NYC for NYE

An early December trip to San Francisco, Portland and Alaska resulted in a cheap Christmas Day flight back to Boston.  I realized that this was my chance to fulfill a small childhood dream: count down to the new year in Times Square.

Now I must tell you that this was not an overwhelming dream of mine.  I recall my sister and I watching TV one New Year's Eve, probably in the late nineties.  It kept showing the count down in different countries on the hour, every hour.  Finally it was close to eight o'clock and the festivities of New York City were front and center (reminder: we lived in Alaska).  Attention was focused on this huge glittering ball and the celebrity host was firing off statistics about it: weight, number of crystals, manufacturing time etc.  Not having seen this tradition before, I thought something fantastic must happen to this ball at midnight.  The seconds started counting down from "60" and as the ball began its descent, my imagination went wild.  Maybe it would start speeding up in a thrilling freefall towards the ground. Maybe at the last second it would explode and shoot mounds of confetti outwards like a piñata.  Maybe the crystal walls would lower revealing a daring performer to lead us in Auld Lang Syne.  Surely something worthy of the attentions of one million people crammed into a few blocks as well as the worldwide television crowd.  3... 2... 1!  Nothing.  The cameras flashed to couple after couple kissing, then a wide shot of the street filled with confetti, then the fireworks.  All the while, the ball just sat there, glittering.

So why did I decide against all the recommendations of friends to avoid Times Square like the plague if I was already fully disappointed with the ball drop?  Because like summiting Everest, running with the bulls in Pamplona and eating a Wendy's Baconator... it is there.

Also I was staying with my sister's husband's Aunt Judy and Uncle Lou that weekend and they had lived in Manhattan for most of their lives yet knew of no one who had ever done the Times Square NYE festivities.  Self-respecting New Yorkers do not join the throngs of tourists that swarm in for this holiday.  I had to do it for them, so they knew exactly how it was.

John and I at New Year's Eve in 2012.

The final reason was that I had spent the last three New Year's Eves in Homer, Alaska, at the Down East Saloon with my sister Holly and her now husband Paul. Every time we were joined by our neighbors John and Zeke (now made famous by the Discovery Channel series Bering Sea Gold) and a few of their friends, all wearing fantastic New Year's hats usually adorned with tinsel and head lamps among other things.  John's hat was always the best and got better every year.  John passed away this year and I vowed to wear a festive hat and celebrate New Year's Eve stylishly in his honor.  I knew I wouldn't be able to compete with his hats, but I carried a sparkly crown--worn at the Down East Saloon over the Christmas break--all the way from Homer to NYC just for this occasion.

My journey began with a bus ride out of Boston in the afternoon.  I sat in the first row because I hadn't been on a long-distance public bus ride since that beheading happened on a Greyhound in Canada, and I bet you won't ever sit in the back either after you Google that one.  I am telling you this because I had a front row view as we crossed a bridge and a car swerved out of the far right lane to crash headlong into the concrete barrier on the left side.  Our bus driver slowed to a stop just feet from the back end of the car so we could look through the driver's side window where the air bag was deployed.  Not knowing what to do, we all just kind of sat there trying to see if the guy inside was okay.  He ended up regaining consciousness right as another car pulled over to check on him, so we rolled on past and into the city.

Uncle Lou and Aunt Judy were wonderful hosts, meeting me at the station and giving me a quick tour of the Times Square area to orient me for the next day.  We went to dinner at an "Italian tapas" place where I was treated to my first grilled octopus and tequila-infused watermelon among other delicious treats.  The Italian theme continued as we took a brisk walk through their neighborhood before feeling like we "deserved" to stop into an Italian bakery.  Coffees and tiramisu were a perfect duo to top off the night.

The morning of the 31st was spent with Uncle Lou for a tour of a few of his favorite places.  We started by doing a full traverse of the newly extended High Line Park, an old elevated railway converted into a charming park.  Moderately manicured trees and grasses line the walkway that ranges in widths, sometimes narrowing to the size of a normal sidewalk, all about three stories up.  No crosswalks to wait at or folks shoving to get past you into a shop or the usual bustle of a city sidewalk that gets in the way of viewing the skyline vistas. What a way to see the city!

We descended back to reality about halfway through the park to stop at Chelsea Market for sandwich supplies.  Bread, prosciutto and mozzarella were all bought in separate shops-one of my favorite aspects of city life.  If you ever find yourself in this area, please come hungry and try the crepes at Bar Suzette.  Gastronomic perfection.  A quick stop back at the house, a pressed panini and a hug later and I was off on my own in the city.

Self portrait with a famous wedge shaped building.
Really couldn't tell you what it's called.

Not for long though.  A friend of mine who is spending his time in the acting scene of Brooklyn met up with me at the New York City Public Library to catch up a bit on life.  He too thought I was a bit crazy for wanting to do the the "Times Square thing" yet still insisted upon heading directly toward the chaos to show me his favorite view of the square.  The Marriott was good enough to keep their doors open to the public but also put up huge curtains to block the entire view.  We gave it up after riding the glass elevators for awhile to catch a peek, and parted ways.  It wasn't a hopeless journey though as we are both now proud owners of some horrendously pink Honey Boo Boo sunglasses, passed out by the handful to anyone on the sidewalks.

Where I started out.  We were told we'd be put
in that space there.  Instead we were told to go
back three blocks, essentially letting everyone
behind us move forward.  It was aggravating.

Here is where I made a mistake.  Instead of using the before-pointed out entrances to the Times Square area, I just followed the hordes to the nearest cross street and pressed into the barricaded pen.  I was quite close to the ball!  Folks in front of us were directed by police to move in closer and soon there was a half-block of empty space that we would file into.  Even closer!  People were impatient though.  Several rows in front of me  someone eased the barricade apart and I was swept into a stream of people running towards the empty space. The police that had been ignoring us were shouting, telling us to get back and I hesitated, even as families with small children ducked under the arms of the officers and melted into the crowd in front of us.  Order was restored and I was in the very front of the group, slightly miffed that the lucky few made it forward but certain I'd be soon to join them.

Then, the unthinkable.  An officer holding a megaphone sang out, commanding us to go back several blocks where we must get patted down and searched before returning.  Disbelief.  Frustration.  The air was thick with it.  I should have demanded to be searched there and then.  I should have rallied the others together against the injustice of it all.  I should have held my ground.

But I didn't.  I followed instructions and went to the checkpoint, and then when that area too was filled I followed instructions again to an even more distant checkpoint until I finally came to rest at 49th street, a whole three and a half blocks back from where I originally started.  I didn't know it then, but that was to be the very spot I'd stay all night.  It was now 4:30pm.

A photo snapped on Mark's iPhone.  Note my
free Honey Boo Boo glasses, LED lit scarf and
the crown I brought all the way from Alaska.

We had space enough to sit down and many did.  I chatted with the couple next to me who were already shivering; the sun hadn't even gone down yet.  Then I started to talking to two other guys, and once they found out that Adam was Ohio State and Mark was U of Michigan they began a fierce examination of the past thirty years of rival football games.  Or something.  I stopped paying attention. Mark and I were introduced to the German rapper Cro through the iPods of two German girls, who happily synced up the songs for us so we could yell out our favorite bits of lyrics in unison.  The girls taught us to say "Frohes neues Jahr!" as we counted down to midnight in Germany (six hours ahead of NYC). Every hour we counted down the New Year for the oncoming procession of time zones, then groaned as the screen showed "5 hours to go!", "4 hours to go!" all in the most annoyingly enthusiastic way.

The view from my spot as the ball was raised.
An arrow points to the ball which was that tiny
white circular speck above that white square.

Lenny, Dave and I bitterly discussed the various items we would have brought with us had we known that we wouldn't have been searched, wine and whiskey being high on the list. We could hear a little of the musical artists performing on the stage, though the sound was warped and distorted by echoing through the streets. We decided to sing the songs ourselves.  Loudly. And badly.  We began to sing more songs, any songs.  A family next to us joined in on our rendition of All Star by Smash Mouth.  Backstreet Boys, Queen, Cool and the Gang, Neon Trees, Galway Girl, Shout, The Chicken Dance, Shakira, Guns n Roses... nothing was safe from the butchering of our voices.  A few Les Miserables songs were also belted out as the movie was advertised in huge billboards above our heads.  Some talk of a reenactment of the French revolution was passed around, and I envisioned us marching across the barricades singing "Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men..." all the way to the stage.  Night fell, the wind picked up and we were joined by Jack from Dublin and Emily from California, a refugee couple from the less guarded pen behind us.  Small world: I had already met Jack and Emily earlier in our old spot on 47th Avenue, we were all turned away by the police, then meandered through Times Square and ended up in the exact same spot again.  Soon Jack was delivering a steady stream of abhorrent yet entertaining jokes with precision and timing worthy of the craic-loving country he hails from.  We huddled together football-style for the more offensive ones, lest our surrounding companions finally toss us over the barricades.  11:11 came.  We made wishes.

The clock on the building behind us displayed a large digital clock that was four minutes faster than the clock in front of us (also a temperature four degrees lower).  We counted down to that midnight first.  Excitement rippled through the crowd.  Here it was!  Finally, the reason we froze ourselves, forgoing alcohol or any other beverages in favor of leaving the adult diapers at home, our feet aching from standing in place for hours.  The ball started moving, or at least the 60 second countdown began on the screen which meant the ball was descending.  Balloons were flying around in the wind.  The volume of the crowd increased as we hit thirty seconds.  I felt a huge rush of camaraderie as we hit the last ten seconds, all these people from all over the world coming to one place for one moment, one million people all counting down together. And that was when I knew it was all worth it, that New Year's Eve in Times Square isn't about seeing the famous performers or watching a sparkly ball move a few feet.  It's about the friends you meet and the memories you make and the goosebumps as your voice joins thousands to power through the last "THREE! ... TWO! ... ONE! ... "

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"  Fireworks.  Confetti.  Hugs and kisses and farewells.  Walking through the streets to a pub.  The first Guinness of 2013.  A toast to the new year.  Sláinte, y'all.  More farewells.

The magic fades quickly after walking back through the confetti, police officers now shuffling people along and the square virtually empty.  I happily brave the street carts to buy a hot dog.  Trash is everywhere.  Tourists snap photos.  Friends hold up other friends.  More than a few people are heaving into gutters.  I walk faster as street after street is closed to foot traffic.  I bypass the tottering girls in five inch heels.  "Happy New Year!" is yelled in my face by belligerent but well-meaning revelers.  I thought I'd be leaving in the middle of the party with a train at 2:40am but it definitely feels like the end.  

I find a corner of Penn Station to watch for my platform to be announced.  It isn't crowded but many people are wandering aimlessly; the rest are lining the walls either asleep or observing the more entertaining wanderers.  A guy walking past tells me I'm "absolutely gorgeous"; another walks by and imparts a "Happy New Year", a wink and a peck on the cheek in rapid succession before I can even react.  I try to be affronted but it's useless, I'm still infected by the festive spirit along with all the other conscious people.  New year, new people, new beginnings.  My favorite holiday.  The 66 regional to Boston, platform 11E.  I settle into a window seat and the train fills slowly.  The doors close and I have a seat to myself as the train pulls out of the station. I thank my past self profusely for spending the extra thirty dollars; the gentle rocking on the tracks is infinitely better than a bus.  I wait until I can see the skyline as the train bends in a great arc around the city.  The buildings already look far away.  The train glides so quietly as we turn away and I fall asleep as cars blink past in their lines of white and red lights.

This is roughly what I look like now.

Longer story even shorter? I didn't post for three years and a lot happened.  For one, I ended up applying to schools in Boston like I said I might in the posts below about my trip to Tonga.  I met up with Nick, Pete and a few others in various places again and I did get accepted into the Geophysics PhD program at Boston University.  I'm still working on my PhD on oceanic strike-slip earthquakes and spending my free time traveling a bit, learning how to cook and bake, writing letters to keep the postal service afloat and volunteering at an animal shelter.


I hope I'll be inspired by this little electronic journal to get off my butt and do more things worthy of recording.  Time will tell.

Long story short? I'm back in the states finishing up my undergrad degree at DePauw University and currently prowling for a future in marine science-y, environmental education-y stuff with a touch of computer science. Yep.

I love Kiwi guys. They entertain me so much. Just today I walked by a line of people entering an exam and there was a guy standing there in what looked like a basketball jersey and nothing else. I stared a bit as I went by and kind of shrugged down to see if I could catch a fragment of shorts under there but didn't see anything but leg. I still don't know if he was just wearing the extremely short shorts that are popular with guys here or if he lost a bet and had to take his exam pants-less. Either way I'm slightly disturbed.

Then I went to the bank to exchange my Tongan money. While I was watching my NZ dollars being counted out, two Kiwi guys went up to the counter next to me and handed over a bill that they had gotten somehow and asked how much it was worth, as they had a bet on it. When asked what kind of money it was, they shrugged and said they didn't know, they just wanted to see if it was worth anything. It turned out to be from Thailand and worth $4.32 New Zealand. They asked for the NZ dollars.

Tonga, Last Day

I woke up earlier this morning because I was afraid it would start raining and I wanted to pack up a dry tent. After rolling it all up I discovered I had pitched my tent on top of a red ant nest. They hadn't been a problem, but it was creepy to find an entire network of new tunnels was built right underneath my foam mat.

Today was relaxed again with most people sleeping off the alcohol from the night before. I packed my bags early and then wandered around the Hideaway, soaking up the last of that unique place. A few of the boys were keen for some Coco Bocce so I joined them on the lawn. Coco Bocce is just like normal Bocce but played with dehusked coconuts and a tangerine as the marker. A few of the locals tried it out and I hope it sticks in Tonga. We played in teams with Nick and I winning over Pete and Ben, though it was close and we had major help with an excellent guest shot from Sifu, the main cook. The pigs who often got in the way and chased down the coco balls (food to them) were also on our side, nudging the opposing team's coconuts away from the target and generally causing mayhem.

Ben, pigs and Coco Bocce: what more could you want?

In between games I ate my last delicious meal... fish and chips. The snapper was absolutely melt-in-your-mouth and the chips were made out of plantains, and also delicious. I will miss that food... Sifu is a great cook.

We played a few more rounds of Coco Bocce and then it was time for me to catch my flight so I said my goodbyes and was dropped off at the 'Eua airport with Stephanie who was on the same flight to NZ. Luckily the airport there is more like a bus stop because we were able to catch a few more minutes of sun on the grass in front of the landing strip while waiting for our plane.

Good-bye beautiful 'Eua!

Our plane to the mainland, shortest commercial flight in the world

Our flight was only ten minutes, the shortest commercial flight in the world. We caught a ride to the International Terminal with a Peace Corps guy who was on the flight with us. The terminal was eerily deserted and considering we had 9 hours to wait for our flight out we were none too excited. I attempted some studying, and we chatted with the two airport security officers but the time was creeping by so Steph called up Mana, the guy that transported their group to town when they had arrived. Mana picked us up and brought us to a nice cafe where Steph and I had dinner. We walked a ways down the road which had a surprising number of people wandering around on it, considering it was after 11pm. We met a couple rugby guys who were playing for the Tongan National team the next day and were giving out tickets to the game. Since we weren't going to be there, the guys asked for good luck hugs which we gave amid some giggles (it was just a ridiculous situation). Soon after that, Mana picked us up again and brought us to the kava circle he had been at. The two of us were placed at opposite ends of the room and I was set at the kava vat. I felt so comfortable this time since I knew the drill and I started dishing out the kava straight away to the astonishment of Sam, the guy sitting next to me, who said he had never seen a non-Tongan serve kava before. The partly broken coconut shell I had to use for serving was far more difficult than the ladle from the other night, but I soon got the hang of it. I only served myself one cup of kava, but with the music and singing I was soon having trouble keeping up with the conversation with Sam and just kept yawning. We left around 1:30 or so with Mana who dropped us at the airport only to find out that our flight was running an hour late. Steph and I contented ourselves with cup of noodles from the airport cafe (incidentally the most delicious instant noodles I've ever had, so spicy!) and were joined by Mana shortly afterward who was waiting for the incoming flight and more customers. The conversation was entertaining but I was fading fast and was happy when we were called into the waiting room, giving Mana hugs before we left.

Both Steph and I were pretty quiet while waiting. Even the oddness of an entire band playing some sort of anthem outside as the passengers disembarked did not phase us... though it must have been some sort of royalty returning to the island. Walking on the tarmac to the plane, breathing in the last of the warm Tongan air, I knew I was ready to settle into my seat, plug into an entertaining movie and reenter the First World.

Tonga, Day Six

I slept so well that night, and I now completely believe in the effects of kava. Everyone seemed content to relax on this day which was fine by me. Four of us had been playing cards quite a lot though and were starting to get bored. There was a bowl of chillis from last night's dinner on our table though, so we decided to have a chilli eating contest. It took us one round, with each person eating one chilli, to decide that this was a terrible idea. We resumed our card game but with the added *spice* that the loser of each round would have to eat a chili. Oh man, it made the game so much more exciting. I lost once and took the next round off while I waited for my mouth to return to its usual balmy climate. Those things are hot!

Pretty beach nearby the Hideaway

Dinner was the best by far this night. I had pan-fried fish for the second time and this time it was snapper instead of tuna. Oh my gosh, I really never thought fresh fish from Homer could be rivaled... but this was right on par with it. It was so tender and just fell apart so well. Mmmmm, 'Eua definitely gets my stamp of approval for fish.

Pan fried snapper and tapioca chips: My most tastiest of meals
Be jealous.

That night we decided to drink and cleaned out the Ikale beers from the bar fridge. It was fun to play some familiar American drinking games again and I am now very fond of the Ikale beer. Ben took some neat photos of the night sky with my tripod too. I also spent about an hour playing with the kittens behind the bar.

The Hideaway at night with the moon, so bright I never needed a torch

Tonga, Day Five

Sleeping was interesting as I had to avoid resting on all my new bruises and cuts. It was especially hard getting in and out of my one person tent with a lame wrist but I managed. Another hike was planned for today, an unguided one this time. Despite my few injuries I decided I was keen, so I jumped in the truck for our ride to the start. On the way our driver Tim told us stories about being an extra in Lord of the Rings. Apparently he hung out with Viggo Mortensen quite a lot and showed him around town and such in Wellington. Tim actually looks really familiar to me so I'm definitely re-watching those films to see if I can spot him in any of his numerous roles.

Our hike took us to the biggest tree on 'Eua, an enormous Bayan. By itself it was quite impressive, but it actually grew out of a sort of sunken cave so that you could climb up or down via the roots. We hiked to a lookout over the cliffs too and ate some cookies on the top. I didn't enjoy the brush hitting my scrapes but I'm glad I went because I got to talk to Pete and Geneva for quite awhile about Boston specifically and traveling in general. I'd like to look at the grad schools in that area and I always thought Boston would be a cool city to live in. Now I have friends to visit there!

Just a fraction of the MASSIVE tree, and Luca climbing it for scale

After dinner that night we decided to check out the kava scene of 'Eua and joined a group drinking circle in town. The women are supposed to serve the drink to the men, so since there weren't any local women at this place the foreign girls were enlisted. I was first to do it, which required some questions and feeling awkward as I worked out exactly how the serving system worked. There were about 18 people total all seated cross legged on mats in a corner of a big concrete warehouse. I was seated by the big bowl of kava with a ladle, stirring the kava and filling the three small coconut bowls over and over as they were passed from hand to hand to everyone in the circle. Three of the men had guitars on which they played some lovely Tongan songs and sang in harmony. After every song, there was a round of kava drinking with everyone getting a bowl. When I was relieved of my serving duties I got to try the drink. It tasted very earthy and had a slight numbing effect on the mouth.

Caroline serving and Luca drinking... a lot!

Ben and Pete drinking kava from coconut bowls

The kava and the music combined to make me very sleepy and I would have been happy to stay for awhile except that my bladder felt like it was going to explode. The men regularly went out behind the building but I wasn't sure what the women were supposed to do so I gritted my teeth and held it. Luckily we didn't stay much longer and were given a ride to the Hideaway by a very large, jolly Tongan man.