The 6:47 Meander or Trying to Find Chinatown

Sometimes a friend will ask- "call me when you get home from work". I will say OK, and they ask- "When do you leave?"
Sixish. But in Spring, getting home means it may be very late indeed when I get home. Because the road home is never a straight line when I walk. It's a meander.

When I was a kid I read "Family Circus", by Bill Keene- a comic syndicated to the Staten Island Advance. In it the mom or dad would send a child to do something simple, like "get the newspaper" and then the comic would show a dotted line that swirled around all the diversions in between turning and spinning on itself.

My walks are like that. I like to take different paths. I have lived in NY all my life, but it's not a painting- more like an etch-a-sketch, and it is constantly changing-not just shops and street construction. Twilight can turn a simple coffee shop into a cafe Paris would be proud of. A little snow in late March turns a side street into a skating rink. One night I watched a couple on lower Broadway dancing as a little flurry of snowflakes fell twinkling around them catching the light from the street lamps, the only music was playing in their heads, as if there was no one there. I felt like a guest in a snow globe.

I take these walks alone- making notes in my head, sampling the different air- at Hudson and Varick, the smell of tempering chocolate from Jacques Torres, the smell of the river-briny and salty. Once in Chinatown on a back street in late August I met a smell so awful it could safely be referred to as an apocalypse. I was truly assaulted that night, nasally speaking, and it was a very long time before I could look at a shrimp shell much less consume fish.



Sometimes I will walk past Bengal Curry- not QUITE past. I will often (ok always) stop and buy 2 vegetable samosas from Mr. Patel. An incredible dinner bargain at $2.50 for the pair. He will ask me if I was hot sauce or sweet- I say sweet and he will say (every time) "I thought the pretty girls prefer it being hot!" and laughs while simultaneously being a little embarrassed at speaking so boldly. Bengal Curry has a very devoted following among cab drivers, I think I may just be a nice change for him from cranky Pakistani drivers coming off a double 12 hour shift. I have a good friend who is not familiar with Indian food, how would I describe a samosa... I think I would say- it is like a knish- that went on vacation and got deep fried with peas. Certainly not a great explanation... I think it would be worth it to share half my dinner with him sometime. Or perhaps let him buy his own.



Sometimes I start the walk feeling tense or sad or lonely. But as I walk the city takes over- a poster, a person, a street musician or the man in Chinatown who sells 20 tiny cakes for $1.00 that he bakes on a little griddle while you watch. Pick a street and any moment- there is more life there- than what passes in a week almost anywhere else. The world is wider- the city whispers that there is just too much to see to be bored, too many amazing people and too many possibilities for anything to happen- to be lonely or tense. You just breathe in the air, and take it in. Except maybe in Chinatown, in August. Trust me on this one.



:) X