← PreviousChristmas in New York, as dog-sitters25 December
It's officially Christmas, and it's the second time we've spent it far from France and our families. The first time, in Adelaide, Australia, in 2017, was a bit depressing, and to counter that gloom we've decided on a packed programme of sights and restaurants. After walking our little dogs and making sure they're happy, we set off for the High Line. In the Chelsea neighbourhood, a small group of people set up an association in 1999 to have a disused elevated railway turned into green space, and after long lobbying of mayor Michael Bloomberg, the first part of the park finally opened in 2009. Since extended into a long strip 2.33 kilometres long, it's a little oasis of greenery in an ocean of concrete. Walking along it, you can't help being dazzled by human genius and its ability to produce buildings of breathtaking originality. The gamble has been a huge success, since five million walkers come to look at the city from this platform. But unfortunately, as is often the case, this surge of interest has brought galloping gentrification to the neighbourhood and driven out its working-class residents and many of its shops.
Chelsea Market is still standing, after living a thousand lives. It first housed the biscuit factory behind the famous Oreo, and today it's the New York home of the giant Google, which in fact owns the whole building. But it's 25 December and, New York or not, it's a public holiday here too. So we can't get into the building. Never mind, we won't eat the best lobster roll in the city. We head instead for one of the best bagels in the metropolis. Murray's Bagels stands on the corner of Sixth Avenue and 36th Street and is clearly a victim of its own success. The shop is full of customers and the staff (100% Hispanic) are visibly overwhelmed. Capitalism in its purest form, where the workers get no respite, even on Christmas Day. Customers are visibly exasperated by the wait and we come out almost 40 minutes later. So much for a quick snack. We eat our bagel while walking to Washington Square Park, the emblematic park of Greenwich Village. It's bordered to the south by New York University buildings, which means it's frequented by a somewhat marginal, intellectual and non-conformist crowd. In the 1980s it was also known for drug dealing. After a look around Union Square Park and the East Village, a former cut-throat area turned bohemian neighbourhood mainly home to artists and students, we head further south in Manhattan.
Here stands the most famous place in the history of the 21st century. Ground Zero wraps the neighbourhood in a strange silence. The memorial to the dead, called Reflecting Absence, is striking in the force of its symbolism. It consists of a forest of trees around two square pools with two large voids at their centre, exactly where the two towers stood. Water falls into them continuously, symbolising the passing of time and memory fading with it. On a sunny day like today, the light illuminates the pool and the surrounding buildings are reflected in the water, marking the absence of the Twin Towers all the more. The names of the more than 3,000 people killed in the attacks of 11 September 2001 and February 1993 at the World Trade Center are inscribed on the parapet surrounding the monument. Sometimes a bouquet of flowers rests against one of them: that's how the memorial staff mark birthdays. Seventeen years after the attacks, the area has five new skyscrapers, including the new tallest tower in the United States, One World Trade Center, rising to 541 metres.
The ferry line linking the Battery Park terminal to Staten Island is the busiest in the USA and in the world. It carries 21 million passengers a year and, today being no exception, it's extremely crowded. The line owes its success to its route, which passes close to the Statue of Liberty, and to the fact that it's free. It's rare enough to deserve a mention: New York City doesn't seize every opportunity to squeeze money out of tourists, and that's a relief for us on our modest budget. We're surprised at how close we come to the monument given by France for the centenary of the American Declaration of Independence. Rather cleverly, the authorities running the line make you get off the boat once on Staten Island and queue again, so that islanders using the connection for reasons other than tourism don't lose out. On the way back the boat doesn't pass as close, but the view is still worth its weight in gold. After some careful calculations, we manage to position ourselves perfectly to see the statue and also the Manhattan skyline, which lives up to every promise. From a distance it seems to sit on a strip of land like a child's building set. There's a simplicity to the architecture and a feeling of calm that you only understand with the distance we have. From afar you don't see the ants, only the anthill, and we dive straight back into it to catch the subway.
We'd planned to go up to the top of the Rockefeller Center to admire the skyline at sunset, but all this little trip has taken longer than expected and the sun is already low when we come out of the subway in central Manhattan. Since all roads lead to Rome, we once again emerge in the worst place on earth at this time of the Christmas season: Times Square. As it happens, this is where Junior's Restaurant and Bakery stands, one of the best cheesecake places in the city. Since Cassandre is a fan and it's snack time, we decide to give it a try. It's 5:30 pm and, you guessed it… the restaurant is packed! There are nearly fifty people standing, waiting to be seated, and we're certainly not going to wait an hour for a cheesecake, best in town or not. Luckily, next door there's a takeaway counter with almost nobody in it. The cheesecakes are each more tempting than the last. The price, less so. You'll pay no less than ten dollars for a slice (let's point out that a slice of cake in America = a quarter of a cake in France). Cassandre's verdict is final: it's delicious and by far the best! After this quick gastronomic break, we hurry back to the apartment to walk our two little dogs.
Tiredness grabs us as soon as we're back. But today, after all, it's Christmas, and we still want to mark the occasion, so we go out again. We'd planned to go to the Comedy Cellar, a venue specialising in stand-up comedy, but the queue at the door cools us off immediately. So we wander around Greenwich Village looking for a restaurant nice enough for such a special evening and cheap enough for our budget. We find just the thing at Piccola Cucina in SoHo, a little Italian restaurant with adorable staff and food to die for. All the customers speak the language of Dante, and for the length of a dinner we feel back in Italy, both in the atmosphere and in the taste. This meal rounds off a colourful Christmas Day full of memories.