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.