I do not make it to New York often - at least not any more. When I was in college, in Vermont, I frequented the city when I could, crashing on couches and floors of friends whose parents lived there. Back then, I saw the city through different eyes.
In the winter of 2005, I had the good fortune to be in the City upon the opening of “The Gates,” a extensive exhibit created by Christo and Jean-Claude, two environmental installation artists whose work has been seen at the Reichstag in Berlin, the Pont Neuf bridge in Paris and in Sonoma County, California. The exhibit, while it took months to construct, was only open for sixteen days.
So on a snowy day, I traipsed through Central Park, under twenty-three miles of orange gates with saffron-colored nylon hanging from them. It was beautiful. And that was the last time I was in New York before returning, almost two years to the day, this past February, for business.
On this Friday past, I boarded a plane for the City again to surprise two of my good friends from college who were gathering to celebrate their respective 30th birthdays (in addition to being very close, their birthdays fall quite near to one another). One of my friends, Anthony, I’d seen in my last trip to New York, briefly. He’d returned after two years at Harvard Business School to work for a large marketing company. We shared a few drinks in the Café at the Carlton Hotel.
The other, Robb, I hadn’t seen since he and his lovely wife Trianna were married in San Antonio several years ago. It was a sprawling, delightful wedding in an old, restored Catholic church. The men dressed in tuxedos, and weathered the Texas heat by sipping cold cocktails. We ate dinner and danced until at well after two o’clock in the morning, I realized I had to be on plane in five hours. I said my good-byes, hoping they would be brief.
But they weren’t. Too much time went by. Robb moved to California to study writing; Anthony to Cambridge. And the people who were at the wedding – people I spent substantial time with during my college days – scattered out across the country, returning to their jobs and their lives in many of America’s magnificent cities.
When an e-mail came across my inbox inviting me to the party, I responded quickly. Airplane tickets, despite the soaring gas prices, were inexpensive. Thanks to the value hungry Web sites like hotels.com, nice rooms in even nicer hotels could be purchased for a bargain. After a quick layover in Cincinnati, my traveling friend and I touched down at LaGuardia, a little more than four hours after leaving Little Rock.
The party to which we were invited was being held on a boat located at the intersection of Twenty-Third Street and the East River. The concept was for us to sail round the tip of Manhattan to the Statue of Liberty and back again while enjoying cocktails, dinner and music. There was even a dance floor.
It was a gorgeous day in New York. The sun blazed through the thin and scattered clouds. We’d been walking, all day it seemed, through Central Park, Frederick Law Olmstead’s colossal creation. We watched families with kids and strollers and ice cream meander near the Children’s Zoo; dad’s were playing catch with their sons anywhere they could find the space; sunbathers took the opportunity (perhaps one of the first of the season) to bathe in the sun’s light; and older men and women played bocce and croquet on the park’s finely groomed courts.
The party was meant to be a surprise, although at an outing of paintball in New Jersey earlier in the day several attendees showed up to watch people shoot tiny balls of paint at each other with high-powered guns. We skipped it, not because it isn’t fun, but because I’m still on relatively strict orders to avoid high impact activity on my back. I surmised that paintball would be off-limits had I consulted my doctor.
And so as not to spoil what remaining surprise was left, we arrived early and boarded the boat. Immediately, I saw friendly faces. These were many of the same people I’d seen years ago in San Antonio and had kept up with through e-mail and Facebook. And despite my affection for both forms of communication, nothing compares to seeing faces and hearing voices. I was very glad to see them.
Several minutes later, after we said hello and hugged, Robb and Anthony arrived and the party began. Standing on the upper deck of the boat, we saw all of lower Manhattan, an area of town that Mayor Michael Bloomberg is credited with reviving. We drank summer cocktails and told stories and watched the sun die behind the imposing skyline.
Like all good times, the party ended too soon. After a trip to a local pub, where the fellowship continued well into the early morning hours, my traveling friend and I said our good-byes again and returned to our hotel to prepare for a flight home the next morning.
The holiday weekend, and the encounters with our friends from distant places, was too brief. But we’ll be back.