We’ve walked around the city a bit, though not so much as when I was visiting with my partner and her father to find our apartment. Walking around midtown Manhattan was not a pleasant time for me. There are people everywhere, and, at the wrong times, there are a lot more people than that, in large groups travelling around, and it’s a great big pain in the butt. I have a distinct distaste for visiting typical tourist attractions because of the crowding and the oblivious visitors. Midtown takes it to a whole new level. There might be a special piece of hell reserved for me where I am forced to walk crowded routes through that mess, over and over again for all of eternity.
The intent crowds of locals and tourists prevent you from doing one thing safely, which is simply to look up. For a small-town kid like me, it’s entrancing how high these buildings reach. I find myself disbelieving that they could possibly be occupied. They’re new and fresh to me, even though most of them aren’t fresh or new. I have seen them plenty now, and the towers of Manhattan still appear unreal.
When you have a view that allows you to observe those towers (which is surprisingly often), there is always a moderate haze, particularly from a distance. There is space high above the ground that my mind knows should be filled with nothing but sky, yet grey and tan walls stand erect, sharp and perfect in their geometry.
There are signs and architecture and all sorts of interesting messages up in those altitudes. As for the big-city dweller, I see lots of people never look up, effectively rendering the towers’ terrible heights pointless, save for those who can afford to live at the top. The haze surrounding them plays on the mind—but they are not a dream or an illusion or any other such contrivance. The towers of Manhattan stand there, evanescent and out of the minds of the people shuffling about on the earth below.
I thank all-that-is-good-and-right that I do not live there. My neighborhood is in Queens, and it’s called Flushing. There are tall buildings, but rarely anything more than nine or ten stories. Our own apartment building has a mere eight floors. There are a couple tall hotels on Main street, and a few taller structures being built contain floors numbering, likely, in the 20s. I find it a lot less intimidating and a lot less bizarre.
What I did have for a few days, I think, is culture shock. I mean, there’s the whole big-city thing, but there is also the lack of English thing. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m sure most everyone here speaks plenty of English, but I hear a lot less of it as I walk around. When we go shopping or whatever, almost all of the signs are in Chinese first and English second. Some are in Korean. On occasion, they have no English.
I have been to countries where my language is not the one spoken, and walking around Flushing felt exactly the same. I even felt those same anxieties and fears of offending someone or getting into some sort of situation that’s difficult to solve because of language barriers. I took Chinese classes in college, but I’ve forgotten almost everything, and I can read even less. I’ve looked around a little in search of Chinese lessons for adults, but to no avail. My partner and I went to a bank to speak with one of the financial office people, and he thought that was interesting. He thought that may be because most people in the neighborhood want to learn English. That made sense, but it’s a terrible shame.
I’m trying not to develop a complex where I see opportunities for language learning as only something privileged people can access. I mean, there are Chinese classes at Queen’s college; are college students the only adults that get to learn a foreign language with a teacher? The problem exists in Harrisonburg, as well. I couldn’t tell you where to learn Spanish, if you wanted to learn more about your community, maybe help with education or social work…I couldn’t say. Sorry, you have to pay the price for being a decent human being in a culture that doesn’t care. The library has software for you to use, but otherwise you’re on your own kid.
Flushing is also home to Flushing Meadows/Corona Park. Honestly, I’m not sure which name is the park’s name because both of them are everywhere. Apparently, this completely gorgeous park was the site of the 1964 World’s Fair. The massive, chrome sculpture of the globe still stands as the park’s center piece, fountains of water abound. I was pleased to see that it shone quite brightly. I thought the thing was relatively new until I learned otherwise. It was so hot that day that park authorities allowed kids to run around underneath the sculpture so they get soaked in the fountains.
Also in the park resides Arthur Ashe Stadium. The U.S. Open is going on this week in said stadium. We believed that we might see an unfortunate rise in congestion on Main Street during the Open, but we have been pleasantly surprised. The problem is some seriously late bus routes at night, and I can’t honestly confirm that the Open actually caused the delays. On the news this morning, I saw an interview with a Queens community member trying to advocate for the borough. He talked about most people coming to New York for the U.S. Open tend to stay in Manhattan, and how those same visitors should consider actually staying in Queens because it’s closer and a bit cheaper. I wonder how many Queens residents watched in agreement and how many wished he just shut the hell up.
I plan to go the park more often. There is a moderately closer park, but it is little more than a mowed field with a tiny foot path and two baseball diamonds (one might be for softball, I’m not sure) that look like they haven’t been used in a season or two. unkempt and homeless people. There is some martial arts training that I might develop the courage to practice outside, in a park, but that is definitely going to be Flushing Meadows, if anywhere. That will have to wait for the Open to be over. I’m avoiding that area until then.
Little Robot in a Giant City 