In Transit

Traveling today was far less painless than I had expected it to be.  I had anticipated needing to make flawless transitions among bus, subway, and train, in order to arrive at Rockville Centre at a reasonable time.  Megabus’ stop had changed, since I last traveled from New York in October and was supposed to be farther from Penn Station, where I needed to be.  Fortunately, the bus arrived remarkably early, even with a long layover in Hartford, and I didn’t even have to navigate the subway because Penn Station just happened to be only four blocks away. 

It felt wonderful to be outside in the warm, fresh air, or as fresh as you can get in New York City, after being stuck in the congested bus for hours.  I didn’t even feel particularly anxious as I wandered Penn Station, following the signs for the Long Island Railroad.  However, I did feel a twinge of nervousness, once I had purchased my train ticket with no indication as to where I should go next.  I approached the ticket counter to inquire about where I should board, and was instead directed to the information desk at the end of the row of windows.  Throughout my trip planning with Google Maps, the only trains that ever appeared to be traveling to Rockville Centre were Babylon trains, so I was rather confused when I was directed towards a track with a train bound for a final destination of Massapequa Park, especially with a Babylon train waiting on the adjacent track.  I decided to just trust the information desk guy and boarded the Massapequa train. 

I was struck by how spacious, clean, and cool the train was in comparison to the subway.  Even the lobby of the station had been far stuffier.  But here, there was climate control and people weren’t crammed together, looking miserable.  It seemed as if it would be a pleasant enough ride.  I sat down with two gentlemen in a cluster of four seats with one bag sitting in the adjacent seat, as the overhead rack was far too near the ceiling to fit any bags.  The train’s first stop just so happened to be Rockville Centre, as we were only passing through Jamaica Station. 

I was also very grateful that my dad had insisted on me taking his cell phone with me, so that I was easily able to inform my friend which train I had made it onto and locate her once I arrived, since there were several directions, in which I could start walking.  I haven’t seen her in years, but we’ve kept in touch through e-mail, Facebook chat, and the occasional phone call.  It felt like we just picked up where we left off.  I love that feeling, when there’s no awkwardness, no need to get to know the person all over again, and instead, you just resume. 

She took me out to dinner at a Greek restaurant near the train station that she and her sister frequent quite regularly.  The waitress knows her by name and quite possibly knows what she orders by now as well.  I couldn’t figure a way to eat my lamb gyro to keep it in one piece, so I opted to use the fork and knife.  Hunger had caught up with me finally, as I’ve had little appetite over the past couple of days due to nerves, and I polished off the entire meal.  Even now, hours later, I still feel rather content. 

After dinner, we raced back to the Lakeview Public Library, where my friend works, for the knitting class that she was scheduled to teach.  A handful of women showed up, eager to continue with the past few weeks of lessons.  For most, this was the only time that they had to do anything for themselves, away from family and work.  One woman was ecstatic to have made something with her own hands, even if it was slightly deformed and holy, where she had dropped several stitches.  I didn’t remember how to cast on, so my friend started me off and I spent the evening plugging along with twenty stitches back and forth on the needles.  It was quite relaxing and I make good progress with a more professional looking knit than my first and only piece at home. 

Later, we spent our last couple of hours together chatting over tea, before heading for the airport.

New York City Musings

Yesterday, I caught the first bus to New York City to pay a visit to the Polish Consulate.  I will explain more on why I was there at a later date.  While I was waiting, I felt slightly overwhelmed by the constant chatter from the line of people that extended onto the sidewalk because I had not a clue as to what they were saying to each other.  I didn’t even have a general idea regarding the topics of conversation, like I sometimes can with Spanish, as I will recognize a handful of words, which help to piece the puzzle together.  Yet, I have learned relatively few words and phrases through my Polish audio lessons, thus far, and, as a result, I was only able to pick out about three or four words, never mind guessing at content.

I feared attempting to make use of my few phrases, as I worried that they might not get the hint that I only fully grasp the English language and would continue trying to speak to me in Polish, or that I would face ridicule for my ignorance.  In hindsight, these were rather irrational fears, but they were fears, nonetheless, which caused me to keep to myself and speak only in my native tongue, when I absolutely had to. 

And that was just an isolated location in a city dominated by English-speakers!  I worry what my response might be to a situation, in which I am the minority, socially isolated by the barrier of language.  I wouldn’t be able to just walk a few blocks in any direction, so that I might be comforted by the sound of familiar words.  Perhaps, this is just another one of my comfort zones that I need to break through, and further learn to cope with the element of uncertainty and the fact that I cannot know everything.

After this, I discovered Bryant Park, which is more like a rectangular area of concrete with some small trees and shrubbery planted in mulched soil, and scattered about the grounds.  Yet, it was still a lovely reprieve from hurriedness and traffic of the nearby streets.  Several box shaped stores were open on the property, selling a variety of products from coffee to pickles to winter clothing accessories.  I weaved among these little shops and the many iron patio sets, and on to the center of the park, which was void of tree cover and featured an ice-skating rink.  There seemed to be a set capacity for the rink and time allotments, as there was a long line of patrons waiting to enter the facility to get suited up.  I found a cozy table in the warm sunlight and read a book for awhile, all bundled in my winter gear, as there was still a chill in the air. 

Later, as I was wandering back to the Port Authority Bus Station, I stumbled upon Times Square with all of its flashy advertisements and television screens.  I meandered along the blue road, designated for pedestrian traffic, amazed at how I never realized for how many blocks Times Square extended.  As I waited at a corner for traffic to go by, I heard the distant sound of some sort of folk music.  I identified the source to be a live band, diagonally across from where I stood.  Their music had a Hispanic/Latin beat, but I could not place it into a specific genre with my limited knowledge of cultural music.  The band’s wind instrumentalist had a case full of wooden pipes, which he swapped in between and during songs for varying effects.

As I wandered, I also thought of what it might be like to live in such a large metropolitan area.  It would be an interesting experience for a time, but I believe that I would generally be unhappy, being so isolated from nature with massive man-made structures looming overhead and enveloped by a sense of loneliness in such inescapable anonymity. 

My thoughts then turned on the bus ride home to how it feels that I have led two vastly different lives, the crossover of which is rather unidentifiable.  In childhood, I was so socially isolated.  I vacationed with my family to big cities, stayed in hotels, and went shopping. I often dined in restaurants on the weekends and indulged in fast food at least once a week.  I regularly attended rock concerts and theater performances.  Yet, now, I prefer the country.  I have a more nature-oriented, holistic approach to life, and try my best to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I take risks, pushing my comfort zone, yet keep a close eye on where my money goes.  It’s fascinating how drastically my personality, my goals, my values seem to have changed over the years; however, I suppose I am really the same person underneath it all, just coming into my own.