As usual, I woke up very early, too early to cross the street and start hanging out with my son. I headed out in search of coffee. Two blocks away, I found a Dunkin Donut. This chain is as ubiquitous as Tim Horton's but unfortunately, not as good. At least it
gave me the kick start I needed to get going for the day.
At about 10, I felt the hour was decent enough to knock on the kids' door. Everyone was up and I was feed a wonderful buckwheat pancake breakfast, with bananas, walnuts and maple syrup. We completed and confirmed our dinner plans before Marissa set off to work and we were left to walk the dog.
Everyone has heard about Central Park and probably thinks that it is iconic for New York. That may be true, but unfortunately Prospect Park, an absolute gem is barely known. I don't know how it compares in size but certainly surpasses its Manhattan in beauty and diversity. The winter ice rinks at the entrance of the park have now been transformed into an enormous splash pad and roller rink. The ponds, covered in ice and snow in January now sported lily pads, expanses of green algae and psychedelic swirls of colour wherever the water itself was visible. The paths are beautifully maintained and are overhung with branches in every shade of green imaginable, the lushness celebrating life and mature. Chipmunks scamper across the trails and the air is filled with melodic chirping rather than the raucous clanging and grinding heard on the city streets. Except for the few city towers visible at one edge of the park, it is hard to believe that there is demanding, noisy and frantic city surrounding this haven.
We did a circuit of the park, hitting every hidden little treasure it had to offer. A lengthy bower along the side of a pond, wher a bride and groom were having their pictures taken, arched stone bridges, a tunnel emitting the echoing cries of a single saxophone, the small octagonal deck protruding into the water, the zoo, the old and now empty pools central to a series of quiet clearings surrounded with benches beneath the shade of the trees, the long meadow, the gelateria, the corner of a pond designed for dogs, the barbeque picnic areas, the playing fields and the climbing equipment, the variety of bridges, the gazebo and the groups of people some with dogs and others without enjoying a spectacular summer morning. I think the only thing we missed were the botanical gardens, where no dogs were permitted. Hopefully there will still be time to see them before I leave.
By this time it was already after three and Willie had arrived and was ready to meet us. On the walk back, I cooled down with an iced coffee from the gelateria. The plain coffee with just a touch of milk and ice was very refreshing, but my t-shirt was dripping wet and beads of sweat were pouring from my face like rain. I had to change before I was fit to see anyone. We had dinner reservations in Greenwich Village at seven, but headed out for Manhattan in the late afternoon to wander, window shop and take in the sights sounds and smells of this incredible city. We made our way through Soho with its chi chi shops, then on to Noho, where every second store was an Italian eatery. Free shows abounded everywhere, the fashion sense ( or sometimes nonsense) parading the streets, the window displays, the characters hawking their wares and today, a display of deftness in parking.
Sitting in the shade we noticed a driver coming back to his car. It is wedged in between two compact cars. The car in front has left maybe six inches of manoeuverability. The car behind is touching the bumper. Undaunted, the man gets into his car. He inches forward, turning the wheel. Now he has two inches for backing up, the wheel still turning. Forward, back, forward, back, angling the front of the car toward the open road imperceptibly at first, but slightly more pronounced with each change of direction. In the meantime, a little crowd had formed and a feeble little cheer was heard as the car was freed and the people dissipated.
We end up in Washington Square Park, with the arch we recognize from every Hollywood movie filmed in New York. Another opportunity to observe the parade passing through, children splashing in the fountain, groups of tourists snapping selfies, children on skateboards and scooters weaving in and out of the crowds, other children scampering like monkeys around and through a jungle gym set up in a green carpeted pit, a woman with two canes walking two daschunds on leash, joggers running with their dogs, all with the iconic Arch backdrop under a sparkling blue sky.
We were now close to La Laterna di Vittorio, the restaurant chosen for our dinner. Apparently it is an historic building, billed as the first Italian restaurant in New York. There might have been one or two tables out in front, I don't really recall, but the restaurant itself was claustrophobic with its dark panelling, candle lighting and tables pressed close to one another. Another world opened when we reached the garden room, covered with a glass roof and air conditioned. Tree like plants were scattered throughout the space each one topped with an oversized kaleidoscope lamp shades. The ivied plastered walls, tiled floors and wrought iron tables and chairs almost let you imagine that you were in Italy. The illusion was supported by the Italian wait staff. The food was varied, well prepared and reasonably priced (even the wine) with an emphasis on thin crusted pizza. With nine of us, the group was too large and the room was too large for meaningful conversations. Nevertheless, the group was pleasant and convivial and I felt like the queen bee, surrounded by two of my sons and their partners, my brother and his wife and my niece and her husband. There were no complaints, no barbs, no tension, just an extended family enjoying dinner together.
We passed on dessert at the restaurant and headed out for gelato (ice cream for Arthur). A google search pointed our techies to nearby Grom, an Italian gelateria chain Josh and Christine had discovered on their trip to Italy. There IS always room for gelato, especially in flavours like tiramisu, crema, espresso chocolate and caramela salta. By this time, the other Handlers were rapidly fading. They had been up since 4:00 am driving in from Toronto. For the rest of us, the evening was still young. Dov suggested Fat Cat, a bar/ game hall featuring blues musicians as well. We stayed for a while, even Josh, until the noise was too much for me to handle.
New York is hopping on a Saturday night. The subway trains were packed, but, thankful air conditioned. Walking back to apartment, well after eleven, I noticed that just about every barber, beauty salon and nail salon was still open.my son enlightened me. This neighbourhood has no bars! To hang out, these people congregate at the local hair/nail place, watch the big flatscreen tv, gossip and in the meantime get a make over. And the bonus is that there are no drunks to disturb the peace.
I went directly to my place, turned on the fan and konked out. What a full day!
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