Day 13 - New York
Previously featured:
Flight to Newark, Day 1 - Newark-Princeton
Day 2 - Princeton-Philadelphia
Day 3 - Gettysburg-Lancaster-Ephrata-Alexandria
Day 4 - Alexandria-DC
Day 5 - Westpoint-Hyde Park
Day 6 - Hancock Shaker Village-Hanover
Day 7 - Burlington, Vermont
Day 8 - New Hampshire-Bretton Woods-Portland Head
Day 9 - Portland-Kennebunkport
Day 10 - Marblehead-Salem-Boston
Day 11 - Westpoint-New York
Day 12 - New York
NB: This is the last installment of the saga.
I left the motel at 6:30, caught the 7:21 train and reached Penn station at 8 plus. There, this guy was standing by a map of the subway system, and when I went over to peer at it (because the bastard at the control station the other day refused to give me a pocket-sized version), he gave me directions to where I wanted to go, then asked if I had any "change to take the subway". He didn't fool me, but I gave him a quarter or something to reward his ingenuity more than anything else.
At Penn station there were army soldiers patrolling the place. Although the sight was slightly discomfiting, I felt much safer than if it had been SAF soldiers doing the job. Their uniforms were faded, their jockey caps wrinkled and their boots dull, but that just indicated their level of experience ('lao jiao'-ness), and that they didn't waste time on unimportant frills like parade-standard appearance. For their firearms they had service revolvers; the logic of the SAF's using rifles on Ops Bascinet (the one where they protect key installations) is lost on me: rifles are useless in close, crowded quarters due to their being cumbersome, bulky, heavy and slow to aim and maneuver - they're meant for long distances and battlefield use. Which is why at Changi Airport SAF servicemen are paired with police officers with sub-machine guns; there's a reason why SWAT teams use them after all. So unless what we anticipate is a squad of parang-wielding terrorists disembarking and then running at our soldiers from 300 metres, the logic of using rifles is lost on me. Either that or 1) we assume that terrorists are stupid and will be more intimidated by patrols armed with rifles than pistols or sub-machine guns or 2) this is all for show and meant more for domestic consumption than terrorist consumption.
After a diversion or two (to get cinammon sticks for breakfast, for instance), I reached Battery Park at 9+, and found out that time passs for the Statue of Liberty had run out at 8:10, 20 minutes before the first ferry left. Ah well, I should've ordered them online (though knowing my luck I would've had to get them 6 months in advance). When they said there were a "limited number of time passes", they really meant it. Be that as it may, the time pass would not have let me enter the Statue itself, but merely the promenade and pedestal and would've restricted the time I could enter (ergo the name "time" pass), so it wasn't that much of a loss. Which might be why, when the ferry stopped at Liberty Island, at least half the people on it didn't get off.
I saw a woman with hoop earrings using a phone and, very gingerly, using her other hand to keep the hoop out of the way. I should like to see someone get her hoop stuck in something one day. In other hoop-related news, it's bad enough seeing 11 or 12 year olds with hoop earrings, but I saw one about 5 years old doing so.
Having hair which is still attached to your scalp fly into your mouth is a most unsettling feeling.
Proceeding on to Ellis island, I found that it was very crowded, probably due to dejected souls unable to get their time passes still being determined to get something out of their visit to Liberty and Ellis islands.
By the time I left Ellis island, my feet had been throbbing for some time. Faced with the prospect of queueing for an indeterminate length of time, I sat on the pavement to wait for the ferry like the vagrant that I was. A mother and daughter couple came along and inspired by me, sat down also. Once you start the ball rolling, it picks up momentum on its own - I also saw a couple some distance in front of me in the line sitting. Sitting is contagious and is advantageous.
A guy in a business suit and with an expensive-looking metal (as opposed to platic Casio) watch got his hand stuck in the subway door. He tried to extricate it by wriggling but was unsuccessful. When the doors of the car finally opened, his watch fell to the floor in 3 pieces (the centre and the straps).
In Times Square station, I saw a guy waving a sign which said "Free stress test". By the wall were some counters with funny machines and colourful books. Intrigued, I took a closer look and saw that only one book was being promoted: "Dianetics" by a certain "L Ron Hubbard". And so I decided to have some fun with the Scientologists.
Picking a free counter, I went up to the man, who introduced himself. In the interests of anonymity, I shall refer to him as "Bob". Asking me to hold on to the electrodes of his machine (which looked like 2 tin cans hooked up to a High School Science Project), he asked me to think of something in my life which I would like to improve. I did, and sure enough, the needle on the large display jumped (of course, the fact that one hand of his was behind the High School Science Project might have had something to do with it). I then thought about something in my life that I was fine with, but the needle still evidenced a reaction, showing that I was stressed. Amazing. I asked "Bob" about this reaction, but he either did not understand my question or did not want to understand it, telling me that it was only for stress detection.
"Bob" then asked me to think of something that made me angry or stressed. I thought about religious evangelism, and the needle jumped again. He asked if I wanted to talk about it. Not wanting to spoil the fun too soon, I bluffed and said I was thinking about people cheating others of their money (which is, if you think about it, pretty close anyhow). Calling my bluff, he asked, "You mean like right here?" Beating a hasty retreat, I demurred and mumbled something about beggars in the New York subway.
I asked "Bob" if I could buy his most wondrous machine. He looked disappointed and said it was only for people who were advanced in his discipline. I asked how long he'd been practising and how much of a master he was, and he replied that he'd been at it for 30 years, but wasn't as good as he'd like to be. "Bob" then tried to sell me his book, the recommended price for which was US$7.99 and had sold 20 million copies in 52 languages. He turned to the back of the book and showed me the locations of Scientologist chapters in various countries and cities.
Looking for Singapore, I found nothing and pointed this out. "Bob" assured me, though, that there was a rapidly growing chapter in Singapore and that many people there were getting into it. Oddly enough, despite his knowledge of this fact, he was unaware that Singapore was a country and not just a city. Looking skeptical, I declined and said I would rather check out some reviews on the Internet first. "Bob" then became quite alarmed, and countered that if you asked 20 people what they thought of Singapore, you'd get 20 different answers. I agreed in a good-natured fashion, adding that if all 20 said Singapore sucked, then it most probably did, and he was helpless to do anything but go along with my observation and add that I had to try "Dianetics" for myself.
Sensing that I'd milked all I could from this adventure, I bade him good day and asked to take a picture, which you can see above. In hindsight, I should've ended off by asking: "Isn't L Ron Hubbard the guy who once said, 'Writing for a penny a word is ridiculous. If a man really wanted to make a million dollars, the best way to do it would be start his own religion.'?"
Returning to the Met, I was pissed off to find large stretches of the museum closed (A "we are closed due to renovations till XXXX" or "we are closed today for a private function" would have been the least they could have done), among them the Cypriot and Ancient Near Eastern art sections and the Musical Instruments gallery and America wing on the second level, cordoned off with no sign or attendant to explain anything to hapless visitors (most of whom had probably been coerced into 'donating' to them).
Jacques-Louis David - the Death of Socrates
Sacchi - Pasqualini crowned by Apollo. I swear - this is the first painting (or picture of a painting) that I've seen that has an exposed male member. Perhaps this was done to strike a cruel contrast with Pasqualini, a castrato.
Jordaens - the Holy Family with Shepherds and Van Dyck - Virgin and Child are the first depictions of the Madonna I've seen where she bares her bosom.
Rembrandt painting of Bellona, the Roman goddess of war, shows her as being fat. Eh?
Pissed off by the rude staff and the massive closures, I left the Met before closing time and went to sit on the steps outside to rest my feet. Given that so many galleries were closed, there wasn't anything left for me to see anyway.
Some corner apartment was being renovated, and the construction workers didn't tape the tarpaulin down, so sawdust and wood flakes were flying around, some flying into my head. Some also landed on this woman, who cursed at the workers.
Meeting my sister and brother in law at Newark airport, we found that they charged a breath-taking US$3 for the rent of luggage trolleys. I would have left my trolley at the checkin counter in protest, but apparently too many angry customers had done that, and there were attendants on hand to wheel the trolleys back.
The scanners for check-in baggage were not film safe. Didn't this last happen in the 80s?!
In all, my sister had 7 shopping trips in 13 days (and 12 full days). Luckily I wasn't around for the last 2.
Sister's food diary: "Baja Fresh Mexican - shrimp taco, chicken flauta, beef burrito, salsa bar. [Ed: Since I wasn't with them I didn't have this]"
At Stockholm, they shoved us into a waiting room for over an hour instead of letting us walk around the transit area (which was just within sight). This waiting room had nothing inside but a non-enclosed smoking point that was too small to accommodate all the smokers (resulting in smoke wafting out) and insufficient toilets; there were 2 male, 2 female and 2 handicapped toilets. The last were, naturally enough, appropriated by the females but unsurprisingly the queue for the ladies' was still longer than for the gentlemen's since they were doing the gods' know what inside. Worse, the waiting room was not big enough to accommodate the entire plane, so people had to stand for that hour or so. At least they didn't subject us to 2 security screenings - one on getting off the plane and one before getting on - unlike the first time (they must be dreaming if they think people want to blow up their airport so much).
One of MAS's taglines is "Going beyond expectations". That isn't very hard to do, especially if one doesn't expect very much in the first place!
At KLIA I saw a woman in a tudung, but with one of the hats that some airport staff wear on top. Funky. And at the security screening there one man kept muttering a malay word to me, despite the look of incomprehension on my face. Eventually, a guy behind me translated the word as "open" - he wanted me to open my ice keg. The screening official then repeated the word "open" with a note of triumph in his face. It seems in that wretched country they assume everyone who looks like a native speaks Malay.
On unpacking we found that the Transport Security Administration (TSA) had decided to open one of our bags for "security purposes". Of all bags, they had chosen to open the one with potato chips inside, and suspiciously, some of the packets were open. Whether this was due to pressure differentials arising from altitude changes or hungry security staff is unknown.
Having someone correct your pronunciation exaggeratedly, and then promptly make the same mistake within 2 minutes – priceless.
Even in New York I couldn't get student-priced tickets for things. Gah. The UK is much more student friendly.
Although I didn't pay very much (all things considered) on this trip, that is not to say that a price was not extracted from me. My brother in law in particular assumed that I had given him several blank cheques for emotional blackmail and set himself up as a travel agent for guilt trips. I would pay more of the cost in future trips, but I know that I would be subjected to a similar amount of insufferable self-aggrandisement, so I am resolved to pay as little as I can in future when travelling with them.