Grandma Betty & I hopped the train to a distant city earlier this week. It wasn't so distant, actually; just a few hours down the track. Anyway, once there, we set out to investigate a quasi-new feature of yonder city: the High Line.
After wandering as directed to West 20th and 10th — this is New York, of course (though it could be anywhere) — we came upon a dilapidated, elevated rail bed and stood looking up at it thinking, "Are we really in the right place?" We were. So up we went, up stairs & ramps, for the chance to follow along, feeling strangely above it all, for a delightful sunny mile or so through assorted vegetated habitats. Grandma Betty went so far as to quiz those busily tending grasses/flowers/trees about what they were growing and how it all fared in winter ...
And at the end of the line lay the meatpacking district, which wasn't at all what I'd pictured. I mean, there were signs of erstwhile meatpacking. Even a crime scene. Seriously. It was more than a little alarming to see crowds of people/tourists gawking and pointing cameras at an assemblage of police cars and yellow tape. It took Grandma Betty and I a good ten seconds to realize the situation wasn't what it seemed — thank goodness. We knew we'd been had when the sidewalk, along which we were moseying past fancy shops and eating/drinking establishments, led us directly behind a wood-and-canvas director's chair emblazoned with the words "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit." And there was the victim, lying on the ground, except she kept getting up to fuss with her hair and make-up (largely red), then she'd lie back down for another take.
If only.
But the highlight, other than the High Line, of GB's and my all-too-quick trip was our visit with Super Son. We got to see his environment (!). Then he & Super Girlfriend took us to a club, somewhere on the Lower East Side, where one of their friends was playing keyboard in a band. We sat immediately behind said friend — a good view is critical, right? That said, the most compelling image of the evening may have been the jean-jacketed guy jumping around to take shots from every conceivable angle with impressive lenses all the while mouthing each & every word the singer was singing. Or maybe it was that pair of wallflowers who reminded me of home ...
