In 2008 I traveled to France, Luxembourg and Spain, spending a few days in New York City on the way to and from Europe. I originally sent this travelogue as a series of e-mail messages with pictures embedded to my friends. I have not re-written the following entries, transferred from my "sent mail" to this blog, but I have corrected some typos and added some more pictures. Each of the blog entries corresponds to one of the original e-mail travelogue messages. The first two involve the airplane trip. You may wish to skip to the third one as that is the one that starts with my first exploration of Paris. -- Steven.
As some of you know last month I traveled to Europe for the first time in my life. Now, as I did with my China vacation, I am writing up a detailed account of my trip. It's lengthy, so I'm breaking it up into smaller pieces.
Monday Oct. 20, 2008, time: the crack of 'why am I awake?'
I can't believe I'm dressed and mostly ready at this hour, some time around 4 a.m. I had initially scheduled a later flight but Jet Blue tried to re-route me to take off from Oakland (?!) and I negotiated this as the only alternative leaving from SFO that they could provide me. But surprisingly, when the SuperShuttle robot calls me I am packed, my baggage ready by the door and I'm dressed. (I always forget to pack something, it's just a question of what will it be this time). The robot recording tells me I have 7 minutes so I get the idea into my head that I need some other bit of info about Europe before I go and I try to find it on the web. Writing this now I can't even remember what it was. But the van shows up sooner than the robot promised and despite all my efforts to have a more-or-less organized departure, I have to scramble like an idiot. I gave myself two problems: one I will have to deal with in NYC. And for the other: I will have a surprise waiting for me when I return to my apartment in a month.
At SFO I soon discover that the shuttle services have dumped about 30 or 40 passengers, myself included, at the airport even before the security people open up. There ought to be a law. I try to catch up on some sleep.
I have little trouble with the rest of the "Jet Blue" part of the trip. I find myself sitting next to a woman who was a French major in college and lived in Paris for a few years. And this isn't even the part of the trip that continues to Europe. We spend some time with her coaching me how to pronounce some of the phrases in my Lonely Planet book. After a while, we're both tired and go to sleep.
Back in New York City.
We arrive a bit early at JFK, which allows me to explore a little. I could not remember the subway system well enough to be sure what subway to take. I lived in NYC for 4 years but that was 22 years ago and the last time I was there was last year. Checking at the airport's information counter I asked about buying a subway map. They gave me one for free. And they were polite and courteous. Well, that's new. (No complaints). The last time I was here I made a mistake and spent much more time in the subway than necessary. I remembered the mistake but little else. A minute with the map and I was ready to Brave the Air Train.
On the Air Train, I determine which terminal Iberia Airlines uses by taking the long way on the Air Train. I left the Air Train at Iberia's terminal and even walked from the Air Train to the Check-in counter, just to be sure I can do it again in a couple of days without confusion. My friend Alex will not be home from work until about 6:30 p.m. anyway, so no hurry.
Hong Kong vs. NYC: HK wins.
At the exit from the Air Train I face a torture I call "The Gates of Hell." What we will laughingly call the "connection" between the Air Train and the NYC subway system/LIRR has turnstiles unlike any other in the world. Their design differs entirely from that of the NYC subway system (right down to the orientation of the Metro card when you put it in the slot), they have no clarity as to which slot controls which turnstile (the one of the left of the slot or the one on the right - you have a 50-50 chance), and they give off this horrible high-pitched mechanical scream whether you get it right or wrong. The whole process is such a confused and painful mess that the city has hired people whose job it is to explain to travelers how to use both the turnstiles and the "automatic" Metro card vending machines (hint to transit designers: if you have to hire people to explain it, that kinda makes it *not* automated). I've passed through the "Gates of Hell" before and would have prepared myself with earplugs but, oops, *that's" what I forgot when I packed. This time I have the good fortune to have some relatively good "explainers" on duty that day and they get me through the screaming machine gauntlet after only a few minutes (but due to my hypersensitivity to high-pitched loud noises, it felt like an eternity). As I trundle my wheely away from the pain-making machines I fantasize about their designers tied to chairs in hell, forced forever to listen to the sound of the Air Train turnstiles at JFK. I feel a bit happier.
I remember how in Hong Kong everything worked with an "Octopus card" which operated the same way with all turnstile machines and all the "re-fill" machines. And no mechanical screaming. It can't be *that* hard to make it work in the U.S.
On the subway, my trip to Alex's apartment in Astoria was easier this time (vs. last year) because I used the E Train instead of the Long Island Rail Road. But I missed the Jackson Heights station because they called it "Roosevelt Avenue." I had a miserable time on an overheated 'V' train. After I finally reach the right stop I manage to wrestle my luggage through the exit turnstile without hurting myself (this time). But once out on the street I knew where I was but had no idea which direction to go. I picked one (the wrong way, as usual) then turned around. At the next corner I saw some familiar landmarks and proceeded without any more difficulty to Alex's place.
I show up early and luckily his building's outer door has not closed properly. I lean my luggage against the wall outside his door, take out my book (actually my boss' book she lent me "A Traveler's history of Paris") and read contentedly until Alex calls on my cell. There's only a slight delay but I don't mind at all. I am warm and comfortable and indoors. I have one full day in NYC on the 21st and then it's off to Europe on the 23rd. I had planned my trip to take place in stages. Instead of going to Paris from San Francisco, I spend a few days in NYC in each direction, recovering from jet lag as I go.
Once inside Alex's apartment I unpack enough to see that I made a big mistake when I printed out the various e-mail messages and web print outs (which I compiled in a binding to use as a "trip book"). I printed the "wrong" e-mail from my neighbor, with whom I had arranged to meet in Paris. This message had his U.S. phone number and not his overseas one. I realized I had to find an internet cafe or other access to my e-mail account before I left or I would not be able to contact him. I was conveying his absentee ballot for the Presidential election and thus it was very important that we meet in Paris soon after I arrived.
Tuesday October 21, 2008.
I read in my travel journal what I wrote while sitting in a Japanese restaurant in Astoria about my day ahead. Find secure internet access, check my e-mail, obtain the right message with David's Paris phone number, and then maybe visit the MOMA afterwards. What naive optimism.
The branch of the New York Public Library across the street from the MOMA I discovered was closed for renovations. And here my troubles began. It's a bit of a vicious circle: the use of cell phones, test messaging and the web has resulted in all but and handful of public telephones (and the phone books that accompany them) disappearing from most of NYC. How can I use the web to find something if I can't find a place with web access? The closest branch of the NYPL system I can think of is at Lincoln Center. Off I go.
But when I arrive at Lincoln Center, I see an enormous amount of construction going on around it, those big temporary wooden walls, and no clear path to the library. After examining a map on one of the temporary walls (and the map *not* graffittied over, for once) I figured out the path to take. Once I arrive, it only takes me a few minutes to find the public internet terminals. I sign up for one of the 10-minute ones. But while I am trying to type my password there's this woman standing at the terminal next to mine, with her back turned to it, for no apparent reason, and in a position to see my keystrokes. My paranoia level rises. After I finish writing down David's Paris number the woman is no where in sight. I start to leave the library but then panic, wondering if I am going to have my account hacked. I e-mailed some of my credit card information when I made reservations for some of the hotels I will stay in. Those messages are in my account, still. I double back and ask to log on again but the young man at the counter says we're only allowed internet access once a day. But he turns out to be very nice about it after I explain to him about the mystery woman. He relents, advising me that if that ever happens again I should tell him. Only after I go back in and change my password do I see, when I'm walking out again, that the mystery woman is sitting at one of the 30 minute internet terminals. I don't know how I missed her before. And besides, why would someone trolling for identities to steal internet accounts to hack do so at the Public Library? I feel a bit foolish, but I am OK. I have everything I need for my trip.
I still have time to visit the MOMA. After I walk all the way back to where I started I find out that the MOMA is closed on Tuesdays. I did not think to check when I was across the street before. Well, at least I had a nice long walk. Except for the panic and confusion, a good day. And I must admit, the panic and confusion I pretty much inflicted upon myself.
Next, on to Europe.
