Found out what Scott got up to after I passed out in the room the night before. Lots of women might have been uneasy with their man out there in the city that never sleeps, not me. Here%26#39;s why. Scott spent the rest of the evening scouting out the streets around the hotel gathering up ammunition for our next round of ';Which Way Now';. Next he walked over to revisit our first New York hotel, the Park Central. Then he got a gyro at the halal cart in front of the Hilton and ate it outside the lobby. The doorman didn%26#39;t approve but Scott didn%26#39;t want to stink up our room. What a guy.
Saturday
January 6, 2007
We woke up to an absolutely stunning day. The extremely silly weatherman told us that there would be sunshine and record highs today. More concern about global warming on the news but I%26#39;ll worry about that when I get home. For now, if I get to have 70 degrees and sunshine in New York in January, bring it on!
We blow most of the morning just loafing around. Our loafing time is significantly increased by the presence of the goodies from the grocery and real creamer for the coffee. This leads to a lot of laying around and talking about what we feel like doing. (We%26#39;re slow enough with nothing but icky black coffee, give us cream and a muffin and I%26#39;m surprised we ever left the room at all.) We were supposed to go to Greenwich Village today but we%26#39;re just not feeling it. We%26#39;ve been before and I don%26#39;t think we%26#39;re Village material. We%26#39;re not hip enough and, besides, there%26#39;s too much shopping there. We did a walking literary tour out of a guide book last time and I found out that even though I like Millay well enough, I don%26#39;t really care about where she lived. Besides, we should do something different this trip.
The weatherman is still going on about global warming and mentions the cherry trees at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Brooklyn! I never considered Brooklyn because most of the stuff there didn%26#39;t look like it would be much fun in January. But it%26#39;s not January today, today it%26#39;s April so we%26#39;re going to Brooklyn.
If we can find it. Out come the maps. The big, easy to read one got all wet last night and has turned into confetti and on the little, hard to read map the subways to Brooklyn look like a silly string convention. We need an expert. But wait, we%26#39;re staying at a Hilton. They have a concierge. It%26#39;s her job to help us out. For once I know the right person to ask.
We have to get directions to the concierge desk, that%26#39;s how big the Hilton lobby is. Once there I ask the lady at the desk for directions to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. I might as well have been asking how to get to Ullan Bator. She had never heard of the Promenade. How can that be? In all of New York the only person who couldn%26#39;t help me with directions was the concierge at the New York Hilton. We were on our own, and that%26#39;s not a good thing.
It%26#39;s all a big blur. We started out for the High St. station in Brooklyn and did okay until we got to the place where we planned to change to the A line which would take us on to Brooklyn. We easily found the platform for the A and celebrated our little victory while we waited for our train. And waited and waited and waited. Trains were pull up and heading out from the other tracks with commendable regularity but the A track remained empty. I don%26#39;t know how long we stood there but it was quite a while. Long enough for it to occur to me that there might be some sort of problem with our train. It took a while to figure out and I had to bother several strangers but here goes: The A train was running, just not on the A track. The A train is running on the C track. It%26#39;s the C train that%26#39;s broken. The A train is making the C train stops and is on the C train track but it%26#39;s still the A train. Don%26#39;t bother looking for the C train, it ain%26#39;t coming. Got that? If you do then you%26#39;re way ahead of us.
While all this was going on I had been thinking about the cherry trees. That%26#39;d be something nice to see. I could see the cherry trees in DC if I wanted to but that would mean staying with my brother and sister-in-law. My sister-in-law Miriam is one of those horribly good people. She speaks five languages and carries her garbage back to Maryland with her when she stays with us. She%26#39;s passionately committed to composting and it hurts her to watch me push the left-over red beans down the garbage disposal. When we stay with them she feeds Scott organic vegetarian food and takes exception to his politics. I think it would be better to see the cherry trees in Brooklyn.
I%26#39;ve got the big subway map sitting in front of me right now and I still can%26#39;t figure out what we did or why. I remember the Hoyt-Schermerhorn station. I just can%26#39;t figure out why we were there. It was a long and confusing roundabout trip to the Botanic Garden but we got to see some lovely graffiti along the way.
I was expecting to have to pay admission at the Gardens but they were just letting people walk right in. The sweet lady at the entrance even gave us a map but we didn%26#39;t bother with it (Let%26#39;s face it. What use would it have been?), and just followed another couple down to the cherry trees. I probably I should say cherry tree, because we only saw the one. I think the rain yesterday might have done a bit of damage to the Cherry Walk. The Japanese Tea Garden was lovely though. The rest of the garden was a little bare which I guess would be normal for January. Still we had a nice time walking around in the incredibly warm sunshine and that evening my cherry tree was on the news. Neat.
(I later found out that there are several beautiful greenhouses we could have visited if only we%26#39;d looked at the map. I can%26#39;t win with maps.)
By now our morning muffins have worn off and we were ready for a late lunch so we said goodbye to the cherry tree and made our way back up the street to the subway. On the way we passed the Brooklyn Museum which I happen to know has some lovely reconstructions of historic New York interiors. I%26#39;d love to go in but Scott picks up the pace as we pass and has this grim and determined look on his face so I just keep my big yap shut for once. A man can only take so many museums in one vacation.
We do much better with the subway on the way to Brooklyn Heights and find Grimaldi%26#39;s with a minimum of bickering and backtracking. There%26#39;s a line out the door but it doesn%26#39;t matter much because it%26#39;s such an unbelievably gorgeous day and we%26#39;re inside in twenty minutes or so. The seating arrangements inside Grimaldi%26#39;s are rather, um, intimate for our taste, but I figure that if people are willing to put up with sitting elbow to elbow just for a pizza it must be good. It%26#39;s so tight that when we are seated at one of the middle tables everyone has to stand up to let us in. The decor%26#39;s a tad on the casual side with what looked like a Frank Sinatra tribute on the wall closest to us. We notice that they carry Brooklyn Brewery beer so we decide to give it a try. Scott got a lager, I had the pilsner and we shared a pepperoni pizza. To tell the truth I didn%26#39;t believe all the hype about Brooklyn pizza. I%26#39;m a lazy cook and we%26#39;re probably some of Pizza Hut%26#39;s top customers. I was expecting more of the same stuff and I%26#39;m glad to say that I was wrong, really, really wrong. Our pizza was scrumptious. I think for me it was the cheese and the crust. Sooo much better than the mass-produced (Do you want Pizza Hut or McDonald%26#39;s tonight, dear?) stuff that we get back at home. Very yummy.
After the pizza it%26#39;s time for some ice cream. Another line at the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory and we see some of our old friends from the line back at Grimaldi%26#39;s there. Seems like everyone had the same idea this afternoon. Inside Scott gets a scoop of vanilla chocolate chunk (or something like that) and I had the strawberry. The ice cream was good but the best part was eating it out on the Promenade and watching the boats cruising the East River with the Manhattan skyscrapers all shimmery in the afternoon sunshine. (I know how hokey that sounded but it was that great. I mean, here I am outside in New York in the middle of the winter walking around in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt eating ICE CREAM! ).
It was hard to leave the Promenade but we wanted to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge before it got too dark so we had to go. Walking across the bridge is fun not just for the sights you see but also for the people. There were lots of tourists like us but there were also lots of people who looked like they were walking back home from work or after a day out in the city. We saw guys in suits and young couples holding hands and families with strollers. I was bowled over by how cool it must be just to stroll over to New York City for the day. There was even a pair of newlyweds having their wedding photos made. There were lots of cyclists too and, let me tell you, they%26#39;re a scary bunch. If you%26#39;ve never walked on the Brooklyn Bridge you need to know that there are two separate lanes on it, one for pedestrians and one for bikes. Whatever you do STAY OUT OF THE BIKE LANE !!!!! These guys are not kidding around. If you should just happen to stray ever so slightly into the bike lane while, oh lets say trying to get a picture of your hubby with the Statue of Liberty in the background, you WILL get yelled at by a skinny guy in neon blue spandex. And no one will have any sympathy for you. So don%26#39;t do it.
From the bridge it was a shortish walk to the subway station and a slightly longer one to our hotel, but at least we didn%26#39;t get lost. Not getting lost was just another one of the great things that happened to us because I don%26#39;t think that we could have stood it. Out feet were steaming. I had had a rather special moment on the subway though. You see, Scott collects beer bottles (Surprising, I know.) and he particularly wanted a Brooklyn Brewery bottle to add to his collection. Since he didn%26#39;t have a coat and it wouldn%26#39;t fit in my going-to-the-museum purse I was carrying his bottle tucked inside the jacket draped over my arm. While we were walking over to the bridge I dropped the bottle and broke off the top. No problem, I%26#39;ll just glue it back together when we get home. Everything would have been fine if I had just noticed how my jacket had slipped. There I am on the train, thinking about how glad I am to have a seat, when all of a sudden I notice that I%26#39;m the center of attention. On the New York subway, where no one ever ';sees'; anyone else, people are staring at me, me, of all people. That%26#39;s because, there I am, a boring, middle-aged rather frumpy looking woman apparently brandishing a jagged, broken beer bottle. I don%26#39;t know if they were frightened or just plain confused. I thought about explaining but decided to just let it go.
We made it back to the Hilton, Scott, me and my deadly weapon, all safe and sound. There%26#39;s no way to make what happened next sound elegant so I%26#39;ll just say it. Our feet hurt. They hurt very, very badly. Really bad, so we filled up the tub with scalding water, sat on the edge of it, and soaked our tired, aching tootsies while drinking BudLight out of the Cajun Ice Chest. You can take the girl out of Louisiana...
The rest of the evening was just about as exciting. We eventually hauled our par-boiled feet out of the tub and attempted to go out. We got as far as Rockefeller Center where we saw the big tree and the rink. We%26#39;d intended to do more but we were just too tired and, besides, the playoffs were on. So, party animals that we are, we returned to the hotel and I went up to the room while Scott stood in the long, long line at the halal cart to buy our dinner. If you%26#39;re ever staying in the vicinity of the Hilton you should definitely give the halal cart a try. Ten dollars bought us more food than we could ever have hoped to eat and it was pretty good too. I had the chicken and rice and Scott the combo plate. It%26#39;s a lot of food. We could easily have shared. I%26#39;d be careful with the red sauce though. Scott and I like our food spicy and we found it a bit much. Take a little taste before you drizzle it all over your lamb because your wife won%26#39;t give you her chicken just because you wouldn%26#39;t listen when she told you it was hot.
Well, that%26#39;s about it for Saturday. (I can%26#39;t believe it%26#39;s already been a week!) One day, one installment. I%26#39;ll bet you didn%26#39;t think I could do it.
Jennifer
Our Anniversary Trip-Day 3 (Brooklyn Bound)
Glad you made it to Brooklyn, I highly recommend it. Did you actually make it to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, or were you by Fulton Landing near the ice cream factory? Too bad Scott did not want to check out the Brooklyn Museum, it is very nice. Very funny passage about your sister-in-law.
I can%26#39;t believe the concierge did not know where the Brooklyn Promenade is.....that is just crazy.
And yes, those bikers are an aggressive bunch, aren%26#39;t they? They get quite testy, so just stay on your side of the road, ok?
Jennifer, your reports are wonderful.
Our Anniversary Trip-Day 3 (Brooklyn Bound)How many days were you here for again? I%26#39;m hoping you%26#39;re still here so I can keep reading these reports...day 4...day...8....day 10!
OK, I would freak out if some lady got on the subway holding a broken beer bottle. Hilarious.
And, how does one ';glue'; broken glass back together? Not to dismiss your efforts, but did you ever think to just stop by a deli near your hotel and pick up a bottle of Brooklyn Lager? And how in God%26#39;s name did they let you back on the plane with a deadly weapon?
I%26#39;m glad you loved Grimaldi%26#39;s....have you ordered Pizza Hut since?
Keep these awesome trip reports coming, and congrats on the Saints!!!
NYCgirl:
I don%26#39;t know where we were. If you told me it was Tampa I%26#39;d have to take your word for it. From your description it sounds like the Fulton Ferry Landing. It was very pretty though.
NYCSoxFan:
Just any old bottle won%26#39;t do. It has to be a bottle attatched to some sort of memory, like a Lone Star bottle from the Paseo del Rio in San Antonio or a Labatt%26#39;s bottle from the little place in Mt. Tremblant in Quebec where we had lunch, that sort of thing. I%26#39;m hoping my mother, who is much more domestic than I, will be able to help me with the gluing. If you stuff a broken bottle with paper towels (easy when the top is missing) you can wrap it up in dirty clothes and send it on in the checked luggage. At least that%26#39;s what I did.
And no, we haven%26#39;t had any pizza yet.
Jennifer
Jennifer, if you were eighty feet over the level of the river, with the back gardens of the mansions on the street immediately behind you, and a highway underneath you cantilevered into the wall of the bluff, you were on the Promenade. If you were at river level, with a handsome fence that had worked into it the words of Walt Whitman%26#39;s ';Crossing Brooklyn Ferry';, you were at the Fulton Ferry landing.
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