[BACK PUBLISHED: Originally written in May 2015]
Last Spring, Brian and I went to Istanbul. This city is very much in the global cosmopolitan “development” stage with street children, rickety old bridges, non-hipster outdoor markets, and con artist shoe shiners. Now we are living in the Bronx for the next month and we’ve realized that, in comparison, Istanbul is much further along in its development than this NYC borough.
Both Brooklyn and Manhattan have their janky bits but these areas are offset by nearby neighborhoods that are charming and safe. So far, what I’ve seen of the Bronx has been trash, confusing traffic patterns, a lot of emergency vehicles rushing around, and rats the size of terriers. While the people in our apartment building are friendly, some of the people wandering around the streets are too friendly. Somebody is literally dumping their dirty laundry water out of an upper-story window as I write. On the plus side, there are hardly any beggars, probably because the know that no one riding the train this far north has change to spare (or any money at all).
Final view of Brooklyn
We signed our lease in Harlem to begin at the end of the month and that moving truck couldn’t come any sooner. Harlem also has a bad reputation, but it has totally turned itself around where as the Bronx still feels seedy and uncomfortable. We are sharing our apartment with a couple in college who don’t wake up until 4pm and then smoke pot with their loud friends until 4am. They leave EasyMac everywhere. Talk about seedy and uncomfortable…
That being said, any part of this city has the capacity to make me feel uncomfortable. Many neighborhoods, restaurants, and stores feel almost clique-y and you get strange looks if you don’t “belong”. It’s one giant high school and your apartment is akin to your seat in the cafeteria.
Recently, being the mole-y lady that I am, I went to a dermatologist in Manhattan’s Seaport District. It was nearly impossible to locate the office as it was hidden under a pile of construction and trendy bars. When I rang the buzzer to get in, I was directed by what sounded like a game show host to make my way back to the aesthetic scaffolding. I entered a courtyard with DIY style sign posts directing me to the appropriate office. When I climbed under the scaffolding and up the stairs to the porch, I was surprised by the pained attempt at an oasis on the other side of the door.
Upon entering, my ears were instantly filled with electronic-meets-chillwave (how very nice to meet you!) and bitchy reception chatter. An enormous, cartoon-esque mural on the front wall depicted caricatures of the restaurants and their staff from this street all surfing and eating hamburgers. To my left was a TV silently showing outdated footage of old men falling off of surfboards. To my right was a vending machine. One side was filled with expensive face creams and balms. The other half had a random assortment of expensive crap such as, and I kid you not: artisanal sardines, a hip flask, a pair of wool socks, sea salt soap, and tea candles. You know, for when your ship goes down. Immediately next to the ultra-mod vending machine was a made-to-look-retro mini fridge. The sign posted on the fridge informed patients that inside were organic eggs from the chickens raised on the roof. I hope you brought your reusable egg carton!
Waiting room artifacts
All around me were clear, melamine parlor-style chairs and movie posters in a foreign alphabet (I later realized that the practice owner’s father was a D-list actor in the 50s-60s). There was exposed brick walls next to brand new parquet wood floors. Neutral wall colors were offset by the loud clothing of the flamboyant clientele. No doubt about it, this was designed to be a chic and trendy hipster paradise. But…a dermatologists office??
As I approached the reception desk I got to hear one man complaining about how sparse his eyebrows were compared to his colleague (his eyebrows looked like caterpillars, by the way). “OMG, her eyebrows look so much better than mine. It’s because she’s Eastern European. How can I make mine thicker? Can’t I just rub some Latisse on there? Hey, maybe there’s an injection I can get. I’m hungry. Where are we ordering lunch from?” They all then began discussing ordering from Sophie’s and they didn’t understand why I kept saying “What?”. Then I dealt with his apathetic colleague who asked me to sign a form that basically said that if I sue the doctor for malpractice, I must abide by New York State law during the proceedings. I had never been asked to sign one before…and then I realized that this was a dermatologist SLASH plastic surgeon’s office. Behind the desk was a sign laying out the cost of everything from breast augmentation to labiaplasty (if you don’t know what that is, DON’T look it up). And I began to understand the clientele this office wanted to cater to….and I was not it!
So, yes, this city is composed of probably hundred of thousands of subcultural groups that are ephemeral and exclusive. While one can interact within their circles, they will always be made to feel parasitic. I’m not really sure I know what my NYC class identity is yet. Right now, I like not having a “neighborhood” or a “crew” because it allows me to experience a little bit of everything. Since we won’t call NYC home forever, this seems like a the best plan for maximizing our experience.
Yesterday, we escaped the city for some fresh air. We don’t feel comfortable wandering around the Bronx on a Saturday (or any day of the week for that matter) so we drove north to Bear Mountain State Park. When we arrived outside the lodge, Brian suggested we had just arrived in a sci-fi cult film. Lots of zombie-eyed city people were wandering around, mesmerized by the sight of foliage and “wildlife” (i.e. squirrels). We hurried away from the masses sitting at the picnic tables around the pond and set off on a hike. While the more adventurous city folk were attempting to follow us along the rock scramble paths, we were able to outpace them as the untangled their chihuahuas’ leashes. As we reached a particularly steep peak, we were surprised to find a huge group of inter-city children posing for a picture. They were amazed with their accomplishment of scaling the hill face. However, some of the children were concerned with this whole “nature thing”. One girl was telling her teachers, “It’s creepy bein’ in the mount’ins. I’m seriously creeped out!”
Real, live trees
After our hike, in true Brophie style, we ventured to Torne Valley Winery for a wine tasting. This converted barn house is one of Martha Stewart’s top greater New York winery wedding destinations and is painted in the bland colors she loves to give fancy names to. The grounds were overrun with middle-aged, polo wearing white men and their convertibles. First we did the tasting for $8 a person. Having been on many wine tastings, this was pretty much a rip-off but since we were already there we indulged ourselves. As their vines are only two years old, they have to outsource their grapes to fill their cellar. We tried their Seyval Blanc, unoaked Chardonnay, and Traminette first as these were their driest whites. They were ok, but a bit acidic and unclean. Then we moved onto the semi-dry wines. I enjoyed the Riesling as it was not too sweet but certainly refreshing. We both enjoyed their best “cellar”, Sweet Summertime, which was a blend of Cayuga, Vidal Blanc, and Vignoles varietals. This had strong peach and citrus flavors without making you feel that your were drinking a juice box. The third semi-dry was their Gewürztraminer which was quite sour with a honey-heaviness. The two reds we tried were the Cabernet Franc and the Kimmie’s Crush blend. While these were more sophisticated than their whites, they were perhaps a little strong for my pallet and all of them were overpriced for my wallet.
Afterwards, we sat out on their patio to share a pitcher of their white sangria made with the Sweet Summertime wine. The sangria was disappointing. It was watery and the only fruit in it was some green apple and two small pieces of orange rind. We were subjected to old man country rock covers and inundated with waitresses trying to take our food order even though we weren’t interested. There are only some many chicken paninis the world needs…
-Sophie
idaknowwheretogo (I don't know where to go!) 