Grand Central Station Conversation (5)…by Robert M. Katzman
Part 5: Memories of Delicatessens Past
After a while, tiring of the bright lights, or rather, needing no excuse to be legitimately tired, I drifted around the outskirts of Times Square and quickly discovered the virtually instant transformation of being on the outside of that corporate theme park. Dark streets. Very, very, quiet. Few people and the ones I saw kept some room between us when we passed, an attitude I endorsed.
It was kind of a relief to just “be” and not feel so touristy. It was more meditative and closer to wandering the side streets of any big city. Which I know more than a little about, having this habit of exploring around big cities, for hours late at night, to better absorb the authentic feeling of the place with less distraction.
That observant and impressionistic wandering includes: Cologne and Frankfort, Germany; Paris, France; Bergen and Oslo, Norway; Toronto and Montreal, Canada; Cardiff, Wales; Sorrento and Naples, Italy; Tel Aviv and Elot, Israel, and in America: San Antonio, San Francisco, the vast Olympia National Park off the extreme west coast of Washington State (unplanned, because actually, I was lost), Denver, Miami, New Orleans, Seattle, Las Vegas, Peach Springs (an Indian reservation near the Grand Canyon), Mystic (Connecticut) and other places.
Virtually always alone, there is kind of serenity in seeing a “real city” sleeping. When the stores close and the cars and buses—and even the commuter trains—cease running for the most part, the incessant electrical buzz that fills the air and makes the ground itself vibrate, stops.
No one is trying to sell me anything, and rarely did I ever run into evil looking characters who turned out to be drug dealers (only in Times Square, years ago). Prostitution? Well, in Europe it’s mostly in assigned districts and safer for women to stay there to find clients, instead of risking robbery and worse in the alleys.
I did discover a unique area in Paris, on a street called Rue de St. Denis, but that was so weird it was more like a circus, except in almost total darkness. I realize that’s a sort of contradiction, but I guess you had to be there.
In general, if you are looking for that, it will find you. In my case, not seeking a buffet of diseases, I always kept walking and avoided eye contact with any slowly sashaying woman who wore really short tight skirts, strange wigs, clown-like eye make-up and six-inch heels. If that descriptions fits your high school social studies teacher, well…good for you, man.
Specific memories of far away places with strange sounding names? Why am I telling you this in the middle of a New York City story? Because when I walk, I weave stories in my head and then write them down later. Sometimes, years later. So, in NYC, I know I would have been comparing and contrasting where I was…with where I’d already been.
Paris: Stunningly beautiful, and dirty, too. Dog crap everywhere.
Bergen: Drunk, but very polite teenagers all over the streets on late Friday nights.
Israel: A fucking circus anytime, day or night. People seem to be hyper-alive.
Las Vegas: So artificial and cold, it was depressing and I will stay away.
Sorrento: The best food and the nicest people of anywhere I’ve ever been.
So, after spending sufficient time in the silent outlying streets of Times Square, and watching the sun slowly rise and light up the shadowy streets and tall buildings inch by inch, I eventually ended up right outside the door of the Second Avenue Delicatessen, again, ready for an atypical American breakfast. New Yorkers probably think that it’s their sun–a designer sun, of course–and only their sun and much too good a show for the rest of us common folk out on the prairies, but that’s ok.
I have avoided writing this part of the story and even wrote the ending sequence of this 22-hour adventure, before facing up to it. People want their dreams.