Movin' on up: from Downtown to the Bronx

This morning we shipped out early to Liberty and Ellis Islands. Neither of us had ever been, so our expectations weren't too high--a good thing when you don't want to be disappointed. We walked from our hotel to Battery Park, which, over the years, has become a rather beautiful place. We were then subjected to airport-riddled security. The removal of belts and watches, the opening of bags, and the like. We have become experts in traveling light and practical for this very reason. Once through various stages of checkpoints, we boarded the ferry. The 15-minute ferry ride from Battery Park to Liberty Island was rather peaceful at 9:00 on a Friday morning. The boat wasn't too crowded, and the view of lower Manhattan was somewhat comforting in a way I never thought possible.

As we got closer to the Statue of Liberty, I noticed that she was much smaller than I had anticipated. This did not disappoint me, as I knew I felt this way only because I had recently been palace and castle hopping in the French countryside, and I had climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tour (most notably the tallest structure I have ever encountered thus far). Though are Lady of Liberty was smaller in stature, I felt the immense power of her symbolism. A gift from the French in 1886, this statue not only represents a friendship between the two nations that was established after the American Revolution (France boasts their own smaller Lady Liberty at the base of one of the bridges crossing the Seine River, but she pales in comparison to ours), but it has come to stand for freedom as it was the first glimpse of just that as immigrants poured into the United States looking for change--for freedom.

She's made from a sheathing of copper that is hung on a framework of steel, and she has been closed to visitors since 2001. Lucky for us, she has recently been reopened, and we secured tickets to the top of the Crown. Just to note, climbing up to the torch has ceased since 1918. The climb is 354 steps, and it is a small, cramped hull up a double spiral staircase (da Vinci, anyone?) that barely fits an average-sized person. I like to think this makes the experience unique and exciting. Once in the Crown, there is about 10 feet of space, and a very low ceiling. Nonetheless, I'd climb up again. Climbing down was the interesting part--the steps are fairly steep and it seemed to work better if we climbed down backwards.

Our next stop was Ellis Island to look in the immigration records for our family members. For just $5, we gained access to a computer for 30 minutes in the immigration museum, where we could research our family history. I found information on my great grandfather who came over from Italy, but Josh had less luck. We were unable to find the records of his great grandparents who came over from Russia.

We spent the rest of the day milling about downtown Manhattan. We strolled over to Wall Street, went to the New York City Police Museum, and South Street Seaport. At the seaport, we discovered Bodies...the Exhibition. So, I'm not quite sure what I thought this was going to be like, but it was oddly fascinating, and a little bit scary. The exhibit consisted of well-preserved human bodies and body parts, carefully dissected and labeled. There were skeletal bodies, muscular bodies, bodies consisting of nerves, and some even of veins and arteries. Diseased or failing organs were encased in glass cases: a cancerous lung, a colitis-damaged colon, an infected thyroid, and so much more. Science meets reality at this exhibit in a frightening way.


Our last stop for the day was the Bronx. After our excursions downtown, we headed back to the room for our baseball gear. We took the number 4 up to Yankee Stadium--I in my Posada shirt, and Josh in his Pedroia. The new stadium, on a plot of land right across the street from the old, sparkled and gleamed from the subway platform. It was so clean, so new. As we settled into our seats, I glanced around at all the high-tech additions, and couldn't help but feel as if this stadium were a fraud. It has no history. The old Yankee stadium may be dingier, but it holds decades and decades of baseball history within its walls. The new stadium is in desperate need for iconic baseball moments, then, maybe, it will feel right.

As the game started, we realized we were in for a star-studded night: Muhammad Ali was there to receive a special award, and we caught glimpses of Bruce Willis, Rudy Giuliani, and Paul Simon. The game was a massacre (I won't highlight the score, for the sake of my husband), but boy was I glad the boys from the Bronx won.

Inspiration, by way of Brooklyn

Upon our arrival in NYC last night, we checked in to our hotel in downtown Manhattan, only to realize that we were right next to the WTC site. We quickly unpacked, washed up, and headed out to explore the city.

It didn't surprise me that as we passed the WTC construction site the events of 9/11 came rushing back into my mind. It's a day no American will ever forget; a day that is still remembered on a daily basis, not only by New Yorkers, but by all that pay tribute to the fallen heroes and those who survived. As we headed toward Wall Street, we noticed a touching bronze memorial intricately created onto the side of the local firehouse. I couldn't get it out of my mind that those men must have been the first to reach the site that fateful day. Many people, natives and foreigners, were there. They were praying. They were paying tribute. They were leaving gifts, flowers, for those who made the ultimate sacrifice: life.

At first, upon close inspection of the memorial, which is artistically divided into three sections, it bothered me that the middle section depicted the burning towers. This was, perhaps, due to the fact that on September 11, 2001, I was still so foolishly naive to think that such an atrocity could ever occur on American soil. To say the least, I was deeply affected the day those towers came down; in a way, it was the first loss of my childhood innocence--my first brush with adult bitterness and inexplicable heartache.

Initially we had headed out for the Brooklyn Bridge, and though that was still our primary destination, I felt as though I was weighted down. As we crossed through City Park and passed Pace University, I caught my first glimpse of the old bridge. A marvel in its time, it gave me a sense of hope, reinstilled my pride and faith in our great nation (it's no wonder I want my Ph.D. in American Studies). Seeing the American flag flying high above the two architecturally articulate support beams made me feel better. I thought about all the immigrants who walked across this very bridge I was crossing; how this bridge not only represented their freedom, but how it represented the creativity and ingenious of the American mindset.


We arrived in Brooklyn just as the sun was setting, and we realized that we were somewhat ravenous. We headed down to Grimaldi's, waited in what I consider a short line (all the way down the block) for an hour, and then feasted on the most perfect pizza. The meal was quick, but thoroughly appreciated. The old man, overly tan and perfectly Italian, who was in charge of seating parties asked us if we enjoyed ourselves, and I was quick to admit that we did not have pizza like this where we're from. He was kind enough not to give us too much heat for quietly admitting we're from Boston.

By the time we left it was dark. The walk back over the bridge was just amazing. The moon was full, the city lights bright. The weight I had felt earlier in the evening had lifted. This is a city full of life; a city with pride; a city that will never forget, but that will never fall. I am New York.