My initial impressions about NYC were “overwhelming, confusing, smelly, dirty, crowded.”
Walking over subway vents for the first time freaked me out. For one, the stench (hello pregnant nose). For two, the sound. For three, the hot, humid air blowing from them every time the subway would pass. Gross. People swear, smoke, and honk an awful lot. But as I walked further and became more familiar with the streets, I started to feel a quaint little love for this giant city. It’s nothing like I expected it to be–I expected the crowds. I expected the buildings, but I did not expect to be as emotionally confused with the city as I was.
I walked 13 miles the first day, walking from Bryant Park to the 9/11 memorial and back, wandering along the way. The parks were the best part. They’re bustling with people, yet quiet. It was just the right amount of humming and laughter. Nothing like you see in the summer’s deserted parks in Arizona. I loved the architecture too. So many detailed buildings to see everywhere you looked.
I watched moms walking with their children riding on scooters across busy streets and had heart attacks every time. I could never raise a family there and I don’t know how they do it.
I’ve always dreamt of going to NYC, because it’s so romanticized in movies. But now that I came, I saw, I conquered, I don’t know that I want to do it again. It’s an oddly charming, huge and confusing city, and it had its magic moments, but give this desert dweller a tent and send me to the mountains–because big cities are not my cup of tea.
Marche Mamon was such a charming little cafe/shop: