Dear patient reader,
I skipped a newsletter last week because my journey to and from the USA consumed all of my attention. Instead of serving you up a groggy and half-baked missive last week I decided to press my first pause button on my newsletter in thirteen months and use the time to recharge my batteries.
Plus, during this small break I gained another paying subscriber — thank you and welcome! It came with a supportive message that teared me up when I read it.
My pilgrimage through Pennsylvania and NYC felt fated by its sudden and solemn purpose (to commemorate my uncle’s life) and the sense of re-treading locations in the USA that were instrumental in shaping my character.
On the Uber ride from Philly airport to our hotel in a small town (just half an hour from where I was born) the sun shone needle-sharp from an endless blue sky. Against its glare I spotted a large bird of prey circling above lofty trees which were poised on the verge of sprouting spring leaves. For me it symbolised, in one snapshot image, that sense of America in its most idealised form: wide spaces and freedom.1
A day later I sat outside our hotel in conversation with my mother when I spotted a pair of similar winged predators, gliding in sweeping circles over nearby towering pines. I guessed they were a mated pair, with a nest not too far from where my mother and I were temporarily roosting. One of them made the mistake of passing too close to our building where crows had staked their territory. Soon, three of the cawing defenders were driving away the bigger bird. It flapped away, deterred but not overly disturbed by their rowdy warning.
One afternoon I had a couple of hours to myself and I ambled through a nearby shopping centre, taking in the vibe of America, similar in superficial ways but so profoundly different to Ireland. The word that comes to mind always is BIG. The roads, the cars, the stores, the food servings, the voices, the attitude...
I walked into an echoing Home Depot, with cathedral ceilings and vaulted shelving from which hung a massive American flag. Here, you could find anything to fit-out your home, which you could also load onto your giant pickup truck parked outside with little worry there wouldn’t be enough space to accommodate its size. I like to experience these ordinary places, to wander into a Wawa store, Staples or Dick’s Sporting Goods, and sense the everyday hum of American life. One of my fun treks in any country I visit is to go to a local grocery store, such as Wegams in Pennsylvania or a corner bodega in New York. In the racks of produce and selection of foodstuffs a people’s preferences and tastes are laid out before you.
In between the sad ceremonies I attended there was joy in reunions with my relatives as well as absorbing conversations with people who knew my uncle in a way that I had never witnessed. It rounded out his life to me in new ways, but also there was a pain from knowing that it was all too late. I could spend a lifetime getting to know just one person — or even myself — and still only understand them piecemeal, so it is impossible to observe all the facets of a person when you only see them during short bursts.
By the time we left Pennsylvania the cherry blossoms were bursting forth. A pretty goodbye as we boarded an Amtrak train into New York city, rattling through New Jersey and into Penn Station during one of the busiest weekends of the Spring. Not only was the St. Patrick’s Day parade taking place on the Saturday, but there was a half-marathon scheduled for the Sunday and our hotel was hosting representatives of the annual Model United Nations gathering.
We emerged into a noisy and chaotic New York, somewhat jarred by the hectic quality to the start of a busy weekend. Even hailing a cab was an exercise in logistics, what with wrangling suitcases and trying to find a spot on the street that wasn’t blocked by plastic barricades. I wrestled our bags into the trunk of the car, unassisted by the driver, who handed me his smart phone so I could type in the address of our destination. It felt like a true ‘Welcome to New York!’ moment: be prepared to roll up your sleeves and forge your path.
As we slowly edged our way through the midtown traffic, I observed the city, its pedestrians with hefty padded headphones striding down the streets shadowed by its glittering skyline, which was pressed against another impossible blue sky. The steam venting from the Con Ed stacks seemed like the city was on a twenty-pack a day habit, impatient and antsy, its ambulances and police cars wailing at you to ‘pick up the pace, hon.’
And within half a day I recovered my old rhythm: that unique way of traversing New York, divining the changing of lights at the cross walks as you approach, avoiding eye contact yet maintaining a sense of the people within your vicinity, stepping around the food trucks and the wares laid out on the pavement and jumping over the potholes in the streets. It reminded me of the book (and film) of Dune, where the indigenous Fremen have a special sandwalk, a particular way of negotiating their sandy territory without attracting the attention of dangerous beasts.
At one point I heard a EMT truck barrel down the avenue, and a man in front of us, pulling a trolly of his possessions behind him, began to wave his arms and chant a greeting, as if it was his ritual to bless the maker as it roared past. I sidestepped to allow the mystic a respectable space and continued on my way.
During my time in New York I managed to have lunch with more family, enjoy a short hang-out with old friends, stroll through central park, see some of the St. Patrick’s Day parade, pop into Macy’s, take in a Broadway Show (the Book of Mormon), eat terrific food, splurge one night in a fancy location for drinks with my Mom, and revisit one of my favourite locations: The Metropolitan Museum of Art.2
You could spend a week at the Met and not fully absorb the range of its exhibits, and it is probably one of the museums in NY that earns its $30 entry fee.3 With our limited time we wandered through the impressive collection of Egyptian artefacts, spanning thousands of years of civilisation. Through the statues I regarded the faces of people who were long dead; time and space collapsed so the past is vibrantly alive in our present.
With our evening flight from JFK on our minds, we hurried out of the building, past glorious medieval art. It was a shame not to linger any longer, but we were lucky to be there at all.
It’s a wondrous thing to begin a month not knowing that a couple of weeks later you’ll be in New York admiring the Temple of Dendur.
We had a long and diverting drive through Manhattan and Queens on our way to JFK. It was like an extended farewell, skirting places I had lived and taking familiar boulevards and expressways. My mother, who had lived in New York for many years, spoke fondly of her time in the city; it continues to energise her whenever she returns.
What I also remember about Americans is that they are big-hearted, stuffed with big stories, and big ambitions. Sure, you’re not going to believe every tale you’re spun, but they’re entertaining and express the grand scale of the country. For those who have never visited America, the hardest thing to convey is its enormous size, the breath-taking variety of landscapes, the micro-cultures, complicated histories, and unique neighbourhoods. It is all of the world refracted through its own big lens.
Yes, you’ll meet big jerks and perhaps big threats if you’re unlucky. To visit a country is to snap quick pics and buy magnets to stick on your fridge and then return to your normal life. Living and working in a country is where you see the unions and the divisions, the commonalities and the problems. The everyday grind can pulverise your good will if you allow it, and most cities in the world are a bedlam concoction of excitement and tragedy. Everything is writ larger and gains more attention. The simple kindnesses and helpful service of ordinary people — which I experienced throughout my stay in America — don’t rate headlines, but I was very appreciative of them all.
My short trip reminded me of the things I admire about the country and the aspects that disappoint me too.
We love what we love despite the flaws. It is not either/or it is both/also.
That was not the experience of everyone during the tumultuous period when America coalesced into its current form, of course.
For MoMA, I only visited the gift shop!
That’s for adults who are not NY residents.
Lovely, vivid, immersive writing here,. Maura! I, too, love visiting grocery stores in foreign countries. And it's always nice to see nice things said about the US, that doesn't happen so often anymore 😊
Your description of Wegmans, home depot and wawa sounds like I passed you in the street in my hometown. 😊❤️