More walking, more water, loose ends (Tuesday)

Last day and though the humidity has dampened me it hasn’t dampened my spirits. Setting out I confess I had no real plan except to head up town. Another lingering look at Grand Central and before I know it I’m back on 5th Avene for another lingering linger at the Apple Store.

Nearby Central Park beckoned and I have to admit it was a bit of a revelation. I’d expected wide open flat spaces and not the scuplted, textured, intricate arrangement of pathways, trees and water. I marched around and onto the expanses of water; the boating lake cafe (at late morning devoid of punters, so to speak) offered an opportunity to quench my marched thirst.

Back on the trail and the large lake awaited with more sign of energetic life: lunchtime joggers encircled the water in a singular direction. It felt surreal. Not the joggers but the layers I tried to capture in my photos. Water, grass, tree line, metropolis. Separate, ordered in a long unwaveringly straight line. London, on the other hand, doesn’t do straight lines. Nor does it do parks like this; true, there are probably more of them but there’s something about the New York approach that appeals. “Here’s your huge rectangular block in the middle of the city: now do whatever you like with it.”

The painters on the East side of the Park seemed to capture it better. Besides I was flagging again in spite of my inspired route towards the Guggenheim. Everyone raves about this place and the exterior architecture had always carried me along with that raving. Time for a few arty shots of sweeping curves against an incredibly clear blue sky.

Good plan were it not for the scaffolding that so unceremoniously obscured the Guggenheim’s finest feature. True, inside looked great but I was left more than a little disappointed; that and the admissions costs (given I underuse London’s ‘free’ galleries) rather soured the encounter. Classic Paul piped up, reminding me not only of my exploration first duty (especially given the few hours that remained) but also of other water-bourne opportunities.

Before I knew it I was on the subway headed down town (stopping first to take a picture of William Sonoma for Lauren, a friends episode ringing in my ears). I knew my destination well by now. South of Wall Street, by Battery Park, I’d been here several times in the last 24 hours to meet E, to take the helicopter. If I’d had more time I’d have done the trip to Ellis Island and visited the type of museums I couldn’t see in London. With time running short on this occasion I stepped through the swish new Staten Island ferry terminal. Any excuse to be on the water even if only for a return trip.

I suppose I expected it to be a little more like Hong Kong’s Star Ferry i.e. rather more frequent. In spite of what seemed a long wait there’s something about a working ferry rather than a pleasure craft. That’s the way I’d like to commute to the office.

No time to see what limited attractions my Lonely Planet meekly recommended on the Island; a quick return trip and it was back to business. In particular the business of getting back to London. Everything then happened so quickly; a few choice purchases left in the flat along with a note than said as much as I dared and less than I wanted. Dropping the keys back at E’s office my words stumbled. Wanting to say even a grateful thanks inhibited by the corporate surrounding and work facade. I retreated, unsure whether I’d done the visit or myself justice.

JFK and I write a final blog entry on American soil. It’s not particularly well written or lucid and it’s probably not going to be posted but it was at least honest.

The End.

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