Life in Ink and Footsteps

It is about time. I mean, I have been in the U.S. for about three weeks, and I have not visited the Big Apple yet. But I do need to start with an announcement: I did try to look up some uplifting background music for these writing sessions on YouTube, and I failed. It’s all dark and moody, and it’s making me sentimental. You know, like “writing in a dark academia library while there is a thunderstorm behind the window” kind of vibe. So you might have to deal with it. Or not, of course. You can just not read it, I guess, if anyone is reading it.

But for now, let’s put the philosophizing aside and continue where I left off last time. Well, not literally—those stories are not about to be shared with the public. Freaks.

So, I finally opened my eyes and decided to truly start enjoying the chance I was given and take it for myself. And with that came my first real weekend trip to NYC. One that I do remember. I remember the dad giving me a ride to the train station at Manhasset, sitting there, and listening to the never-ending “Please, watch the gap” announcement. As if you could miss the 30cm hole between the high platform and the train door. Seriously a toddler could fall through it. I sat and observed, waiting for my train. Inside, F. was already waiting for me—one of the Dutch girls, in case you’re confused. The nicer one. And this time, she did only speak English, duh. We laughed and talked, and you could feel all the excited energy. We were in America! Sitting on the train to Manhattan! We were not just tourists; we lived here. This was our city now.

The pure happiness of this event even lightened all the things around us: the overwhelming amount of people pushing you around, everyone rushing and running, cursing and calling, the spit and piss on most corners of the station, the sharp, sour odor of human bodies. Well, that got gross quickly. I do apologize for that. But on this first visit, we didn’t care. We found it all phenomenal. The architecture, the humbling feeling from the mesmerizing beauty. Artists and musicians wherever you go. Queer people living and not hiding. The fashion was indescribable and mind-boggling. Parks, churches, galleries, theaters. Food, food, food everywhere. Anything and everything your taste buds might be interested in. Do you want Korean? Please, right here. Oh, you’re a vegan? No problem, right around the corner. Or would you like a 5-star dining experience? Be my guest. And the gross things? We ignored them. Why would you pay attention to that when you are finally in the most amazing city in the world? Of course, this was the first-timer’s talk. Later on, the excitement wore off, and you started seeing all of those things and being bothered by them. It is a part of the experience. Why? Because Manhattan is disgusting. Garbage and human waste are always around. People are loud and quick to name-calling if they feel you looked at them wrong or bumped them. It can be scary and cold, impersonal and cruel. But nothing is impossible in a city like New York. You either love it, or you hate it. There can’t be anything in between. And me? I love the shit out of it.

So what did we do? We walked. And walked, and walked some more, and just looked around, trying to feel it all and grasp it all. We did all the tourist shit, ‘cause duh. We visited the Disney store, M&M’s World, and Hershey’s Chocolate World. Which, by the way, is disgusting. That chocolate has such a weird and gross aftertaste. Hate me all you want. I don’t care, I said it, and I’m not taking it back. Milka forever. We watched the braless women on Times Square with an American flag painted on their butts. And boobs. I have to admit, I am a small-town girl, and I was kinda surprised by that in America. Everyone said Americans are prudes, and yet I hadn’t been in the city longer than a few hours, and I already caught an eyeful. I mean, you don’t see women walking like this around Prague, you know. At least not in the parts I go to. Although, what do I know? Maybe there is a whole boob-out neighborhood. Okay, I’m getting a little off track here, sorry. We kept walking further. At one point, the road took us all the way to Central Park. And let me tell you, seeing the spots from my favorite movies like Home Alone or Stuart Little was pretty cool and surreal. We also saw three Asian couples having weddings or wedding photoshoots, but we didn’t linger around to figure out what was happening. It felt rude and private. But can someone explain it to me? Is that a thing? Having wedding pictures taken in Central Park? Is it specifically an Asian thing, or were we just lucky that day? The park is also massive, and we were dead tired. So we just sat down and watched people, pets, and pigeons. A shit-ton of babies. The energy here felt a little different, though. Calmer, lovelier, and people were smiling. Mostly. Which is definitely not a common thing in New York. That felt a lot like home. How many Czech people on the street in Prague will smile at you? Possibly as many as New Yorkers.

What’s the best thing to do when you are tired and feel kinda gross? Food. Always food. And what do you get when you are in NYC for the first time? Chinese. What else? So we started our journey across town in search of Chinatown and it’s hot, spicy, and sweet cuisine to warm our overwhelmed minds and tired feet. And here is where it gets tricky. I don’t really remember this part, and my young self didn’t feel like elaborating on the story, but we couldn’t find Chinatown, and we didn’t know how to operate the subway—of course, we knew how to sit on the sub and wait for our stop; we’re not idiots—but the whole metro system seemed so confusing that first day. We didn’t understand where we needed to stop to actually get to Chinatown, so instead of asking the smiling, friendly-looking New Yorkers for help, we decided to walk. It’s not as if we were tired, right? Why didn’t we Google it? I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I do have a feeling that early 2016 was not a time of affordable unlimited data or public WiFi on the street. This might be a reason why there’s a picture of me holding a physical map of New York. I know! How crazy is that? I completely forgot that there were times we didn’t count on our phones. And it really wasn’t all that long ago. So while we were walking, getting lost and hangry and kinda annoyed at each other, a weird dude approached us about a super deal. For 15 dollars, we could buy a ticket to a comedy club. It was supposed to include multiple entries and some drinks or something. Unfortunately, I no longer possess it. But he said it was a super deal. And he wouldn’t have lied, right? Why would he do that to two lost-looking, barely English-speaking girls? He might have been standing in front of a sketchy-looking building, but you can’t let that stop you. So many places in New York look sketchy but are actually really cool. I heard. Can’t say I’ve experienced it on my own, but once again, what the heck do I know? Anyway, back to the sketchy seller. Since we were both convinced it was a great deal, we bought it and—surprisingly—never went there. So, yeah. Can someone actually tell me what we bought? Was that dude like a promoter? Was that a good price? I’m really sad I didn’t save it. I don’t even remember the name of the place or its approximate location. Oh well, it is what it is. And yes, I am aware that it was probably a tourist trap. So we kept walking, in a marginally better mood now, with our comedy club tickets, but nowhere near Chinatown or any information about where the heck it actually was.

So we had McDonalds and called it a day.

I don’t think I listened to this song since 2017.
Cake By The Ocean – DNCE