenly veered to the left. You can imagine our surprise when, despite being way out of her view, we suddenly heard her booming trebly echoing voice come over the loud speakers on the platform, telling us that we were going in the wrong direction and to stay on the right side. We looked at each other in disbelief at first and then all burst out laughing. It was the subject of many jokes, by me, throughout the rest of the day – as though she was watching us, on the railway security system, wherever we were!

Any visitor to the Fisherman’s Wharf area must come away with vivid memories of the sea-lions that have taken up residence on the little pontoons off pier 39. The story goes that there were none at all until 1989, when Frisco was hit by an earthquake. A small group of sea-lions set up temporary home on the pontoons and then, gradually, more and more turned up. There were a few hundred when we saw them. They look so cute and cuddly and so relaxed – however, they could buy your hand or head off in a flash, if you got too close. The local authorities are very good to them, and they attract tourists. Our hotel was close enough to pier 39 for me to wake up in the early hours hearing the sea-lions barking in the distance. A nice sound and one that I miss.

We wanted to make the most of every hour so that night we walked off up Polk Street back toward the city in search of a Greek restaurant that Joan had seen advertised. It was a terribly long walk, and hilly in parts, but we all made it in one piece – but we needed to catch a cab back to the hotel after the meal. The food, incidentally, was good quality, reasonably priced, and served in the now-expected huge portions. Far too much – even for a 105 kilo big-eater like me.

We all collapsed into bed, around 11.00pm, exhausted. And I went to sleep listening to the barking sea-lions down the road.

Was it a dream?

Barry

PS – Another couple of posts coming soon.

Not sure if there’s still interest in this blog. Is there? Anyhow, I want to keep writing, even though we’re back home (in Canberra). I took notes of the tirp and will use these in another couple of posts later on.

On Monday 19th we arrived at our hotel near Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco, and, while feeling exhilarated by the charm of the place, were none the less tired and hungry. Dusk turned to night and our bodies were still working to New York City time, which is three hours behind. Thus, at 9.00pm in Frisco, it was really midnight to our bio-rhythms.

We walked around the piers – many small shops and they were still open for business. We heard some great blues/rock music drifitng through the night and followed it to pier 47, where we stumbled upon a place called Lou’s Pier 47 Restaurant and Blues Club. What a great introduction to San Francisco. It was like walking onto the set of a film noir movie. The music was happening upstairs while the eatery was downstairs. We were very hungry by this stage but enjoyed the live music coming down from upstairs. The singer sounded like Jimmy Hendrix – and had some really good guitar licks too. The restaurant has a rustic ambience and fits the foggy pier atmosphere perfectly. The clientelle was a very diverse one – a few tough lookin’ dudes, also a gay couple, plus a couple of families – like us. The bar was memorable, with a mirror behind it and shelves featuring a vast array of different alcoholic beverages.

The menu was mainly seafood – it looked great. A bloke sitting across from me had ordered a crab – a very large one that he was ripping apart in his bare hands while relishing every morsel. We each put in our orders to the waiter, who seemed very eccentric and high on life. Or something. I ordered a seafood spaghetti. Joan and Joey and Hannah put in their orders and, within a barely reasonable time, they had their meals. I just sat there, watching them eat, waiting for mine. After a fair while, catching the eye of the waiter a few times, he finally came over and apologized and promised that my meal would be ready soon. After 15 minutes or so, he brought the dish over to me – by this time, Joey and Hannah and cleaned their plates and Joan was nearly finished hers. Lo and behold – the meal he brought to me was not what I had ordered. It was a meat dish – I don’t eat meat (other than fish). Another apology and, another wait, and finally my seafood spaghetti was before me. It was good, nothing to rave about, but good.

Joan suggested that I request that I not have to pay for the meal, as it was so late. I told her I thought that was a bit extreme but, to my delight, when the bill (or ‘check’) came, my meal was not included. The waiter said something to me to the effect “I hope that’s okay…” Of course, I left a good tip, and really appreciated the sense of fairness on the restauranteur’s part.

Next instalment from me: the sea-lions of Pier 39.

Stay tuned,

Barry

Hi,

Now that we are at home (and going back to work today) I’m not sure if I’ll write all that much more about the trip (maybe). But, I thought for now, that I would just write a few thoughts. The first is for anyone thinking about travelling with children, well, teenagers. As you might imagine organising even a short trip like this, while working and maintaining a family, takes a lot of energy. Barry and I felt exhausted even before we left, but then that didn’t seem to dampen our enthusiasm for looking around. In those months while we were organising we asked the kids many times – where do you want to go? what do you want to see? Naturally enough, I guess, they didn’t have a lot to say on this, after all when you’re living in the moment (as I think kids do) even a couple of weeks seems like a long time off, and as neither of them have travelled overseas before, of course, they wouldn’t know what to expect.

Joey had said, at an early stage, that he wanted to visit Detroit, and because the city was 1,000 miles away from New York, and something of an unknown entity, we went for the plan that we took. As the trip drew closer Joey reminded us, so we put it into his lap, okay, let’s look at the options, lets see if we can work it out, but he didn’t want to put any time into it, it should just happen, well, this time it didn’t – and probably that was for the best. Though, after visiting Harlem I think it could have been really interesting to visit Detroit, and Chicago, at that, but these are the factors that you have to balance and come out with decisions. Naturally, the longer you can stay the better, though while we were in the planning stages we decided to cut back on time, mostly because we weren’t sure how it would go with the kids – would they get along? would we get along as a family? how would it go sharing a room together for an extended period? So many unknowns.

And as it was Hannah was certainly ready to come home when we did. She could have easily come home a week earlier, and Joey wanted to stay extra time, even though he was highly embarrassed to be with his parents and didn’t like practically any time spent at museums?!$#$% I feels like we’ve come off a high wire to some extent – we managed, generally, to get along and to have some good times, and I think particularly over time the benefits will be obvious (Joey is already looking up fares to go back) but for now settling back into home life feels okay to me and I’m looking forward to putting together our photos, films and mementoes, so we can look back and remember.

take care and best, Joan G

Monday 19th we flew 4,000 kilometres from east to west across the North American continent and landed at San Francisco International Airport. The taxi ride from the airport to the Radisson Hotel on Fisherman’s Wharf was all it took to hook us to this charming and fascinating part of the US. Row after row of piers, a fog gently settling on the bay at dusk, and, above all, a magnificent bridge of the likes I’ve never seen before. We Australians think the Sydney harbour bridge is special but this 13.5 kilometre bridge spanning the bay of San Francisco made my heart skip a beat. I mistakenly assumed it was the famous Golden Gate Bridge but it was actually the ‘Bay Bridge’, built slightly earlier than the smaller (and, to me, less impressive) Golden Gate. The Bay Bridge is 160 meters above water level at its highest points, and takes 280,000 cars each day. From the distance, it seemed so fragile, so delicate, so beautiful.

We were in ‘Frisco (oops, not supposed to use that term!) for three full days. The weather was fine, warm, sunny, but windy at times and chilly at night and early morning.

The bay is busy with vessels, including large container ships. I noticed from the taxi that many of the wharf warehouses bore Chinese names and lettering. The Chinese community of San Francisco is significant and apparent in the many small businesses along the dock area or ‘Embarcadero’ as it is called (denoting also the more significant Spanish-speaking community, which accounts for about half the populaiton of the city/county).

I recall back in the early 1990s when former Australian Prime Minister Paul Keating was promoting the notion of Australia as part of Asia how the then Opposition Leader, John Hewson, argued that the definition of Asia should be broadened to include the Pacific as well. In San Francisco, the people are reaping the benefits of a strong Asia-Pacific connection, the key link (I suspect) being the local population of Chinese background.

We were happy with our accommodation at the Radisson. It’s the biggest hotel we’ve stayed in, with 350 rooms. Very clean, modern, small rooms but we had a balcony that looked out onto the courtyard and swimming pool (heated to 82 degrees day and night). Beyond the courtyard, to the south-east, we could see the bay, the ferries, the boat harbour…

To be continued….

Barry

This posting is subject to my usual disclaimer – I was only in NYC for three weeks, as a tourist, mostly in the mid-town Manhattan area, and anything I say is qualified by the fact that I may be very wrong in my impressions. However, it would be interesting to know whether others have had the same or similar experiences.

18 Surprises:

1. People are polite, very polite. Even “too polite” (to quote my wife). We were expecting busy, gruff, hectic individuals rather than people who would stop and apologize if they bumped into you in the crowded subway or on the street. (This happened to me on three separate occasions) We didn’t meet anyone who was rude – how disappointing!

2. Human capactiy for self-regulation. The chaos of Manhattan works because people have a capacity for self-regulation en masse. I saw it happening every day in NYC, and my bet is that the locals aren’t even all that conscious of it any more. For example, at peak hour on the subway, people get off at their stop and then have to ride in tight crowds up the escalator to the street above. Each escalator has room for two rows of people going up. The crowds just form two lines on each escalator: one for those who want to be carried up and one for those in a hurry who wish to walk up quickly. There were no official signs forcing people to do this, no threats of fines or other penalties – people just do it because it’s in their interests, as individuals and collectively. (Humanity, I continue to love you, and can think of no better species to which I’d rather belong).

3. Healthy. Manhattan is an apartment dwelling society. Is this why there are so many fitness centers and gyms? So much healthy foods in the supermarkets, especially pre-prepared fresh salads and fruit salads. Found this upstate (at Binghamton) too. (I’m comparing to Australia – maybe we’re a bit behind). Oh yes, and the bottled iced-tea with lemon. I’m hooked.

4. Parks and ‘people spaces’. Lots of small squares, little parks with benches for people to relax. Also, very big ones – like Central Park, which is huge, and other big parks within this densely populated metropolis.

5. Noise. Yes, a bloody noisy city! (Excuse the Australianism). Every day, wherever you happen to be standing, you’ll hear an ambulance, or fire engine or police siren at least a few times. And the taxi drivers tend to drive with their horns. What surprised me about this, however, was that the horn-blowing is necessary for the traffic to flow, for people to be able to move around efficiently and safely. It took me a few taxi rides to realize that there is actually a ‘language’ in the honking of the horns, a way of communicating between cab drivers. Generally speaking, it isn’t the expression of anger or hostility that it represents on the roads in my part of Australia (albeit a rare phenomenon in Canberra). Also, you do get used to it. Noise is life. We’ll all have lots of silence one day (in the grave).

6. Chaos. There’s order in the chaos – it works. I saw many ‘near misses’ but not one actual collision or road accident. We did a lot of walking through the crowded busy streets, too, and would’ve seen any collisions.

7. Breaking the rules. Conservatives must be horrified by New York City. What a mob of rule-breakers. At a west entrance to Central Park there’s a small walking path with big bold official lettering on it (you know, the type that kind of yells at you while waving a big finger in your face) that states words to the effect: ‘No cycling. Cyclists must dismount and walk along this path with their bicycles’. Yes, I know the argument: it’s to protect people, pedestrians especially, and, as with all conservative arguments, the most extreme extension of possibilities is used to justify the rule. Hey, what if a frail vision-impaired great-grandmother Nobel Laureate was going for a walk and was hit by a cyclist?! But the fact is New Yorkers don’t think like that – and good for them. Reality rules more than actual rules rule and I enjoyed seeing cyclists brazenly ride their bikes over the very sign warning them not to do so. The other good thing about this was that no ‘law-enforcement’ bureaucrats were around to enforce the rule. This same situation occured in other aspects of everyday life. There are signs everywhere – wait for it! – telling drivers not to honk their horns! There’s a $350 fine, if you do. No-one seems to enfroce this rule and the traffic flow would be slowed considerably, if not halted, if it were enforced. Taxis are probably the most common form of vehicular automobile transport on the roads in Manhattan. I also saw cabs going through red lights while beebing their horns, right by a couple of traffic cops who were observing the flow at the intersection. They didn’t intervene against the rule-breakers – and why should they? No-one was hurt. Something good about all this – in terms of working reality as well as philosophy.

8. Streets are both dirty and clean. I was surprised that the streets were both dirty and clean, simultaneously. How can this be? Well, because there’s so many people, and people use stuff that becomes litter, there are heaps of street-cleaners who are constantly cleaning up. Thus, the streets – like the city itself – is not classifiable in static terms but rather as a process. The litter is cleaned up as soon as it is dropped – only to have more dropped and in need of cleaning up.

9. Air pollution. There were times, when walking around near Times Square, for instance, when my eyes were itching from the pollution. There were other times, near the same area, when I was awe-struck by the clarity of the night sky, which seemed free of any haze. (Hey, if you want a pollution-free environment, you’ll find it at the same spot where you’ll find complete silence).

10. The sub-way rail system is very efficient and inexpensive. I was expecting delays and high ticket prices.

11. Safety. Having years ago watched the entire Charles Bronson ‘Death Wish’ series, I was concerned about my family’s, and my own, security and safety on the streets and subways. Again subject to the disclaimer at the start of this post, everywhere seemed basically safe, day and night, including the seedier parts of town. We were hussled only once – and that was a welcome experience because the guy actually helped us find the bus station we were looking for – and then he very discreetly asked for some ‘spare change’. He had approached us inside the entrance of the Port Authority terminal, asking if we needed help in finding our bus. He made it seem like he was just wanting to help but he really wanted money. Hence it was a ‘hussle’. But, he did help us and we were pleased. (When does hussling become enterprise? The Port Authority should employ him – or allow him to set up his own ‘find-your-bus’ business!)

12. Homelessness. This is a tragic problem, and it is not swept under the carpet. The homeless commonly sleep on steps of churches and other businesses. One chilly night, as Joan and I were walking past a luxury hotel, we noticed a couple of homeless men sleeping on the steps of a church across the road. Hey, I understand why the luxury multi-million dollar hotel wouldn’t let the homeless sleep inside its premises on a cold night… but the church? A church? Also a multi-million dollar property, across the road from a luxury hotel? We saw too many homeless men, amidst all the wealth and generally good standard of living, and they usually protected themselves from the elements by using cardboard or plastic as a blanket.

13. Which leads to my next ‘surprise’. New York City, no less than the USA as a whole (I suspect), is not a free market economy. There’s a sales tax and other taxes that add (at least 10 percent) to the cost of heaps of things. Fellow-tourists: keep this in mind when drawing up your budget. NYC, like the USA, and contrary to overseas misconceptions, also has a state welfare system. As in other capitalist societies, this is what keeps the ‘poor and tired huddled masses’ in their place (especially now that the religious promise of a terrific after-life if you remain meek no longer persuades as it once did).

14. Still, overall, NYC seems to be going well economically and life seems good for the majority – and amazingly good for those on the upper east-side! In Harlem, too, the shops along 125th Street/Martin Luther King jr. Boulevarde, were thriving and people as a whole seemed well. I certainly saw several notices in shop windows offering employment.

15. Another surprise: Manhattan is still developing. I thought it would be fully developed, with no room left for new buildings. However, in our block alone – around W42nd/10th and 11th Avenues – there are three building sites, one of them large. Scaffodling and building work was not uncommon in other mid-town areas. (Quite an adjustment for me as an Australian to see so many building workers wearing stickers of the ‘Stars and Stripes’ on their hard-hats – in Australia, they tend to wear the ‘Eureka flag’ on theirs; though come to think of it, both have their origins in the historic democratic demand for ‘No taxation without representation’).

16. Multiculturalism. NYC seems to work well as a multicultural society (with Spanish as the main language after English). However, as far as I am aware, there is no official governmental policy of multiculturalism. (Different to Australia, where we have had official multiculturalism for more than three decades. Mind you, it works well in Oz, too). In NYC, it just happens, and is necessary for the economy and society to function. So, it will keep on happening.

17. Tourists. I was the unashamed tourist – much to my son’s embarrassment – and took more than a thousand photos, snapping away at everything from the US Mail boxes on street corners to MacDonald’s majestic family restaurant in Times Square. I’ll repeat an earlier point: we were safe the entire time, even as ‘vulnerable’ tourists travelling as a family unit. Initially, we hid our passports and currency in our little security bags, hung around our necks and tucked into our clothing, but it soon became clear that this was unnecessary. We just carried our wads of cash like everyone else, in our wallets, purses and pockets, and I kept my passport in my shirt pocket. We walked through bustling crowds on Times Square at night – aware of the menace of pick-pockets – and we were squashed into the subway train on one occasion at peak hour (‘rush hour’). Maybe we were lucky. Personally, I followed the vibe, as I found it.

18. New York City has the third lowest suicide rate in the USA. (Just thought I’d throw that one in – not based on observation but something I read).

Comments and feedback appreciated (especially by others who have visited NYC or who reside there),

Barry

Hi.

It’s something of a bummer that we can’t do our blogs but then maybe not we were spending a fair bit of time on the computer and after all is that what travelling is about. We’ve spend our three days in San Francisco and are off to Australia tonight. Hannah can’t wait to get home, and would you believe it, Joey wants to stay longer. Barry and I are ready to go home, though if we stayed any longer I’d be really keen to hop onto a Greyhound and set off into the ‘real’ America. We’ve loved San Francisco, its a beautiful place and made me start seriously thinking about spending some time in the greater California. As soon as we got here we were finding both book and CD shops and yesterday went to a CD shop with something over 1 million records. It was great to be there but also overwhelming. Loads of things to talk about but no time for now. We will finish off the blog from home, and maybe get a few more words at the airport.

Take care and love from us, JBHJ

This is continuing the post about our final weekend in NYC. I’ll add some photos later, when we’re free from the need to pay 50 cents per minute for internet at the hotel. (If our laptop was working, it’d be free wireless high-speed connection in our room).

Despite getting to bed around 2.00 in the morning, I was wide awake and out of bed around 7.00. This is a life-long condition of mine – no matter how late I go to bed, I’m always up early. Wide awake.

Sunday 18th was our last full day in NYC so we were keen to make the most of it and that meant going to the Metropolirtan Museum of Art, on Central Park. I’ll leave it to Joan to fill in the details of this magnificent institution, as it was very high on her priorities.

At first we went to the Guggenheim but it is being renovated and the wonderful design by Frank Lloyd Wright was concealed by tarp and scaffolding. We kept walking till we reached the Met on 5th Avenue, the exclusive upper east-side. You could spend a full week in the Met and still be awe-struck and wandering around the finest examples of various civilisations. It’s just stunning. I like modern art and stood close to works by Leger, Picasso, Dali and Matisse like I could never in Australia – also, while the building was crowded, the indiivdual galleries were large and so you weren’t ever cramped or rushed.

On leaving the Met in the late afternoon, it was drizzling rain outside and we went quickly to a subway station, but stopped at a deli in this very wealthy part of NYC. The deli had exquisite offerings. I can’t imagine what it must be like being a multi-millionaire living on this side of town.

On the subway, we became confused – or rather, I did – when we had to change lines at Grand Central station (itself another magnificent building). We ended up on the wrong train but even this was a good thing as we were heading to Brooklyn and from the train window we saw the vast warehouses covered in graffitti, known as the graffitti living museum. Anyway, we made it back to W42nd Street, or ‘home’ as we were calling it by now.

I wanted to ‘chill’ for the evening but the irrepressible Joan was considering the idea of going to the Empire State Building, which we could see from our hotel window. However, Hannah and Joey and I won the day and we stayed ‘home’ to recuperate from a full day of walking and adventure.

Yesterday I mentioned how I’d dropped off the laundry on Saturday morning. Well, we experienced our first case of losing something when I went to collect it on Sunday. Two of my shirts were missing – and there was a white vest belonging to someone else. We returned the vest but the shirts had simply gone – luckily they are old ones. Perhaps they have been returned – we can’t know as we left NYC on Monday 19th for San Francisco.

I’m writing this from Frisco. We’re all in love with this Bay city. It’s the best. We must come back one day. When I leave here, I’ll really be leaving my heart in San Francisco.

Will write again, and post some photos to exisiting reports.

Barry