Are You Following Me?
I glance up from my book to see my good ol friend Zach looking down at me with a quizzical gaze.
"Are you on this flight to New YorK?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Yeah... what the hell, I saw you from across the terminal and thought there's no way I run into you two days in a row"
I ran into Zach yesterday while he was out walking his dog. I ran into him today en route to a week in NYC with friends before his cousin's wedding in Boston. He lived in New York for 7 years before succumbing to the sylvan call of the Northern Carolina timberland.
"I guess it's your lucky day, where are you headed?"
"Brooklyn. Bed Stuy. You?"
"Crown Heights"
"Wanna split a cab?"
"Hell of a deal"
A few hours later we find ourselves at Herbert Von King Park in the heart of Bed Stuy with grumbling bellies.
"There's a great ramen place near here but it doesn't open till noon, wanna grab a drink while we wait"
"Great idea"
I follow Zach with enough luggage to outfit two days of working in Manhattan, a week of hiking in Norway, a wedding in St. Louis, and general city rompabout wear. We find a spot on the patio at CAPT. DAN'S "Good Time" TAVERN, an eclectic neighborhood watering hole with goofy shit on the walls and quirkily appellated cocktails such as The Cinematic Powerhouse that is Bollywood, A Tomato Few Around My Room, and, of course, Blue Motorcycle, a blue-tinted long island iced tea served on draft.
Anyone who knows me will find it as no surprise that I order the Passionfruit of the Christ, a concoction of green tea gin, passionfruit-orange-guava syrup, pistachio orgeat, Chinola passionfruit liquer, and Neversink reserve gin - an apple-based gin sourced from a single orchard in New York State.
As I sip my tastefully tart, seductively sweet summer libation Zach takes a stroll down memory lane. As a born & bred Masshole he was nonplussed with the prospect of moving to the big brother metropolis to the south. He spent his entire NYC tenure in Queens, stubbornly resisting entreaties from his friends to move to Brooklyn.
As the contents of my glass dwindle away under the splendor of a Brooklyn sun I spot an old friend on the beer menu.
Have You Heard Of Photoville?
After splitting up with Zach I head to Michael's to drop my bags, grab a quick nap, and take the train into Brooklyn Heights. The Brooklyn Promenade is one of my favorite NYC hangs and today lives up to the billing. 75 and sunny with just enough people out and about to give a lively "buzzy" feeling but not too many to feel crowded. I snag a seat on the bench and read a few chapters of my Vonnegut in between contemplative gazes at the Brooklyn Bridge and covetous leerings of mariners piloting jet skis (awesome) on the East River (gross).
20 minutes of direct solar radiation proves to be my limit, at which point I wander 'round 'neath the shade trees. After a quick peek at the US Open leaderboard I duck into
The day after "No what is that?"
"It's this really cool photography showcase down at Brooklyn Bridge Park, they have photo essays from all over the world set up in shipping containers, it's super cool"
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!
"I'm assuming this is a pretty big golf tournament?"
"Yeah, the final day of the US Open, there are a couple holes left and that guy just missed a really big putt... but what's this phototown thing all about?"
"Photoville, it's such a wonderful exhibit, I've gone down there every day after my shift to walk through it. Some of the subject matter is... heavy... but it's really spectacular; you should check it out, today is the last day it's open"
"Amazing, I think I'll do that"
My new friend Gabby, on the business side of the bar, bonded over music
Wichita Lineman
Photoville
Sætre
7 hours on an overnight flight with no legroom led
In such a beleaguered state I was in no position to lean on the generosity of others. And in the hierarchy of "others" I would consider Tom & Monica Bratlie family.
Big Tom pulls his car up to the library right as the light turns red. I scramble to toss my baggage into his backseat before the signal reignites its emerald flame. My largest bag gets hung on a seatbelt and I work on jostling it free as the light turns green. A line of cars has begun to queue behind us, but in pure Scandinavian fashion, not a single honked horn. In the grand scheme of things the 5 seconds I delayed the Oslofolk behind us is mindnumbingly insignificant, however time operates on a different frequency in a car for some reason.
We enjoy wonderful conversation during the 45 minute drive to Sætre, with beautiful views of the Oslofjord.
"Oh! Did Sondre tell you the good news?"
"I-I don't think so?"
"He proposed to Nora two days ago!"
"What!! No way!! He didn't say a thing!!"
"She said yes"
"Well I had a suspicion - she asked me when Sondre was going to propose when I was here last year"
We got too nervous and made our own travel luck
Ok, I feel much better that you are all sorted out, I'm going to hit the sack, it's way past my bedtime.