I used to feel the same way.
It is exhausting to navigate the human traffic. It is a hassle to hail a cab. Even the simple task of eating out requires a reservation. In the day-to-day, minute-to-minute routine that is life, you are constantly rubbing elbows with strangers.
Thus, it came as no surprise when my Australian friend remarked, quite sternly, "This is bloody unreal; I could never live here."
New York City is exhausting, to say the least. As a neat introduction we took a subway uptown, toward the middle of Central Park. Ben had specifically requested a tour of the park, so it was an easy destination. Central Park is deceivingly huge. There are lakes, a zoo, a dairy barn, amphitheaters, sporting grounds, and miles of paths meandering throughout. Aside from being a welcome respite from the urban jungle, Central Park provides the city with clean, natural air. During our stay we heard more than one New Yorker refer to Central Park as the "lungs of the city."
To authenticate the experience, we bought hot dogs from a street vendor and took a seat on a park bench. Here and there above the trees we could see the tops of skyscrapers peeking down. To sit in Central Park is surreal; one can enjoy total uninterrupted peace and quiet, with barely a hint of the megalopolis just outside. Birds sing, a breeze rustles the leaves, here and there a dog barks, and the sound of an outdoor baseball game were the only background murmurs beyond a normal conversation.
Completely switching gears, we changed clothes and headed downtown. One aspect that I have grown to love about Manhattan is the incredible districts, and varieties therein. Manhattan is comprised of individual communities each with their own unique tastes and culture. In spots, one can cross a street and feel as though they have been teleported to a different country.
My sister Sarah, Chris, Ben the Australian, and I arrived at the Meatpacking District and took a stroll along the Highline Park. If ever there is an area that epitomizes the greatness of New York City, it is the Meatpacking District and Highline Park.
This area of Manhattan is so named because of its history in heavy industry. During the Civil War, numerous distilleries used in the production of lamp fuel were located here. By the early 1900s, some 250 slaughterhouses and meat processing warehouses gave the district its name. Completed in 1869, an elevated rail line moved products from the Meatpacking District to distribution centers throughout the city.
Beginning in the 1960s, the Meatpacking District fell into decay. Industry moved elsewhere and warehouses were abandoned. The district became an epicenter for drug dealers and prostitutes. By the year 2000, however, a transformation had taken place. So complete was this makeover, that the Meatpacking District was now a priority destination for our small entourage.
We walked along the Highline Park. Here and there were gritty reminders of Meatpacking's history. Antique brick warehouses now housed chic boutiques, trendy art galleries, hip nightclubs, and stylish restaurants. The very place we walked - Highline Park - was the old elevated rail line, converted into a popular destination for well-dressed hipsters and couples out for a romantic stroll. I marveled at the care designers and architects had used to preserve the history. Weathered advertisements painted a century or more previous still adorned brick walls. The train tracks and some graffiti were still present on the Highline. The use of space and preservation of history was extraordinary; a clear exhibit of New York City's greatness.
As it was now dusk, we departed the Highline for the Standard Biergarten, a German-style alehouse. People looking to grab a beer and lightly socialize patronize this venue. It is probably the first stop in a long night for most. I leaned against a pillar and can only describe it as such: It is set in a large basement. The place is packed. To converse you must shout. Everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, is beautiful. Everyone is dressed to kill. To stand there, sip a beer, and witness this scene can only lead to one inescapable conclusion: "I am in New York."
As if to underscore the point, we left the Biergarten. A nightclub was just opening across the street, with scores of beautiful people lined up outside. As we walked past, a Lamborghini pulled alongside the curb.
Across town a short cab ride away, is a district called the East Village. The East Village is the antithesis of the Meatpacking District. Starving young artists may get a start in this super-gritty, no pretense area of Manhattan. Ben and I could have worn our barn clothes and been considered trendy here.
And, within the small island of Manhattan and amongst her 1.6 million inhabitants is everything in between. Literally, anything you want. On day four in New York City, we bade farewell to my Australian friend. After years of talk and sporadic communication he had made the journey, but now it was time to part ways. After four days in the city, I asked him what he thought of New York. His answer came as no surprise:
"When I make my first million, I am getting an apartment here."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
It is exhausting to navigate the human traffic. It is a hassle to hail a cab. Even the simple task of eating out requires a reservation. In the day-to-day, minute-to-minute routine that is life, you are constantly rubbing elbows with strangers.
Thus, it came as no surprise when my Australian friend remarked, quite sternly, "This is bloody unreal; I could never live here."
New York City is exhausting, to say the least. As a neat introduction we took a subway uptown, toward the middle of Central Park. Ben had specifically requested a tour of the park, so it was an easy destination. Central Park is deceivingly huge. There are lakes, a zoo, a dairy barn, amphitheaters, sporting grounds, and miles of paths meandering throughout. Aside from being a welcome respite from the urban jungle, Central Park provides the city with clean, natural air. During our stay we heard more than one New Yorker refer to Central Park as the "lungs of the city."
To authenticate the experience, we bought hot dogs from a street vendor and took a seat on a park bench. Here and there above the trees we could see the tops of skyscrapers peeking down. To sit in Central Park is surreal; one can enjoy total uninterrupted peace and quiet, with barely a hint of the megalopolis just outside. Birds sing, a breeze rustles the leaves, here and there a dog barks, and the sound of an outdoor baseball game were the only background murmurs beyond a normal conversation.
Completely switching gears, we changed clothes and headed downtown. One aspect that I have grown to love about Manhattan is the incredible districts, and varieties therein. Manhattan is comprised of individual communities each with their own unique tastes and culture. In spots, one can cross a street and feel as though they have been teleported to a different country.
My sister Sarah, Chris, Ben the Australian, and I arrived at the Meatpacking District and took a stroll along the Highline Park. If ever there is an area that epitomizes the greatness of New York City, it is the Meatpacking District and Highline Park.
This area of Manhattan is so named because of its history in heavy industry. During the Civil War, numerous distilleries used in the production of lamp fuel were located here. By the early 1900s, some 250 slaughterhouses and meat processing warehouses gave the district its name. Completed in 1869, an elevated rail line moved products from the Meatpacking District to distribution centers throughout the city.
Beginning in the 1960s, the Meatpacking District fell into decay. Industry moved elsewhere and warehouses were abandoned. The district became an epicenter for drug dealers and prostitutes. By the year 2000, however, a transformation had taken place. So complete was this makeover, that the Meatpacking District was now a priority destination for our small entourage.
We walked along the Highline Park. Here and there were gritty reminders of Meatpacking's history. Antique brick warehouses now housed chic boutiques, trendy art galleries, hip nightclubs, and stylish restaurants. The very place we walked - Highline Park - was the old elevated rail line, converted into a popular destination for well-dressed hipsters and couples out for a romantic stroll. I marveled at the care designers and architects had used to preserve the history. Weathered advertisements painted a century or more previous still adorned brick walls. The train tracks and some graffiti were still present on the Highline. The use of space and preservation of history was extraordinary; a clear exhibit of New York City's greatness.
As it was now dusk, we departed the Highline for the Standard Biergarten, a German-style alehouse. People looking to grab a beer and lightly socialize patronize this venue. It is probably the first stop in a long night for most. I leaned against a pillar and can only describe it as such: It is set in a large basement. The place is packed. To converse you must shout. Everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, is beautiful. Everyone is dressed to kill. To stand there, sip a beer, and witness this scene can only lead to one inescapable conclusion: "I am in New York."
As if to underscore the point, we left the Biergarten. A nightclub was just opening across the street, with scores of beautiful people lined up outside. As we walked past, a Lamborghini pulled alongside the curb.
Across town a short cab ride away, is a district called the East Village. The East Village is the antithesis of the Meatpacking District. Starving young artists may get a start in this super-gritty, no pretense area of Manhattan. Ben and I could have worn our barn clothes and been considered trendy here.
And, within the small island of Manhattan and amongst her 1.6 million inhabitants is everything in between. Literally, anything you want. On day four in New York City, we bade farewell to my Australian friend. After years of talk and sporadic communication he had made the journey, but now it was time to part ways. After four days in the city, I asked him what he thought of New York. His answer came as no surprise:
"When I make my first million, I am getting an apartment here."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
