And there’s nothing short a’ dying
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
If you are a Johnny Cash fan, then you’ll recognize the words from ‘Sunday Morning’. If not, then they are still a great set of lyrics. And on the Sunday morning before Christmas, sitting in a hotel box-room, in New York, they felt just about right. The Christmas shopping trip to Maceys had been a shambles, and we had no desire to look any further. Other plans that we might have had, were gone. And we were thinking of doing the same.
It was early. We were in no rush, and the room was ours until mid-day. Central Park was only a short walk away, so we thought “Why not?”
Coats on – at eight on a December morning, New York can be bitterly cold. I stuck my camera in my jacket pocket, and off we went. At least, the sun was shining …
Many of the town houses and apartments on 87th Street were decorated with Christmas wreaths, and sprigs of festive glitter. I thought that a Mercedes with a ‘hood ornament’ was worth a snapshot. One up on comic noses and car bras! They even had flower beds, set in the pavement, with what seemed to be the New York flower. Ornamental cabbages. We liked them.
All the tourist rush of the previous night was gone. The occasional car, the odd pedestrian, and us. We knew when we were near the park. Our noses made that plain. New Yorkers take their dogs for a walk in the park, and they have one little corner where they – the dogs, that is – all go. I presume that they clean up regularly, but dozens of productive dogs in one quarter acre, give you an experience of Central Park that you could hardly miss. At least, being extremely civilised, the pooches did their bit in the designated pooh area, not in the rest of the park.
We headed south through the park, swinging down around the Great Lawn. Joggers, dog walkers, strollers and the ever-present Central Park maintenance team. Never obtrusive, just quietly doing the work. If you are a New Yorker, this is where you socialize. Dog meet dog. Walker meets walker. “See you same time tomorrow” Dogs of all shapes and sizes. People of all social groups. There might have been a preponderance of refugees from a male chorus line in a Mel Brooks comedy, or perhaps I was reading more into the local accents than was justified. After all, my previous experience of New York was more Jimmy Cagney and Doris Day.
We did the walk, like everyone else. Hand in hand, and chatting about the view. Park benches! Now here’s something we found, and liked. In Britain, a park bench with a brass plaque means someone has died, and the bench is their memorial. Central Park – the brass plaques commemorate everything. Births, deaths, marriages and engagements. Friendships and family. You can pick just about any reason to justify a brass plaque. Why wait until you’re gone. We watched the squirrels, the birds, the clouds and the trees. In a crowded city, green is good.
After a while, we came out of the park at the Natural History Museum. The one featured in the film. Teddy Roosevelt sits out front on his horse. It is his museum, after all. Flanked by topiary dinosaurs, you have to admire the American sense of apt. And despite what you saw in the film, he is NOT wearing his hat! Robin Williams must surely have suffered from a cold head, because he never part with his Teddy hat in the film.
As we wandered back towards Broadway, and our hotel, we found a street market behind the museum. Organic vegetables and home-made pie. I can skip the veg – but the pie was irresistable. Our reward for braving the chill. I could truly say that I nearly froze my butt off. Several days of Nissan and a New York City winter were having their toll. We were leaving, but the discomfort still remains. (apologies to Simon and Garfunkel)
Hunger had set upon us, and we retired to the first available diner for a huge New York breakfast. A brief encounter at the door with an old Jewish couple with fine clothes and immaculate manners let us know where the real New York can be found, Forget the tourist traps and the gaudy delights of big city shops and Broadway performances. The real New York likes to take a Sunday Stroll in Central Park. They might sound like the cast of ‘Blazing Saddles’, and Mel Brooks would probably blend invisibly with them, but they are real people.
And we had found a New York that we really liked.
