My commute on Thursday showed a marked change from the Wednesday commute.
On my way up from the train, I saw that the line for the shuttle bus was much less crowded than Wednesday. I was a couple of hours later, so it could have been that too.
Again, I skipped the shuttle bus and hoofed it across the Manhattan Bridge. I could definitely feel yesterday's 10+ mile commute and my pace felt brutally slow. There were more people crossing the street by daylight but by the time I got to Canal Street I could see that most stores were still closed, but a couple of places had found generators and I saw one of the stalls had reopened in complete darkness. It was not a huge improvement, but it was a sure sign of life.
I turned up Sixth Avenue and my legs gave out. I saw a line for the bus and hoped to catch one uptown. After three packed buses went by I gave up and started walking. I walked up to the village and saw that Grey's Papaya had opened to serve hot dogs (gas stove). None of the $1 pizza joints seemed to be open yet.
It was at Lenny's Bagels on 6th that I saw my first real sign of life. It wasn't the tourists or electricity, but rather the fact that Lenny's was giving away a sandwich and drink to anyone who walked by. I wish I knew who paid for it. It was a site to behold. New Yorkers of all stripes were standing around having a snack and talking. I grabbed a cup of coffee and listened to the stories of the workers who were fixing buildings and removing debris. I heard moms and dads talking about normal everyday things to their kids in strollers. It felt like the first edges of community reappearing.
The power turned on in the 20s as I headed north to rehearsal. By the time I got to 34th Street, all memories of the quiet was gone and New York City was in full swing.
After the early end to rehearsal I walked over to Lexington and 52nd Street to catch the shuttle bus back. The line wrapped around the block and after about a half hour I found myself standing on a packed, jerking bus racing its way down to the Manhattan Bridge.
The trip was much less eventful than Wednesday and I could see that power had been restored to more swaths of the city. I saw lights all down St. Marks and then through to Chinatown.
Oddly enough, the commute ended up taking 3 hours in (thanks to my exhausted legs and the lack of bus services) and just over 2 hours home. exhilarating exhilarating I definitely did not want to repeat that night run. As exhilarating as it was to experience the solitude and darkness of a city, I don't think I had the physical endurance to make it safely back.
As I mentioned, the next post will be some thoughts and reflections that Kitty and I have shared with each other as we have lived through the hurricane.
Saturday, November 03, 2012
Silence in the City
As you all know, Kitty and I have spent the last few years living and loving our life in New York City. Our brownstone has been our base of operations for the past five years and many of our adventures have been documented on this blog.
On Monday, our family lived through our very first hurricane. We were abundantly blessed as we did not have any damage to our home, loss of power or even internet service. Seeing the devastation of lower Manhattan and New Jersey was an experience is cognitive dissonance. Our lives have been normal in almost every way, while the lives of friends and co-workers have been disrupted beyond anything I wish to imagine.
Despite our blessings, life has changed dramatically for us in New York City.
On Wednesday I had to get to an appointment and then rehearsal in the city. As you know, the trains only go so far as Brooklyn near the bridges. From there, you have to get a shuttle bus to go across a bridge and then get to points in Manhattan.
When I came out in the sunshine of the day at Jay Street Metrotech station, I was greeted by the largest crowd I had ever seen. All were waiting on line for the shuttle. I could see the line was moving fairly quickly, but I could not find the end.
I knew that this would be a possibility and I had left the house in running gear and with the minimum supplies for the day. Armed with that and an opera-singers almost pathological need for self-determination, I turned left and followed Jay Street to the pedestrian entrance to the Manhattan Bridge.
I picked up pace to an easy run and it took about ten minutes to cross the bridge to Canal Street. Following the vacant thoroughfare of Chinatown to Broadway, I saw every shop gated at 11 a.m. What should have been a packed street was almost devoid of cars, trucks and people.
I followed Broadway up to East 8th Street, running through the hollow streets to East 8th where I cut west to Greenwich and then up to 8th Avenue and 14th Street. No traffic lights or significant number of people presented themselves to slow my pace. In daylight, the city was serene and silent but for the occasional sirens or police convoys.
Only at 31st Street, did I start to see lights of the city again and by 34th Street, the city was almost completely back to normal. There were more police, but otherwise, business carried on as usual.
I spent the rest of the day alternating between my day job and rehearsal. I walked out of the rehearsal space at 7:50 p.m. Darkness had settled over the city and the lights and life of the Lincoln Center area and Broadway prevented any real running pace to be achieved.
I alternated running and walking through the crowds of Columbus Circle, down 8th Avenue where I saw the crane dangling over Carnegie Hall. The trip to 34th Street and 8th Avenue took almost a half hour because of the crowds and occasional police barricades.
It was again at 31st Street, south of Madison Square Gardens, that I felt the scourge again of the hurricane. I ran, lit only by the headlamps of cars down to 23rd Street where there was a large police lighting system set up.
On the dark sidewalks I could pick up my pace and I ran by occasional people trying to live a normal life- walking dogs, going for walks with flashlights and talking on their cellphones on the way back to their homes.
The run down 8th Avenue was lit by flares that marked intersections. Police officers guided traffic. I retraced my steps down Greenwich. The whole street was pitch black, there were no flares and the street was completely deserted. The only lights I saw were Gusto and Fiddlesticks, bars lit entirely by candles. They were so empty and strangely beautiful and inviting that I nearly stopped to go in.
From there, I continued down the flare-lit Sixth Avenue until Canal Street. It was near pitch dark as I followed Canal East to the pedestrian entrance to the Manhattan Bridge. As I moved up the dark west side of the bridge, there were a few more people making the commute in both directions. Almost halfway across, I met the first lights of Brooklyn.
I finally ended up at the Jay Street Metrotech station where I walked onto a train that then took my the last stretch home.
All in all it took about 1.5 hours each way to do the commute.
In my next post, I'll tell you a bit about my Thursday commute. Following that, I'd like to share some of our families reflections on how this experience has colored our experiences of New York.
On Monday, our family lived through our very first hurricane. We were abundantly blessed as we did not have any damage to our home, loss of power or even internet service. Seeing the devastation of lower Manhattan and New Jersey was an experience is cognitive dissonance. Our lives have been normal in almost every way, while the lives of friends and co-workers have been disrupted beyond anything I wish to imagine.
Despite our blessings, life has changed dramatically for us in New York City.
On Wednesday I had to get to an appointment and then rehearsal in the city. As you know, the trains only go so far as Brooklyn near the bridges. From there, you have to get a shuttle bus to go across a bridge and then get to points in Manhattan.
When I came out in the sunshine of the day at Jay Street Metrotech station, I was greeted by the largest crowd I had ever seen. All were waiting on line for the shuttle. I could see the line was moving fairly quickly, but I could not find the end.
I knew that this would be a possibility and I had left the house in running gear and with the minimum supplies for the day. Armed with that and an opera-singers almost pathological need for self-determination, I turned left and followed Jay Street to the pedestrian entrance to the Manhattan Bridge.
I picked up pace to an easy run and it took about ten minutes to cross the bridge to Canal Street. Following the vacant thoroughfare of Chinatown to Broadway, I saw every shop gated at 11 a.m. What should have been a packed street was almost devoid of cars, trucks and people.
I followed Broadway up to East 8th Street, running through the hollow streets to East 8th where I cut west to Greenwich and then up to 8th Avenue and 14th Street. No traffic lights or significant number of people presented themselves to slow my pace. In daylight, the city was serene and silent but for the occasional sirens or police convoys.
Only at 31st Street, did I start to see lights of the city again and by 34th Street, the city was almost completely back to normal. There were more police, but otherwise, business carried on as usual.
I spent the rest of the day alternating between my day job and rehearsal. I walked out of the rehearsal space at 7:50 p.m. Darkness had settled over the city and the lights and life of the Lincoln Center area and Broadway prevented any real running pace to be achieved.
I alternated running and walking through the crowds of Columbus Circle, down 8th Avenue where I saw the crane dangling over Carnegie Hall. The trip to 34th Street and 8th Avenue took almost a half hour because of the crowds and occasional police barricades.
It was again at 31st Street, south of Madison Square Gardens, that I felt the scourge again of the hurricane. I ran, lit only by the headlamps of cars down to 23rd Street where there was a large police lighting system set up.
On the dark sidewalks I could pick up my pace and I ran by occasional people trying to live a normal life- walking dogs, going for walks with flashlights and talking on their cellphones on the way back to their homes.
The run down 8th Avenue was lit by flares that marked intersections. Police officers guided traffic. I retraced my steps down Greenwich. The whole street was pitch black, there were no flares and the street was completely deserted. The only lights I saw were Gusto and Fiddlesticks, bars lit entirely by candles. They were so empty and strangely beautiful and inviting that I nearly stopped to go in.
From there, I continued down the flare-lit Sixth Avenue until Canal Street. It was near pitch dark as I followed Canal East to the pedestrian entrance to the Manhattan Bridge. As I moved up the dark west side of the bridge, there were a few more people making the commute in both directions. Almost halfway across, I met the first lights of Brooklyn.
I finally ended up at the Jay Street Metrotech station where I walked onto a train that then took my the last stretch home.
All in all it took about 1.5 hours each way to do the commute.
In my next post, I'll tell you a bit about my Thursday commute. Following that, I'd like to share some of our families reflections on how this experience has colored our experiences of New York.
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