Another Innocent Abroad

Another Innocent Abroad
Sunday, June 15th, 2008

Taking a cue from old Sam Clemens, it was decided that I should try and glimpse how others live, and lived in another part of the world so I bought a ticket to London’s Heathrow airport, by way of New York’s lovely JFK airport. The itinerary was 10 days away from my log home in rural South Carolina - 4 days in London, 4 days in Paris with two days set aside for travel. It was to be a trip filled with the culture and beauty of the ‘old country’; museums and landmarks and palaces and towers. We would cram as much culture down this southern boy’s throat as possible in only 10 days. We would begin by seeing New York City.Since I had never been to the city of New York and I wanted to do some Manhatten sightseeing I planned my arrival at JFK at the very early time of 7:38 am, with a depature time to London not being until 8:45 pm that evening.The flight from Charlotte, NC went off without a hitch - beautiful flying weather, the friendly and accomodating crew of the Jet Blue line, and very little traffic assured us of a great flight. Arriving in New York on time, I soon found out just how massive the JFK terminal loomed. Like most major jetports, JFK is undergoing renovation to accomodate bigger crowds and better security features, so getting around there is not fun.My plan was to check my bags and grab the Long Island express to Grand Central, find a local deli and have a real New York style sandwich, then go walkabout in the big city until time to return for my evening flight. I knew that all the excitement and physical activity that I would get from the day’s agenda would ensure me a good night’s sleep aboard the transatlantic bird.My initial greeting in New York-ese was “wrong, homey”.Allow me to first thank the terrorists for the security precautions I had to endure, along with a million other passengers. The line at the security checkpoint, the removal of the shoes, the screening of the bags, et al. While I have traveled by air since 9/11, I had not traveled to New York and was unprepared for the massive lines stretching out as far as the eye could see. Oh well. I had plenty of time. I’ll get my e-ticket, check my bags and “poof” - off to the big city.Not. ”We’re sorry sir, but due to security regulations we cannot check your bags until after 4pm for your evening flight. Next”. The young lady at the Delta counter looked as if this was probably the day she either started her visit from Aunt Flo, or just took a general dislike of me from first glance. I loved the Brooklyn accent that I was hearing from this young devotchka, but I didn’t like what she was saying to me. “M’am, excuse me, but I wanted to tour your fine city and really don’t want to drag my luggage all over the city so…” “Next”, was all she said. “But m’am, do you have any lockers in the airport where I might stow my luggage while I…” “No lockers since 9/11″ was her stern reply. The next thing I know I’m being shoved aside by an unruly looking fellow with funny dreadlocks and a peculiar odor who had been in line behind me. Okay, I can take a hint. As I moved away from the counter I wondered just how much of a hassle it might be to drag this heavy suitcase from airport to train to subway, then to bumpy, crowded sidewalks all day, then repeat the procedure in reverse. I knew just what a hassle it had been to travel to the departure gate from my arrival gate several kilometers away, so I decided to park my butt in an out of the way location and read my book for awhile.Airports can be stuffy affairs. All the movement, the chatter, the massed lot making their way to points unknown make for a very claustrophobic arena. This fact wasn’t lost on this southern boy and I soon found myself outside the terminal sitting with my back to the wall, reading all about young Alexander Hamilton while trying to breathe in the local air. Or, should I say, the local carbon monoxide.The only place outside where one might take respite is the drop-off area at this busy, busy terminal 3, the international exit gate for the JFK complex. I soon found myself people-watching rather than reading. Oh, the humanity. My God, the humanity. Humanity everywhere you looked. Loud, boisterous, in a hurry, fuck everyone else, horn-blowing, bag-snatching humanity. Endless streams of humanity flowed though this terminal unlike any I had ever witnessed. Taxis and buses and SUVs filled with people would speed in, drop off said humanity with one hand extended for the fare, and then speed away to pick up more humanity and repeat the process. The cabbies blew their horns at nothing and everything, warning humanity to get the hell out of the way before they become dead humanity. After a couple of hours of this I picked myself up and moved back in to the stuffy terminal to people watch without the sound of horns.Looking at the clock on the terminal wall, I realized that I only had to endure this scene for another 9 hours. What to do for 9 hours? I decided that since I couldn’t see the city as I had planned, I would see New York from a unique perspective…I’d watch New Yorkers, as well as those from far-away places who had come to this place to stand in line, remove shoes and have an x-ray taken of their belongings, be what they were born to be - just people.It was then that I saw families, lovers, husbands and wives, singles, school groups, religious groups, gypsies, the well-to-do, bored actors and their handlers, people with caged, frightened pets - regular people ready to embark on an exciting, long-awaited journey.After several more hours I finally put the Hamilton biography away and just watched this grand scene before me. It was then that I realized that all the buildings and historic places and ground zeros and delis in New York City could probably not reveal the true character of New York like this bustling mass of humanity has revealed to me. Cabbies-blow your horns!
next up-Londontown