Coney Island

Early in the week a campaign was begun. The extended weekend was edging forward and my wife made herself intent to get out and do something with the extra time. The house was buzzing about making the short trip to Coney Island and preparations were under way to plot our course and schedule several days in advance. Please don't let me casual manner imply that I didn't want to go, as was quite anxious to see what a Yankee qualified as an amusement park. I just wasn't as anxious as others in this two person household to wake up early.

In fact early upon our move to the Upper West Side we spent a good deal of time compiling an official looking list of the touristy things we both wanted to do. Riding the Cyclone had a prominent spot on that list, even as we quickly began crossing off some of the easier events to attend. Here we were some months later and my wife's plan to take Brooklyn's beaches was sounding pretty perfect. So we woke up early yesterday, or early for us on a weekend (Read between 9 and 10 here). The dog safely secured and each of us safely bathed in layers of sun tan lotion, we set off for Brooklyn, this time intentionally.

The subway ride itself wasn't bad at all and we arrived at the Coney Island station about an hour later. I could just make out the tops of the roller coaster between buildings before we pulled into the last stop. My imaginary readers won't be surprised that the first thing we did was head to World Famous Nathan's for a burger and corn dogs. The food was not half bad. I could almost picture myself pounding back hotdogs there while a crowd of thousands cheered me and that crazy Japanese eater on, although the single burger itself was filling enough.

Most of the day was spent arm in arm strolling along the boardwalk. Every few seconds we stopped and snapped a photo or two. We framed pictures of hot dog stands and fisherman, boardwalks extending into the ocean and ferris wheels set against the beach. Nearly everywhere we walked were too tan men and women bathing under the sun's instense glow. One family had setup makeshift soccer goals out of garbage cans, their game bordered on one side by the inbound tide. The sights were quite a constrast to the rising metal of buildings in Manhattan.

The real fun was coming from just inside the carnival. Kids with goofy grins were waiting for merry go rounds and miniature roller coasters. From the top of the Wonder Wheel we could see the ocean stretching out before us. The weather again was excellent, the temperature hovered between 60 and 70 for most of the day. I had a goofy grin on my face from the top of the ride, thinking of the 100 degree summers back in Texas.

The park reminded both of us of the traveling carnivals that take up residence in mall parking lots throughout the south. The only real difference here was the Cyclone, one of the reasons I had wanted to come to Coney Island in the first place. Standing on the edge of the park it didn't look much like the roller coasters of my youth. It was tiny and felt almost like a toy beside my memory of the Rattler from Fiesta Texas. There wasn't even a line to help build up the anticipation over the course of an hour's wait.

The ride eased out as most rides do, building the apprehension for that first big drop that provides most of a ride's excitement in a normal park. However once this first drop finished I was screaming with pleasure. There was a second drop, and then another followed by many more in rapid succession. The supposedly tiny wooden structure hid beneath it a maze of twists and turns. Clutching my cap tightly in one fist I was laughing obnoxiously throughout the entire ride. The cart pulled back into the station and I was left with a boyish grin to cap off the day's excitement. The whole trip had been calming and fun. It has me dreaming of roller coasters again.

Eating Grand Central

Last week we had the chance to dine at Grand Central Station. The sun had temporarily taken leave and left us with a city enveloped in darkness and rain. It is rare that we get a visitor up here as most of our family and friends live in the south, but naturally the one day we do the forecast was dark, gloomy and without hope of sunlight. We met up at the Yale Club, an uncomfortably stuffy hotel/conference center before braving the rain to take the short walk to Grand Central.

Naturally the only times I have been to the train station are to eat, but stepping inside amongst the trample of commuters and out of town travelers the view is quite breathtaking. I like to step aside and while pretending that I am pondering something of great importance sneak silent glances about the cavernous ticket room. I don't think it would be possible to create a greater contrast to the cities' other train station (Penn Station). The dirt and darkness and randomly arranged hobos are all replaced here. The subway like feeling is definitely gone as the ceiling here stretches out high above, an ocean of blue paint covered with constellations.

But enough about the fancy atmosphere and general feeling that you are in a glitzy mall and not in fact sitting in the cities' largest monument to mass transportation. That feeling, by the way, is gone the minute you hear someone pushing their way through the crowds and muttering under their breath about tourists just loud enough for everyone to hear. No the important thing about Grand Central is the food.

There are bakeries and a market and several upscale restaurants quite out of my price range covering the main floor. But take the stairs down and you walk out into a slew of kitchens. The easy mistake to make is heading right to the Mexican food place. The first time we ate here I followed my Texas belly towards the sound of people laughing over overpriced margaritas and scooping up large amounts of salsa. It was a huge mistake, repeated many times throughout the city as each time I leave puzzling over the lack of good Mexican food in a city so large.

This time my wife rightfully overruled me and steered us past the host of other stalls all artfully displaying their samples to a pizza place in the corner. The room was loud and the people were packed around the bar and it seemed just about perfect. The waitress even managed not to sneer at my order of 'just pepperoni.' The food held up as well. And while good pizza is probably within a two blocks of any spot in Manhattan, this was more than the easy subway ride there.

After dinner I subtly applied some peer pressure to make sure we finished the meal in the correct fashion, with dessert of course. We quickly grabbed some cheesecakes before heading home and taking in a few drinks at the irish pub on the corner. It was a good night worth repeating (hint hint if you want to visit us).

Randomness

I have on idea what kind of wacky event just took place around the corner. I kept seeing people walking towards me with tulips in hand and goofy smiles on their faces. A more intuitive person might have suspected beer was responsible, but alas that is not me. Girls in little red pants were collectively peddling a beer train contraption for Amstel Light onto 79th from Amsterdam. Behind the platform was a a tiny army of shiny red bikes with Amstel Light flags on them. I don't where they were going or what someone might do with a giant platform of kegs that had to be manually peddled by 10 people, but I wish I did know.

A Street Fair

A few weeks after moving here we noticed a New York oddity. Cluttered amongst the normal street vendors were row after row of tented stores peddling wares on Columbus Avenue. They appeared to stretch 6 to 8 blocks in each direction although we quickly discovered the same vendors were repeated every 2 blocks or so.

My wife came in from walking the dog that morning and nudged me awake to tell me that something strange was going on down the street. Neither of us had ever heard of such a thing and it was exciting and abnormal and we weren't satisfied until each of us had examined nearly every stall present. A years supply of socks was on sale right next to stalks of roasted corn and pitas. The aromas of the food waifed throughout the street and we walked and sampled our way down the street. It was quite a site for the two of us, both new to New York and not sure what to expect of our new surroundings. We came home with a full belly, a scarf for my wife, and a t shirt proclaiming our new zip code and "Upper West Side" that has since been relegated to work out fodder.

You can imagine how surprised we were to discover the exact same fair taking place the next weekend on Amsterdam, and again the following weekend in the Financial District. The initial stroll down the street was a welcome sight that quickly turned to angst over the cluttered sidewalks each weekend.

Last year's weekend street fairs covering every avenue of the upper west side have since been replaced. For each of the past few weekends we've seen but not sampled the lightly colored tents along Museum of Natural History's sidewalks while walking our dog. This summer the stalls more closely resemble the arts and crafts fairs my mother and sister enjoyed so much during my youth. Artists are selling every variety of painted items with nicely framed photographs from all across the country. For a few dollars you choose between origami flowers and stamp accessories or head down a bit to sample some gingerbread.

At Christmas time there was a similar array parked for nearly a month in the southwest corner of Central Park, only the tents were made with freshly painted red wood. We bought a glass blown ornament and a some painted scenes of New York monuments to take back home to Texas as gifts. The tightly bound aisles were filled with a mass of people nudging their way through, trying to take in every possible gift and knick knack and yesterday was much of the same. We let the dog guide us through the maze of people before heading over the park for a short morning walk.