New York: Overwhelmingly not Perth

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Wading through bustling crowds in the middle of Manhattan on my second day in New York, I couldn’t help but long for home.

Perhaps it was the 26 hours of flying? It might have been the sheer volume or the attitude of some of people, or even my initial misadventures of the train system (these continue and will probably do so until I come home), but the big city felt like it was going to swallow me whole and feed my remains to the subway rats.*

The first day, having set out to reach Manhattan Island, I inadvertently took a walking tour of the Bronx – lovely in its own right but the opposite direction to where I needed to be. I’ve since repeated this mistake, most recently at 2 in the morning after returning from a trip out of town to view several thousand pumpkins pretty late at night. I’ll elaborate on that experience another time.

Everybody is different, but I’ve found the key to enjoying New York (and I really am – go Cubs!) as a solo traveller to be accepting that you’re not going to fit and watching it all go by.

Below is a list of unexpected observations I’ve made from doing just that. See below.

NY vs brunch:

Honestly from what I’ve heard come out of the mouths of passers-by it feels like brunch is almost as contentious an issue for New Yorkers as the upcoming election. Signs at restaurants and corner stores around the city emphasise its presence and everything I’ve read online suggest it to be one of New York’s greatest assets. However, the word on the street states otherwise. I’ve overheard three conversations about brunch, all of which had negative undertones. One guy walking home from an ice hockey game was frustrated by brunch because it threw out the balance between breakfast and lunch. One young professional on the subway hated brunch food but liked the idea of being able to drink in the day (??).

“Fuck hollandaise,” she proclaimed loudly on the train. Her friends/colleagues/train peers concurred, and a half-baked apology to anyone who didn’t share her views within earshot seemed to fall on deaf, anti-brunch ears.

I’m going to go for brunch on the weekend and explore this phenomenon in more depth. Stay tuned.

Sport sport sport sport:

New Yorkers seem from the outside to have a really insular pride in what their city stands for and what it means to live in New York. Nowhere does this manifest itself more prominently than in the passionate support of sport fans living in the big city. It’s near impossible to board a train without coming across a Yankees hat, a Mets shirt or a Rangers beanie, and while I’m sure there are plenty (probably several million) people living in New York with no interest in sport, these people are understandably harder to spot.

I’m doing a Rangers game tomorrow and a Nets game on election day. Is Linsanity still a thing? Are some sports greater than others?  I’ll probably gain some more insight into these pressing matters over the coming days.

Cultural diversity:

Maybe I was ignorant coming in, but from the outside New York comes across far more culturally diverse than I ever expected. Entire neighbourhoods, including the one I’m staying in, are essentially multi-lingual, and significant communities of people from all over the world have built lives for themselves in the Big Apple. It’s really impressive, and unlike anything I’ve really seen in any other major city I’ve visited. I don’t know how a wall would impact that but I can’t imagine it would help.

I’m enjoying New York from the outside, and despite a lack of real conversation I figure that’s where I’d like to stay. There’s so much more to write but this is already at 650+ words, so I’ll save it for the coming week. Thanks for reading.

 

*Rat City: I was keeping a tally of the amount of rats and squirrels I saw but then I went into the subway at night and couldn’t even count all of the rats. They’re physically huge as well. It’s comforting to know there’s plenty of support around should some adolescent turtles happen to find themselves exposed to chemicals and mutated.

On the other end of the spectrum I’ve seen three squirrels so far. Hoping Central Park will help balance the ledger slightly in the coming days.

Dogs and a plane

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*Disclaimer: sport stuff*

They say every dog has its day, but until this weekend there were surely some long-suffering Western Bulldogs fans wondering whether there was any truth to the phrase.

In breaking its 62-year premiership drought on Saturday, Footscray captured the hearts of millions of neutral footy fans like myself, watching on because I suppose that’s just what people do on Grand Final day.

I can only imagine what it would actually mean to the die-hard fans, many of whom have waited their entire lives to see the Bulldogs play in a Grand Final, to watch their club finally bring home the cup again.

For the players and their families – the club has a high ratio of second generation footballers – it might well be the ultimate experience.

These are people who have dedicated blood, sweat, tears and all of the other sporting clichés to the cause of a club which until Saturday had just one success to show for some 90 years of history.

Sport doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, and fair enough. Remove the emotion and the narrative of the experience and you’re left with a field full of people chasing a ball around for two hours.

The beauty of the 2016 Grand Final was the absolute strength of the narrative – even those who don’t understand the allure of sport might have felt something other than boredom in watching it.

It was remarkable, and a reminder of why people choose to play the game despite all the running and jumping and skills required.

Ten years ago I was actually lucky enough to play in a junior football premiership with a bunch of really talented people who are no doubt as proud as I am at this point.

I haven’t kicked a footy for about five years, and even if I had this day in 2006 is the closest I’ll ever get to playing in an AFL flag.

Fortunately the same doesn’t go for everyone in the team. Yesterday’s Norm Smith Medallist was also a 14-year-old kid running around in a Willetton jumper against Bull Creek-Leeming that day.

Watching Jason Johannisen carve up on the biggest stage of all was phenomenal, and testament to the years of hard work and sacrifice he’s put in in pursuit of his dreams.

Yesterday he led the Dogs to the least likely premiership of the modern era – a win for the ages from seventh on the ladder. It was no under-14s premiership but it sure came close.

I don’t usually bet to the point where I had to ask the man at the TAB for help filling out the piece of paper, but like many people I know I did have a bit of sentimental cash on Jason to win the Norm Smith.

The profit is more than enough to cover return flights between New York and LA, so if it happens I guess I’ll have JJ and his Doggies to thank.

Still no word on that front, though.