I just returned from two weeks in Los Angeles. LA is a strange place but the trip was wothwhile. Waking up to the sounds of birds chirping, I spent my days singing in masterclasses and taking yoga and practicing the Alexander Technique. Northridge, CA, at 6:15 a.m., is a quiet place when you are running around a college campus. In the evenings, you don't notice much traffic when you are reading by the pool.
Getting back to NYC was a shock. I awoke last Sunday to the birds shrieking in the trees. They were just talking to each other, but compared to the birds of LA they were loudmouthed braggarts, comparing the size of their beaks and calling out to all the girl birds that flew by.
My first trip down to the subway made my ears bleed. There was an alarm going off at the very far end of the platform and when an A Express went by, I jumped out of my skin. The rattle went right through me.
Coming out of the station at 50th and 8th on Monday morning, I was assaulted by the grating sounds of street vendors, people on cell phones and the pounding of jackhammers. It seemed so loud that I could see the noise as it peeled off of the slamming taxi doors and bounced off of the tall buildings, focusing into needles that entered my skull.
After a few days, I began to acclimate to the sounds again. Even now, though, I will get a chill from two cars having a fender bender and wince at the sound of a slamming newspaper box.
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