The World Trade Center and Coming Home
After the UN, we went to Grand Central Station to watch the laser light show on the ceiling. It highlighted the way to tell who's a tourist and who's a local. Wherever you go in New York, the locals are always looking forwards (and not quite focusing on anything) just looking where they're going, while the tourists spend all their time looking up!
I liked my 'I'm a local' look (hey, it worked on Sarah) but the bit that let me down was the baseball cap. Wearing one stops your upward peripheral vision. So in New York, it only makes you look like a local if on every corner YOU DON'T LOOK UP IN THE AIR going 'WHOA!' as more and more building appears from under the peak of your cap!
We split up after that and I went south to see the World Trade Center site. I caught the subway and miraculously managed to find myself in almost the right place (it has the most confusing system of letters and numbers to say which line is which - it was easier in bloody Tokyo!)
When I got to the site, it hit me how real the September 11th thing is. Seeing the replays on TV (I didn't see it live as I was asleep between 2 nightshifts) and having seen all the social, religious, political and military ramifications since, I realised it all stemmed from this fucking big hole in the middle of Manhattan.
It was sobering and eerie walking around the huge site lit with its massive floodlamps. All the arguments about it originally being the fault of American Neo-colonialism and all the questions we should be asking (being good Guardian readers and accepting nothing happens in a vacuum etc) and of course taking into account...
None of it seemed to matter. I like New York, it didn't grow on me, it didn't hit me as being great, I feel like I just slotted right in. I think it has the same soul or spirit as London (if you accept the Pratchettion notion of cities being alive) all of which shut up my inquisitive brain. When I went into work in London on the night of September 11th, any fears I had for my safety dissipated when I realised this is my city, I know it well, if anything happens I'll know where to run. The thought of being in danger in London was scarier than actually being there, knowing the 'if' isn't 'now'.
Looking up at how tall I imagined the towers must have been and seeing the still scarred surrounding buildings, it hit me that the 'if' actually happened. And it happened right here. But how could it? Here feels so 'normal'?
I caught the subway into the Village (which is the Camden/Haight Ashbury of Manhattan) and had some dinner there before heading back to the apartment.
***
I woke up the next morning in my dorm, Last Day. Fuck. My last fucking day of my trip.
Shit.
All day I did the christmas shopping I'd been putting off, it was so busy but at least I'm in New York.
That night I'd said to Stephan, Krista and Kirsty that it was my last night and I should get very drunk. Will they help me? Stephan agreed, we said we'd try the bar downstairs the girls on reception had recommend. Krista and Kirsty had unfortunately met an NYPD cop and were going out with him (looking very nervous being 2 years younger than the legal drinking age) We had a few drinks in the apartment though then went for some dinner before Stephan and I went to the bar.
We walked in and there was only two blokes at the bar so we sat up there and ordered the drinks. I'd seen Absolut Vanilla in a couple of places but hadn't tried it. I'd also been drinking a lot of Vodka and Cranberrys recently so I had an Absolut Vanilla and Cranberry. Its was bloody gorgeous! It tasted like Alcoholic Rhubarb and Custard sweets!
The barman was a bit camp, but fair enough. Actually, the two other guys in there were on the 'bitch' side of 'butch'... And theres a picture of Liza Minelli on the wall?
Oh Fuck. My last night and I've walked into a fucking Gay Bar! Er... with another dude... and ordered probably the gayest drink in the world!
My first impulse was to leave, then wondered why? The music was actually pretty good and there wasn't too much chance of pulling in another bar as Stephen was attached (and would be no good as a wingman) and I was planning on drinking myself from melancholy to fucked in the shortest possible route! And besides, the music was pretty good! And actually, its not often I get to feel like the toughest bloke in the bar...
Anyway, after a while the Swiss girls from reception turned up and while they and Stephen sat there chatting in German, I made the best of the barman giving me doubles to keep us all in there. I think I managed to drop in the one bit of German I know. I only know how to say it, (not to spell it) but it roughly translates to 'I'm Drunk and I'm talking Shit...' We moved on to another pub but by that time I think I'd been trying to drink three vodkas for every beer they were having, you know those Swiss just don't have that suicidal binge drinking attitude we Brits have!? Anyway, I went home about 3am after vomitting in the toilets.
***
Last day.
Last fucking Day.
Got to JFK airport about 7 hours early for my 10pm flight. I was planning to head back to DC for my last night to meet the G man and Matt and Murphy for 'Bastard's Big Bloody Blowout Bastarding Bash' (or something like that). They'd cancelled unfortunately as they'd booked to go to Miami to see the Philly Eagles whip the Dolphins. I'd looked at my scribble on the ticket for the flight from DC not New York...
Dumbarse.
I sat in the departure lounge having read my magazines cover to cover and started scribbling."17:45 Thursday 11 December. 10 months and 11 days after setting off from Heathrow. What am I feeling? (Apart from being a dumbarse) Well, frustrated. Frustrated and Resigned. I had visions of this right now being a lot more emotional, more melodramatic. I was gonna have to be dragged kicking and screaming through the gate. I was going to write something deep at this point... 'IN my 10 months I've touched the Sky and the Clouds and the Bottom of the sea AND everything in between. I've loved and laughed and....' and all that crap. But to be honest I just don't feel like that. Its just another Terminal, just another gate." I looked up in thought as a girl opposite me did the same. We caught each others gaze and she smiled.
Her name was Beverly. She'd had a shit time in New York. She'd won a weeks holiday here but her mum couldn't make it out here, and her boyfriend was being an arse and may not be a boyfriend by the time she gets back. She was bored of having no one to talk to and hated feeling lonely in her nice hotel. She was on an earlier flight to London so we ended up having a drink and chatting in a bar till she left.
I'd cheered up as I realised that I may have been just as lonely if I'd started in New York on my own, rather than Tokyo, where all us Westerners stuck together as we were seen as outsiders, as 'Gaijin'. I'd stopped feeling frustrated and resigned and carried on writing:
"I can't imagine myself in 'Normality.' The 8.03 from Gidea Park. Queuing for a parking space in concrete Romford. How will I cope? Will I one day breakdown as the 8.03 pulls in as I finally realise its all over? But then I thought that about being here. In the terminal. I'll walk to the plane, not kicking and screaming and without any drama.
Can I take this whole experience with me into everyday life? Can I convert the 'me' now, into my life there? I hope I can transfer my Joi d'vivre of the last 10 months into my modern suburban life. I know i've grown as a person, I feel I've learnt so much about people and life and fear and courage and experience and expectation and that there is always a WHOLE WORLD going on outside the mundane 9 to 5 of everyday life.
I know i'll get the 'post-holiday blues' but then, if I didn't get 'down' then I must not have been doing something right to be so far up! If you want to cheer me up, and if you've enjoyed reading my site then sign my guestbook. Its always good for my ego and I get the feeling I'll need as many kind words as possible quite soon. And it'll let me know I was justified spending so much fucking time and money in internet cafes! ;)kidding
Also if you do see me sobbing at Gidea Park station at 8.03 just give me a little hug and let me cry onto your shoulder, I promise I won't make you too late.
But hopefully there won't be any need to! Theres still so much I haven't seen and I'm sure there's scope for WTLB2:Return of the Bastard or Bastard Strikes Back... TIll then I've got my Dad's 50th in Ireland which should be good. If I remember my Epicurus, I have everything I need in life at home, I have nothing which will cause me 'pain' or 'discomfort'. I really am a Lucky Bastard!"
At that I put my pen in my bag and checked my boarding pass as they announced my plane was ready.
I was ready too.
I walked through the gate and sat at my seat for my flight back home.
The plane came into land at Heathrow the next morning.
As the wheels touched the tarmac I just thought FUCK!
It's all over.
I feel Sick.