Back in April 2017, I went down to New York for the weekend. This was my last trip down of its kind, so to speak, and I thought it might be fun to commemorate the occasion by writing ('writing') about it.
I left early that Friday morning like any
For most of that weekend, I liberally took notes. Some of them were even... good. But it occurred to me that there was nothing New York about most of it. I decided against writing and opted instead to try and sprinkle the half-assembled (digital) scribbles into my future thinking, talking, or writing. Had I taken the notes on paper, I probably would have thrown them away - instead, I just saved a file in the deep recesses of my Gmail account.
A short while later, I wrote a quick post about Joan Didion's South and West: From a Notebook. This book claimed to be a series of notes and observations for two pieces Didion never wrote - one about a trip south, another about a trip west.
Being the humble sort that I am - and knowing that New York is south and west of Boston - there was only one logical thing to do next.
5:44 A.M.
Huh?
6:01 A.M.
Goodness.
6:17 A.M.
I'm up, I'm up!
Atul Gawande - travel expert
My experience reading Atul Gawande's Checklist Manifesto several years ago changed my life in a number of ways. This groggy morning, I reap the benefits of perhaps my most useful application of his techniques - I take out my 'travel checklist' and line up everything for my upcoming trip to New York City, one by one, on my table. When I confirm everything is there, I pack each item in the order of its appearance on the checklist into my bag.
I used to forget one thing whenever I went on any kind of trip. It was often an easily remedied oversight and quickly became a bit of fun for me on these trips - what will I forget this time, an unnecessary pair of sunglasses or a worn-out toothbrush? The trivial nature of these neglected items made my forgetfulness seem irrelevant, like ordering a Coke from the server even though you've already been told the place only serves Pepsi.
Then came the day I forgot the book I wanted to read, forcing me to talk to some guy who was sitting next to me on the train. Oh, the horror! I wrote out my checklist the next day.
I haven't forgotten a thing since.
Older and bolder are inversely related, it seems
My ticket instructs me to board the train at South Station. For the first time in my life, I realize South Station probably seems like a strange name for the northern terminus of the east coast Amtrak line. I think about it a little more - actually, it's kind of strange in a purely Boston context as well since most of the city lies south of South Station.
I leave my apartment and walk through the north part of Boston toward South Station. One block away from the station, a man ranting and raving falls in step with me and starts talking. For some reason, I tend get into many unsolicited conversations, one-way or otherwise, in Boston. I think this is related to my walking speed, which some have generously described as 'slow'. My feet hurt, sue me. Maybe I should remember to read a book the next time I go for a walk.
Today's conversation is decisively one-sided. If there was a scoreboard, I would have zero and this guy would have... well, apparently this guy has a gun in his backpack, a fact he screams into the morning air, so I'm suddenly not so worried about my scoreboard analogy. Sadly, his screams convince no one - maybe he does this every morning. His backpack looks deflated, so who knows?
As his walking picks up pace, his voice intensifies; as his voice intensifies, his walking picks up pace. His voice feeds his pace and his pace feeds his voice. I hold both my voice and my pace and eventually the shouting man outpaces me. As I walk through the northernmost entryway in South Station, I catch the man shouting incoherently in the background.
What is this, your first trip on the Amtrak?
The train cars are usually half-filled on these morning rides but today the train car is close to full. It occurs to me that, this being Easter weekend, it is perhaps a particularly good Friday to travel. The holiday explains the difficulty I had weeks ago in getting a reasonably priced ticket to take me all the way to Penn Station.
Since I have six hours to travel four hours, I dust off my cheapskate playbook and plan to get off the train in New Haven. From there, I'll switch to the local train line and ride it all the way to Grand Central Terminal. The idea saves me about forty bucks at the cost of thirty to sixty minutes.
The problem with 'The New Haven Switch' is the moment when I get comfortable on the Amtrak train. At that point, I could probably be talked into paying the extra $50 or so to finish the trip on Amtrak. Today, though, the train is so crowded that I don't think I'll get comfortable. I resign myself to sitting next to someone else.
Generally, I don't have a problem with sitting next to anyone. I do have certain preferences, however. I do like to get a window seat on the left-hand side, for example, so that I have a clear view of the Connecticut coast as the train makes the switch from traveling south to west. This goal is not possible today - the natural pattern of solo train travelling is to take the window seat first, leaving only aisle options for late arrivals like me.
I do not have any patented moves for picking out a person to sit next to. There are no size considerations to make since riding the train guarantees my long legs enough room regardless of who I sit next to. There is a certain logic to finding the most attractive person but that runs counter to my interest in not speaking throughout the trip. Really, what I'd like to do is sit next to myself - someone who is quiet, doesn't take up a ton of room, and gets off at New Haven for some unknown reason.
Then I figure it out - find someone else reading a book! I learn something new on every one of these trips. I find a fellow reader and settle in.
In the future, the cafe car will be expected to have coffee
There are some illogical things I do before any trip. One of them is to get cash. Why I bother to carry about a hundred bucks cash anywhere is a mystery - I have a flip phone, for crying out loud. If I ever got mugged, there's a chance the thief would hand me his loose change out of charity.
Plus, a hundred? At most, I never need more than twenty bucks for any reason. At this point, I suppose it is just habit. Last night, I went to TD Bank just before midnight to visit the ATM. Now, I'm nodding off in my seat.
Luckily, if I need a coffee, the New Haven train station has me covered. It boasts one of the strangest design features I've ever seen in mass transit - there are two Dunkin' Donuts within fifty feet of each other. One is on the first floor and the other is a flight of stairs above it. They are like my eyes - they serve identical functions yet cannot see each other.
I think there are some later in the day options in New Haven, as well. I suppose I would know better if I ever stopped in New Haven on the way home. But I never do that.
America runs by Dunkin
The train to New York leaves New Haven every half hour. Since Amtrak's arrival at New Haven is always a little less predictable than I would prefer - unless the prediction is simply 'late', in which case it is perfectly predictable - there is always the potential for an exciting transition at the station as I run back and forth trying to figure out where to catch the local train bound for Grand Central. Today, I arrive with four minutes to spare, just enough time to run past two Dunkin Donuts, buy a train ticket, run past the same two Dunkin Donuts, and board the next train.
All the excitement of the trip's second leg is condensed into those four minutes.
The only other notable moment of the remaining two hours is when I notice the guy sitting next to me is wearing the same brand of sneakers (Nike Air Max Torch 4) I used to wear a year ago. Don't get me wrong, reader, those were great sneakers, but something hurt my feet, you know?
But... what makes a lie... a lie, really... if you think about it?
My other patented travel move is to notify people that I am arriving at Grand Central fifteen minutes later than I am actually scheduled to. This allows me fifteen minutes to stand and look around the station. I don't do this out of any malice. I just like looking around the station. Plus, everything happens a little later in New York, right?
The best place to stand and look around in the main concourse is by the railing next to the
Anyway...
It occurs to me while staring at the clock tower (well, sort of a tower, anyway, since from my vantage point it is twenty feet below me) that in order for a clock to accurately mark the change in time, it must remain unchanged. A clock marks change only if it remains unchanged.
This thought strikes me as deep but perhaps too burdensome to type out into my phone for later use. I should have brought a notebook. I could probably buy one in the Apple store for, like, what, a grand? Maybe the Apple store is an appropriate thing to have in Grand Central, after all.
It is easy to lie in a text message. Not that I'm ever lying, but still
I finally resign myself to wasting a minute typing in my phone these thoughts on clocks, time, and the relentless accumulation of age. I hope no one from the Apple stores notices my ancient device and comes over to try and replace my hands with new iPhones.
I take out my phone and see that I've received a text. It is from my host.
Running late. Meet at my place instead?
I respond:
Sounds good. Also running late, around 15. Meet around 145?
I assume he knows that when I say 'meet around 145', what I mean is that I'll get to his apartment around 2pm. Everything happens a little later in New York.
Whoops!
The first thing I notice when I step out of Grand Central Station is a TD Bank branch. Pretty convenient. In fact, according to TD Bank, TD Bank is America's most convenient bank.
I should add to my checklist: eat breakfast
I'm getting a little hungry and I'm starting to notice that there is fast food everywhere. This makes sense. A proper downtown area is always full of fast food - it's only away from the city centers where a savvy local can find those less generic options. Luckily, being a seasoned New York tourist, I know a pizza place that does not advertise on NBC. And even better, it's hidden right in the middle of tourist central by Madison Square Garden. I orient myself on a nearby map - south, then west - and make my way toward NY Pizza Suprema.
This place came to my attention years ago when The Slice Harvester, a NYC blogger, sampled every pizza-by-the-slice location in the city. He named NY Pizza Suprema his number one pizza spot. I've stopped by on every trip since. The great thing about their slices is that, just when I expect grease, there is no grease. I have no idea how these magicians do it.
I liked his approach to blogging - pick one topic and write only about that. It is like my blog, only the exact opposite.
Fine, I'm officially a liar
While waiting in line to order my slice, I get a return text.
'Maybe meet at 2?'
I return the text.
'Sounds good. See you soon.'
The line is taking a little longer to move than I expected. Everything happens later in New York, right? I'll be sure to text my host if I'm running late for our 215pm meetup.
