At the start of my New York City vacation, I bought a MetroCard, the all-access transit pass, from a subway vending machine. I splurged on the $34, seven-day version.
Best investment ever? Possibly. If Dr. Seuss promoted the MetroCard, he might say, “Oh, the places you’ll go.”
As loyal readers will recall, my standard practice on vacation is to get around via public transit rather than rent a car. Cars are pricey, and hotels often charge absurd amounts for parking.
And in New York City, there’s little need for a car anyway. Buses, subways, trains, it’s a transit paradise.
(Compare that to San Bernardino County, which despite a population above 2 million “will be a transit-free zone” on Labor Day, Henry Fung recently griped on Twitter. Metrolink is doing track maintenance and bus lines are taking the holiday off.)
My MetroCard — or, as in the Le Tigre song, “My My MetroCard” — was put to use immediately: I rode the subway to the Bronx for a Yankees day game.
A little sorry to be removing my Metro Card transit pass from my wallet after a week of getting around NYC. But my Metro Card magnet on my refrigerator remains useful. pic.twitter.com/f9qtlbcBR6
— David Allen (@DavidAllen909) August 10, 2022
I couldn’t tell you how many rides I took in subsequent days. Two dozen, maybe? The beauty of an unlimited-ride card, or a day pass, is that I didn’t have to make a lot of individual decisions. And thank goodness for that.
Because if it were up to me, would I pay a $2.75 fare for a subway or bus? Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. Knowing myself, in half the cases I would say, “16 blocks? Ehh, a 45-minute walk will do me good, even if it is 92 degrees and humid!”
Instead, I boarded a bus or subway for only a few stops if it was convenient to do so. Why not? It was free.
There were much longer rides: over to Queens for a Mets game, to the Upper East Side for a Jewish deli, to Tribeca for a bookstore. And plenty of shorter rides and transfers.
I still got in plenty of walking. At home I’ll walk 5,000 steps a day, maybe 8,000. In NYC I was getting 11,000 to 19,000. As a stair climber, I aim for 10 flights a day. One day on vacation I logged 41, some of them stairs to street level from subway stations.
I don’t know how anyone who lives in New York could be obese. Unless they make a point of downing a daily slice of cheesecake.
Speaking of which, a slice of cheesecake from Junior’s was on my wish list, having enjoyed slices on my two previous trips to New York, but it didn’t happen this trip. I almost went there after checking out of my hotel, but I decided there wasn’t time, and who needs the calories? Next trip.
Now, I’m pretty handy with subways and buses. They tend to operate on the same principle everywhere. You pay attention to the name of the end point in each direction. That’s how you figure out which one to board, so you don’t end up going the wrong way.
But navigating is a lot easier in a place with only middling transit. L.A. is like checkers compared to NYC’s three-dimensional chess. When you find a subway entrance in New York, generally tucked into a street corner, with steps leading down, there may be multiple platforms with multiple trains.
And it turns out not every sidewalk entrance leads to the right train. A Manhattan intersection might have two or three subway entrances. They might all take you to the same subway lines, but one entrance might be marked Uptown and another one Downtown. So many nuances!
New York City is like a master class in transit. I had learned a lot by the end of my vacation, while also realizing how much there is left to learn. Wait, this is sounding corny. I’d better switch gears.
May I hit a few highlights of my stay? Thank you.
There was a pizzeria and bar a few paces from my Hell’s Kitchen hotel. One evening I walked to what I thought was the entrance, was shown an outdoor table, and when I looked at the menu, it turned out I was at the unmarked restaurant next door to the pizzeria.
Leaving was too embarrassing, and besides, the menu was interesting. So I relaxed with a grilled octopus salad, plus a glass of wine, the first time I’d ever ordered wine, and read from the novel I’d brought with me, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Tender is the Night.” Life was good.
Two nights later, I correctly entered the pizzeria. I liked that meal too. And I kept reading.
I finished the novel on my flight home, by the way. I will always associate “Tender is the Night” with this vacation, and this vacation with “Tender is the Night.”
One afternoon I took photos outside Tom’s, the diner whose neon “Restaurant” sign is familiar to anyone who’s ever seen “Seinfeld.” I didn’t go in. Thus, I have no idea if you can order a Big Salad, a muffin top, a calzone or a Snickers bar on a plate.
Restaurant! (Seen at 112th and Broadway; also in reruns.) pic.twitter.com/xp9jvfh668
— David Allen (@DavidAllen909) August 7, 2022
I went to two art museums, the Guggenheim and the Whitney; three bookstores; and multiple parks, including Central Park, Bryant Park, the High Line and Little Island, which sits on concrete pedestals on the water and looks like a park imported from the 22nd century.
Now for the lowlight: My flight home was canceled, a first for me.
I had to stay over, fly the next day to LAX rather than ONT, then make my way home via the Flyaway Shuttle and Metrolink. (Good thing it wasn’t Labor Day.) Annoying? Yeah. But it’s already fading.
Because: What a great vacation.
Back at home, I stepped on the bathroom scale with some trepidation. After all, this was after seven straight days of nothing but restaurant meals.
I was, astonishingly, one pound lighter than when I’d left home. Must have been all that walking and stair climbing.
In retrospect, I guess I could’ve gone to Junior’s for cheesecake.
brIEfly
Tuesday, Aug. 16 will mark 45 years since Elvis Presley’s death in 1977. If you were alive then, where were you when you heard the news, what do you remember and why did it affect you? Email me with your name, city of residence and age, if you don’t mind. And if you saw him perform in San Bernardino at Swing Auditorium on one of his four concerts there — Nov. 12 and 13, 1972, and May 10 and 13, 1974 — you can tell me about that too. Thankyouverramuch.
David Allen writes Sunday, Wednesday and (curls lip) Friday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, like davidallencolumnist on Facebook and follow @davidallen909 on Twitter.
