The United States of America has always been a bit of an enigma for me. As an Australian, I was raised in what was effectively a British environment; however there is almost no aspect of life that is not flooded with popular culture from the U.S.A. and consequently, I have always had pretty mixed feelings about going. I have little to no interest in modern American culture, but their landscape is captivating and diverse. As it happened, my work would see my attend a conference in Hartford, Connecticut. I had just spent 2 weeks in Iceland and had no time nor money for adventuring in the U.S.A., so it was to be pure business. That was until I found out the most efficient way to Hartford was via New York City.

Business as usual

I was scheduled to fly out of Paris very early on Sunday morning, having just arrived back from Iceland on the Saturday morning at 0600, severely sleep deprived. Saturday was spent sleeping, along with a trip to my local bakery Au Petit Delice (which I cannot recommend highly enough should you find yourself nearby) and a trip to Gare de Lyon to see Mia off to Geneva. I packed my bags and had as early a night as I could.

I was up at 0315 to get to Charles de Gaulle for my flight, which was a smooth journey. I was to travel with Air France on an Airbus A380-800, which besides making me feel like I was doing my bit for French business was also going to be my first time on an A-380. My tickets had been purchased by the finance team at my work many months in advance, to the point that I would believe I would have been one of the first people to buy a ticket. Given this, you can imagine my surprise when they did not allocate me a seat on my boarding pass and told me that I had to go and speak to the person at the gate. I proceeded to do so and was informed that I was on standby, which surprised me given the circumstances.

Apparently, whilst I was in Iceland, there had been some air traffic controller strikes - which are common in France during the high season - and they were filling the planes with people whose flights had been cancelled. This is reasonable, but it did not make the situation better for me. If you have never been on standby, all you can do is sit there whilst they board the plane, waiting to see if there are any spare seats at the end. During my wait, a couple of women were seated next to me, also placed on standby. My heart sank a little at this point, as they were charity workers who had been in France fundraising - it was clear that if there were not enough spare seats, I would be staying behind.

Some forty minutes after boarding commenced, they had loaded everybody on the plane and it looked as though there were no spare seats. We were told that we would be put on tomorrow morning’s flight, which was annoying as I would miss a day of my conference, but there was nothing I could do about it. As we were readying ourselves to leave, a flight attendant ran out, stating that they did indeed have a single seat, and since they did not want to break up the women, I was to get on the plane. They were already running late, so they were really trying to get me to run onto the plane. Adding to this sense of hurry were the new regulations that had just come into effect for flights to the U.S.A. whereby all electronic equipment had to be booted up in front of a customs official, meaning I had people telling me to hurry up, but someone else telling me to take my shoes off, take out my tablet and laptop and boot them up. Making matters worse, I only had hand luggage, meaning my backpack was packed like a jack-in-the-box, so things came out easily enough, but I could not get everything back in without taking it all out first.

I eventually got to the plane, which was another experience, as the plane was loaded and ready to leave, with everybody waiting for me. I boarded by the front and of course my seat was down the back, so everyone was carefully observing me whilst I found my way to my seat. The most bizarre aspect was the fact everything was prepared: all the overhead lockers were closed, everyone seated - including many of the crew, so when I began fumbling trying to put my bag in the already overfull lockers it was entertainment for one and all. Adding to the stress was the person next to whom I was sitting, a young French woman going to New York to try to get into acting and modelling (according to what she told the guy across the aisle) and with the most rotten “don’t give a shit” attitude that the French are often stereotyped as having. She did not make it easy for me to get to my seat and then was more than happy to take up the armrests and invade my leg space - which was extremely limited given I was in a window seat, something I usually go out of my way to avoid since I am rather tall. But at least I had a seat on the plane, and was going to New York City. You can imagine my reaction when I tried to turn on my in-flight entertainment system, only to find out the unit in my seat was faulty.

The flight was fine, it was actually an eye-opening experience in the context of what people call long-haul flights. Coming from Australia, it does not matter where you go, the flight times are minimum 7-8 hours, but usually much greater. As all of my long flights had been between Europe and Australia, I was used to spending 24-hours-plus on a plane, so it was interesting to see people gearing up for apparent long-haul armageddon - for a six hour flight. It is hard to distill exactly the sentiment I felt hearing people stating how rough such a long flight is; it is the same feeling I get when I meet people who suggest going to Australia or New Zealand is simply not feasible as it is too far, or the flight is too long, and genuinely believe it. Especially as the conversation normally happens between me, an Australian, and a European in Europe.

Arriving in the U.S.A. was all a bit serious; I did not realise that I was going to have my fingerprints taken, and then when I was attempting to buy a ticket to catch the train into the city from the airport with my card and it was taking a while, somebody had a go at me for not using cash. I appreciate that it can be frustrating as a local to deal with tourists being useless, but cutting a little slack is a nice gesture - especially at an airport! But I was impressed with how easy and smooth the train trip into the city was - looking at the skyline on the way into town is a little mind-bending as it never stops, it just keeps on getting bigger. Eventually we descended into the subway and arrived at Penn Station, where I was catching a train up to Hartford. I purposely did not want to deal with changing trains, so I booked a later train ($45, 3 hours) which gave me a few hours to kill. As I had not anticipated this, I had not planned to do anything, nor did I know where I was nor what was close to Penn Station. So I just went out wandering.

It humoured me that within 5 minutes I had already seen a person waving around an enormous sign talking about Jesus and a military recruitment booth. As it turned out, I had walked into Times Square without realising it. By this point I was pretty hungry so went on the hunt for some lunch and came across Chipotle, something which Reddit talks up no end, so I thought I would give it a go. At this point, it is worth reiterating the stereotype of food from the U.S.A., moreover what I was expecting as a first time visitor, which is big portions, cheap and very unhealthy. I found the portion to be big, but not stupidly so, indeed it looked unhealthy, but it was by no means cheap. Obviously this is a sample size of one, but we were off to a rocky start.

Next on my list of “things I cannot get in France” was a milkshake, which I had not had since I was last in Australia, some 18 months prior. With the proliferation of Dunkin’ Donuts outlets, I thought this would be easy, but it turns out they do not sell milkshakes, only coffee! For an Australian, a doughnut place that does not sell milkshakes is absurd. But since I was there and I would soon be on a long train journey, I got a cup of mini-doughnuts for some sustenance. Getting the train was simple, although knowing which piece of paper was my actual ticket was not easy as it is not clearly marked, and when I asked about it, the woman behind the information desk though I was nuts. But the train pulled in, somebody actually said “all aboard” and then we were away. The train was surprisingly comfortable, with couch-like seats, which are not at all efficient, but were welcome. The conductors were much the same, with manual ticket checks and placement of a card indicating what station each person would alight that seems positively ancient compared to the European system; I also read somewhere that staff have to change at state borders - which seems ludicrous, given people are working across multiple countries in Europe. But the journey was extremely pleasant, with much of the landscape that we went though seeming almost like a wetlands area, adjacent to the Connecticut River, and more what I would associate with the south (well, as pop-culture would have me associate with the south). It never ceases to amaze me how large rivers can be; I appreciate that it is not a particularly large river, but as another cultural contrast, rivers in Australia are simply not that big.

The train eventually arrived in Hartford, which was a surprisingly pretty town, particularly the state capitol building. I arrived just as the sun was setting and the sky was a magnificent shade of purple, which just added to the scene - not to mention me being deliriously tired by this point. I was too late to attend the welcome reception for the conference, so I made a bee-line to my hotel, Best Western Hartford Hotel & Suites, which was located in South Meadows, 5.5 kilometres out of town. Google maps automatically uses imperial measurements in the U.S.A., so when I got directions and it said 3.6 miles, I had no real appreciation for how far this was, and just started walking. It turned out that the distance was not really the issue, but rather me starting to walk into a very shady part of town, which, combined with non-existent pedestrian infrastructure, meant I decided to cut my journey short and instead take a taxi the rest of the way. At this point I just wanted to go to sleep, so the taxi was a relief, especially the air-conditioned environment, as the Hartford climate was much hotter and more humid than I had expected. The fare was minimal, but for the first time I would need to deal with tipping; many Americans simply do not appreciate how foreign a concept this is for other peoples. I had read up on giving 15% for most things, so I did that and it went smoothly enough. The driver gave me his card and was keen for me to tell my friends about him; he had his own taxi business, but again this was something I just found really weird. I checked in to the hotel and asked about dinner options, assuming there would be something nearby. Unfortunately, other than the service station which had a Subway and a seafood restaurant - which the taxi driver claimed was one of the best in the state and people came from far and wide to eat there - there was nothing. As I was not in the mood for that, I just sucked it up and ate whatever snacks I had left from the flight.

The room was comical in its proportions, with the biggest bed I have ever slept in, two televisions (both of which were enormous) and a humongous bathroom. This was certainly in line with my expectations, which is not to say it was good or bad, just typical of U.S.A. culture. But by golly was that one of the best showers I have had in recent memory. The seemingly elephant-sized shower head and infinite pressure were in such contrast to my shower in Paris that I was in a Zen state afterwards and slept solidly - without moving a millimetre - for near on twelve hours.

Hard fought battles

In my mind, I knew what to expect in the U.S.A and to a large extent I was not surprised, but I was struck by how genuinely nice people were. A number of small interactions: talking with the woman at the deli I visited for lunch every day about her family in Sydney, the laughs of the assistant when I asked for a jam doughnut and the refreshing willingness of strangers to just have a chat. Even though Hartford is a city, the attitude felt much closer to that of a country town. I sampled as many of the local delicacies as I could, including the lobster bisque at the U.S.S. Chowder Pot and some local beers at City Steam Brewery. The local sights were less interesting, with Mark Twain's House, which is now a museum, being the main drawcard. More interesting from my point of view where the daily electrical storms which rolled in at about 1600 and unleashed a deluge for 30 minutes, with beautiful weather on either side of the rain. In total, I was in Hartford for about a week, but outside of working I did not see all that much of what the town had to offer.

The city that never sleeps

Rather, all the spare time that I had I would spend in New York City. After leaving the conference, I had from Friday until Tuesday morning to take in all that I could; luckily I had some friends who could play tour guide and with whom I could stay. I arrived in the city at around 1830 and our first order of business was to head to a comedy show at the Comedy Cellar. It wouldn’t have been the first thing I thought of doing, but it was a great night out, despite all the NYC in-jokes that I didn’t get relating to “walk-ups” and the port authority bus terminal. As an added bonus, we got to meet up with some old friends that I had not seen in years. After the show, we headed to a “dive bar”, which from what I can tell is essentially a pub. The place had a cool vibe along with a Big Buck Hunter arcade setup which kept us entertained for some time. Unfortunately, during this time, the friend with whom I was crashing had been putting away the drinks and became so intoxicated that he was essentially removed from the venue and had passed out in the street. His partner was looking after him, but I was none the wiser about the whole thing until it was decided that we should return home, which meant that I would have to “transport” him. He is a big guy, so this wasn’t the easiest of tasks, especially given he lived in a walk-up apartment. But with some cajoling his partner and I managed to get him out of the gutter, into a taxi, into his apartment and then into bed. I remember his partner being slightly sheepish about me seeing him without a shirt, and him trying to express what going to boarding school together actually means; on the whole this was not well-communicated. Afterward, I chatted with his partner for quite some time about anything and everything before retiring to bed.

The next morning I was able to inspect my surroundings thanks to the sunlight: I was in a tiny apartment in the East Village. We went for breakfast at a nearby café, then I made my way into the city to wander through the well-known bits: the Empire State Building, Times Square, Central Park and the the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was the middle of summer and the sun was shining, so it was a great walk but pretty tiring. It is only five or so kilometres between these places but combined with meandering and a few hours inside the museum it took much of the day. I was thoroughly impressed by Central Park and the museum; however I was less enamoured with wandering around midtown, there simply wasn’t much to see. I suppose this is to be expected in the heart of any city, but I think I had some warped expectations. I had some “authentic” street food, namely a hot dog, which was both expensive and bad. I expect this was entirely my fault for buying into something touristy, but I like to think that I chose carefully so perhaps this reflects somewhat on hot dogs in general? In any case, it was sufficient for lunch and combined with an ice cream enjoyed at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park, I was well fuelled.

My day in the city was punctuated by a visit to the viewing platform on the top of the Rockefeller Centre, the so-called ”Top of the Rock”, which I had loosely planned on visiting for sunset (about 2000 in August). However, I arrived early and pretty tired at about 1830, and ultimately did not make the commitment to hang around. The view from the top is neat, and oddly familiar. Unfortunately, many of the other people on the observation deck made it a genuinely unpleasant place to be, so I took a few happy snaps, took in the scene that is New York city and then made a bee-line to meet up with another friend who lived in the West Village and who was putting me up for the night. I was chuffed with the situation, as she was a friend whom I had known since I was a baby and now we were meeting on the other side of the world; me, a visiting academic from Paris and her living and working as an architect in the USA. Unfortunately, she was incredibly ill and essentially housebound; though she steeled herself and we went out for dinner near her place, it was clear things were pretty rough. Adding salt to the wound was the atrocious quality of both food and service, which was bad enough that my friend insisted that we not leave a tip. From my understanding of tipping culture in the USA this is a pretty serious violation of the code, but I was more that happy to follow the lead of someone who understands the system and was adamant that it was appropriate. Finally, we enjoyed the dusk and early night at Washington Square Park before calling it a night.

The next day, the weather gods were still on our side and it was a glorious morning. We went to check out the High Line, an elevated park built on a dilapidated rail line. On the way, we picked up a bagel - something that I did not think of doing, but was glad I did; the American implementation of a distinctly European food is surprisingly good. The High Line was impressive, a creative way to make some parkland in a place that so desperately needs it. There was also a spot to sit and watch traffic pass below, which is not really my jam but I could see how others might enjoy it.

After leaving my still very ill friend, I went to meet up with some other people for brunch. I love visiting people when they are comfortable in their city and are happy to say “we are doing x, y and z”, as the stress of figuring out what to do is greatly reduced, not to mention you get to see a place through their eyes. So I was heading north (I guess that is “up-town”?) to The Smith which seemed like a pretty nice spot. It became quickly apparent that brunch is a vastly different affair in the U.S.A. as compared to elsewhere - in Australia, brunch is essentially breakfast taken at 1030 in a recently renovated warehouse with good coffee, while in France, well, brunch does not exist. In the U.S.A., it seems that it is an all-day affair and often involves drinking; places seem to pride themselves on advertising “unlimited drinks” or the like, but as a consequence, brunch costs a ridiculous amount (50 USD). Thankfully this place did not do that, but the food was pretty weird: a friend ordered macaroni and cheese and doughnuts as side dishes whilst we ordered standard breakfast fare. The coffee was terrible (this is nothing new for the U.S.A.), but the juice was tasty.

The energy intake from brunch was gargantuan, so the next order of business was to get some exercise by crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. This was the thing I enjoyed most from my time in the city. The view, the vibe, the whole experience, they were all great. We crossed from Manhattan Island to Brooklyn, and would have happily just turned around and crossed the bridge again, but instead headed to have drinks with friends at a rooftop bar overlooking the city. This would likely be the number two experience from my time in the city, as everything was perfect: the weather, the view and the atmosphere. It was a fantastic way to pass an afternoon.

Afternoon turned to evening, and we headed out in search of some food - although given brunch we did not need it. We stumbled across a Shake Shack in Brooklyn that my friend raved about, so it was decided. I got a mushroom burger, which was not good, but I also got a vanilla milkshake, which was pretty decent. As I was on the hunt for the thickest shake possible, I asked about this and the woman serving told me to get it with malt, which I did, but I am not sure I would recommend this, as the texture was beyond bizarre. My friend got some loaded fries, which looked disgusting, but tasted okay, although they oozed “freedom” in a way only heart attack-inducing foods from the U.S.A. can. After dinner, I parted ways with my friend to go and meet another friend whom I knew from Australia. She was living in Bushwick, so it was a chance to see a bit more of the city whilst catching up.

Getting off the train in Bushwick, I was immediately struck by the vibe - quite different to the other places I had been, but in a good way. There was a much more relaxed feel to the place: music on the streets, people sitting in front of their row houses and even a few people working on jacked-up cars with hydraulic suspension. My friend’s place was quaint and much larger than the places at which I had been staying, and as a bonus, her housemate was visiting her parents, which meant that I would have a very welcome undisturbed night’s sleep. As it was a Sunday night, we were not going to do anything crazy, and just stayed up talking, reminiscing along with all the other things you do when you have not seen each other in years but still have plenty in common. It was also interesting for me to note that everyone with whom I met up was from a different part of my life - a childhood friend, school friends and now a friend from university - and consequently the interactions were very different, and enjoyable for different reasons. It is clear that as I have moved through life, my beliefs and opinions have changed and consequently, unless people have been changed in similar ways, there is less and less that holds you together; shared experiences can only take you so far. So catching up with a friend with a more similar outlook on life was delightful, even though it was brief; it can serve to remind you why you were friends in the first place.

The former site of one of the twin towers

Monday morning was frantic, as it was a work day. I took the train into the city with my friend first thing in the morning and headed to the financial district. I have no interest in that world, but rather I was on a mission to take the Staten Island Ferry, a well-known stratagem for getting a free boat ride and a great view of the city. My mission was clear: get breakfast (a cream cheese bagel from a street vendor near Battery Park), get to the Whitehall boat terminal and get on the boat. There was not much waiting around and leaving was pretty efficient. Once aboard we set out and it was a joy to watch the view of the city grow as we wended south. Unfortunately, as we got further away, the smog cloud enveloping the city became particularly evident; it is no surprise to learn that the air quality is poor in a city, but it is shocking to see just how poor it is. The other point of note was the drive-by of the Statue of Liberty, but it was just that. Arriving into St. George Terminal involved walking off the boat, around some barriers and then straight back on to head back; I was glad I did not have to wait around for the next boat!

Once I was back on dry land, I wandered up to the site of the recently completed One World Trade Center and the memorial to the September 11 attacks. Surprisingly, I was really moved by the whole experience. I have no connection to the event (other than all of its ramifications) but still had quite an emotional connection to the scene, which is a testament to the quality of the memorial. I would recommend that anyone visiting the city take the time to go to the site. It was, however, quite jarring scene to have such a sombre and serious theme playing along in my head and then see people taking selfies and acting seemingly disrespectfully to the tableau (though it is hard to tell if this is just a case of “get off my lawn”).

At this point, my departure back to Paris was starting to feel imminent, so I could not commit to doing anything in particular. Rather I took the metro up the Upper East Side and just wandered around the residential streets. It is a really pretty neighbourhood, although I remember being struck by how every apartment had air conditioning units somehow secured outside their apartments, all of which were built before such things were commonplace. It got me thinking about how largely unnecessary air conditioning is in many of these places. Sure, New York City was warm and humid during my time there, but it was absolutely tolerable. I simply cannot get my head around the attitude that “I must be comfortable at all times”; I understand for large-scale buildings you have to remove the heat, this is clear, but I suppose it makes me reflect upon Australia, where many people crank their air conditioner when it is not necessary. The argument rolled out by Americans is usually “have you been to Phoenix? You can’t live there without it!” to which I respond, “No, you probably can’t. That is a city that should not exist.” It all begs the question: what if the rest of the world used air conditioning like the U.S.A.? Well, unsurprisingly people study things like this and it is not good. In essence, I think people should just have to deal with being less comfortable some of the time.

Lost in thought, I ended up popping out of the residential area at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, which is a pretty snazzy-looking building, but I did not enter - I have not had much luck enjoying modern art. And in any case, my time was starting to run pretty thin; I made my way to Grand Central Station - but not before picking up one last milkshake - and then on to John F. Kennedy airport.

Returning home to France was uneventful, except for the morning of my return to work, when I was sorting through my rubbish and managed to throw out my pile of receipts. This was after having saved them from the duration of the trip and looking them out the night before. Needless to say, when I was explaining this to the finance officer at work, I felt like a fool!

Much later, I would learn the answer to why I could not find any thickshakes in America: what we call a thickshake in Australia is what Americans call a normal milkshake, and what we call a milkshake does not exist there, or is simply called flavoured milk. The more you know…

Adventures

Hartford and New York City, U.S.A.

Business as usual

Hard fought battles

The city that never sleeps