New York feels a lot like Rome to me. People often use, for example, the word "character" when discussing both cities. "The city's got character." "The character of the neighborhood makes in unique and fun." "The apartment has character." Everything, it seems, has character. What they really mean, though, is that each part of the city and each apartment is really dirty an a unique way. With several exceptions (Central Park for New York, Villa Borghese for Rome, SOHO in New York, Via Veneto in Rome), each time you walk upon a new street, you feel a little disgusted. A little unsafe, too. People litter; it is a way of life passed through the generations. People will pay thousands of dollars to live in a dump with a great location. It is crowded, flooded with tourists, and expensive. And in many ways poorly run and in disrepair.

I realized this parallel "character" while waiting for a subway at 1:30am in Brooklyn. It is dirty and stuffy, and I am waiting--along with a large crowd of people--for a subway to take us farther into Brooklyn. We wait forever. A train arrives to Manhattan. A train arrives to Brooklyn; it is out of service, of course. Then a trash train blocks the Brooklyn tracks. Then another Manhattan train passes by. Then a Brooklyn train stops along the Manhattan tracks; passengers, for some reason, are not let on, and the train drives away. Five minutes later the same train (I assume) emerges, and this time we are let on. All the while the crowd maintains control with resigned patience and gossipy speculation about the mystical train to Brooklyn.

A similar--though more extreme--thing happened to me in Rome. I was kicked out of my dorm around 10am, and my train to France wouldn't leave until 11pm. Sooooo, I spent the day relaxing in the park, eating chocolate, cheese, bread, and apples I bought from the supermarket built underneath the park, and reading. By the time I arrived at the train station around 10pm, I was tired, sunburned, and dehydrated. And my train wasn't listed on the computer systems or schedule board. Passengers around me whispered in English, Italian, and French trying to figure out what was going on. No train employees in sight. I slowly gleaned from other conversations that an unmarked train would arrive around 11:30 headed to France. Around the 11:30 rolls around, and nothing. Around 12:00 an unmarked train arrives; some people get on, some people get on and then off, arguments are breaking out, and the train conductors are yelling in Italian. I do not get on; it doesn't feel right. The train leaves (but not before closing upon some exiting passengers, cut off from their families already disembarked). More arguing in Italian. 30 minutes later another unmarked train arrives. Its cars are labeled out of order, but after 15 frantic minutes, I find my car, my cabin, and my seat.

New York could never surpass the freeing disorganization and dirty beauty of Rome, but it comes close.


A couple good things to keep in mind while I am awash in this new city:

I get a ton of free books. All the time. You see this photo? That is in my room. Multiply that by three, and that is at my cubicle at work. I've already sent a box of books home, and another one is being compiled. I can't wait to buy a bookshelf.


I am getting on with the knitting. I finished my first skein, and I have to buy two more to finish this scarf for JohnDavid.