I see a city and I hear a million voices

I had a friend that spent an entire month travelling around India. It must've been an incredible experience. Once she got back, she remarked to me about how no one really seemed that interested in hearing her to talk about the trip. Just like the stereotypical family vacation slide shows, those most invested in these stories are the tellers. Most people will be perfectly content to just get the gist of it. They don't care about the tiny details or poignant moments or introspective ramblings.

And now I've finally come to understand just how my friend felt after returning. Returning home somehow tipped me over the boiling point with this experience, and it feels like it'll all spill out over the edge of my head. And I feel like the only way I can save myself is to tell people about it, but no one wants to hear about it.

Let me clarify; there are plenty of people that ask me how it went, and I'm sure every single one of them would indulge me if I wanted to ramble on and on about even the most minute of details. But they're more interested in their job, their family, the movie they saw the other night. I can't even blame them. I just feel like I'm stumbling around, holding a huge glowing orb in a bear hug. My reaction is, "HEY GUYS! ISN'T THIS COOL?!" Everyone who sees me will give me about 4-5 minutes to talk about the orb before they move on with their lives. It's very strange.

Anyways. It's been a violent and odd transition back to, uh... 'real life'? I don't know what to call it. I'm back in the farming valley where I grew up. The silence is beautifully strange and almost shockingly relentless. I love it. But it somehow seems... Silly. Same with the empty roads and looming mountains and infrequent corner stores. I can somehow sense just the tip of what makes New Yorkers feel so passionate about their city. It's so intense in every regard that anything less just seems foolish.

So I'm a bit conflicted. On one hand, I feel at home. I love the silence and the lazy rain. The birds in the morning. The wide roads with curbed curbs with enough room for cars to park. The other day I sat on my sister and brother-in-law's back porch and watched a pair of humming birds dance around, making long climbs up followed by sharp dives. The neighborhood is so quiet that you could hear their wings buzzing on their descent. Earlier that afternoon, we sat on the grass in the front yard after running errands. Grass without fences or hours of accessibility.

But I still find myself wondering, "where is everyone?" How come everything feels so new? Why are the buildings so short and spread out? How come people only seem to speak one language? Who would anyone want to live like this?

I do. But let me tell you, living in The Big City is one hell of a drug. And while I can feel it in my bones that I'm in the right place, the place I belong, NY withdrawal is one hell of a thing. I was there just long enough to get a taste of it... I can't imagine what it'd be like for people that have lived their most their lives.

A friend said to me the other day, "Don't ever forget you did this. Don't gotta brag about it or nothing, but not a lot of people do what you did." Pretty profound words, and I certainly don't disagree. But knowing my memory, I want to capture as much of this giant glowing orb as I can before it fades away. And now here I am, sitting in front of my computer trying to translate it into words... But it's too big. Where do I start? Where do I even end? It's like the whole ordeal is just too big to be captured and put on a shelf for me to come back to later to look at.


So what do I write about? The small family of accordion buskers working their way through a subway car? The huge range of people I'd see every day? The richness of the architecture, the cobblestone roads, the smell of Little Italy at lunch? How the sound of the above-ground subway seemed so intolerable, but I eventually got used to it. The fact that there are five-times the amount of people that ride the MTA than there are total people in Calgary. The tiny little niche restaraunts, like that macaroni and cheese shop. Those huge bagels. Tiny fruit carts. Food vans. Food everywhere, none of it the same. Halal. Oh man, halal.

$2.50 for a tiny cupcake the size of a loonie, and $1 for a giant slice of cheese pizza. How simply declaring the words "two slice" at the counter would get you two of those pieces of cheese pizza. There's always a Chinese restaraunt within a couple blocks, and they're almost impossible to tell apart. Logging into a service like Seamless and being able to order in Chinese, Indian, Columbian, Mexican, Italian when you're in even the worst neighbourhood. The delivery guy would ride an electric scooter bike up the sidewalk and stop at the door.

People arguing (and sometimes fighting) in the streets. The way that people of a certain race/ethnicity would get on and off the train at certain stops. Getting yelled at for being a white guy walking past the projects. Watching a man answering his phone by stating "who dat is." No question mark or inflection. The playful exclamation of "you're a Canadian?!" Meeting people who worked on TV shows you've heard of, broadway shows you haven't, tech companies you love, and brands you can't escape.

Yellow taxis taking them everwhere. Blue Citibikes, too. Rolls of Royce and many a Bentley in the streets. A few Tesla Model Ss. Discovering a Ferrari dealership around the corner. A McDonald's, Starbucks and Bank of America every five feet, and a corner store on every... corner. Walking by that place where they filmed the part of that one movie. Taking a detour because they're currently filming a part for a new movie. Stars in the streets. Maggie Gyllenhaal, Tracy Morgan, and Guy Garvey.

The incredible street art, and little stickers on lamp posts. Giant murals. Public sculptures, and delicate train station mosaics. Delicate, spontaneous illustrations that make me feel inadequate. Landmarks and history. The vast interior of Grand Central. The chaotic, insect hive of Times Square. The strange, sacred respect for Central Park. How there's always so much litter, and no one recycles. How people will talk and joke so loud, as if no one else was around. Being able to spot tourists by how they board a train (hint: not waiting for people to get off).

The brands. Oh man, the brands. How massive a presence Nike is. Huge animated billboards. Ads in the bottom of airport security bins. Big unveiling and events. The huge advertising campaigns. Casually walking past a Google building. The pilot services/programs that start in New York before spidering out to the rest of the country. The strange duality of strangers; how they'll keep it short and to-the-point, but will open up and ramble on forever if you get them going. Crazies in the streets, talking regardless. Lots of medium to small-sized dogs. Rats, pigeons, squirrels. Relentless and assertive pan handlers.

Streets and avenues, each with ascending numbers. Parks with fenced-off grass. No where to sit, nowhere to pee. Subway elevators smelling like urine. Homeless people selling old magazines. News stands selling new ones, and an endless supply of tabloids. A magazine called "Black Entrepreneur". Being the only white guy on a (pretty corwded) train platform. The unbearable heat of an underground station. Warm, muggy days that drench you in sweat. That first cool, life-saving wave of air-conditioning as you board a train.

Fashion. Fashion everywhere. People dressed so strangely, that it must be fashion. Cheap hats, scarves, and ties sold on the sidewalk. Chinatown, where they sell the exact same thing. An infinite cycle of shops; one  that sells handbags and perfume, one that sells hats, scarves, and lame NY apparel, one that sells cheap electronic crap and toys. They're willing to haggle if you know how to work it. I got two of those cheap hats for $15, instead of $23. Seeing at least three other people in a day that are wearing the same cheap hat as you. Being asked to take someone's picture. Being asked to have your picture taken by someone with an old-school film camera to be put up on his site. Never seeing your photo make it up on his site.

Walls of trash bags out on the sidewalks. Garbage collection late at night. Everything still happening late at night, just slightly less of it. Always cars and people passing by. Jaywalking. Jaywalking as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. Not looking at the crosswalk sign, instead watching for coming/going traffic before stepping out into the street. Cars pausing two feet away from you while they wait for you to cross the road (legally). Honking. Swearing. Sirens. So many sirens and lights that the space between your shoulders and neck has turned to steel; rubbernecking is simply no longer a thing. Silently grinning as the rich douchebag in the Lexus yells while he's being written a parking ticket. Grinning at the Honda Civic CVCC in the streets.

Realizing just how many of the songs in your collection mention or about New York. Also realizing that, right now, you're a part of what those songs are about.

-Cril

The first to put a simple truth in words
Binds the world in a feeling all familiar
Cause everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Antenna up and out into New York
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
And oh my giddy aunt New York can talk
It's the modern Rome and folk are nice to Yoko

Every bone of rivet steel, each corner stone and angle
Jenga jut and rusted water, tower, pillar, post and sign
Every painted line and battered, laddered building in this town
Sings a life of proud endeavour and the best that man can be

Me, I see a city and I hear a million voices
Planning, drilling, welding, carrying their fingers to the nub
Reaching down into the ground, stretching up into the sky
Why? Because they can, they did and do so you and I could live together

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The desire in patchwork symphony
The desire like a distant storm
For love, did it come for me?
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The desire in patchwork symphony
Oh my God New York can talk
The desire like a distant storm
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
For love, did it come for me?
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The way the day begins
Decides the shade of everything
But the way it ends depends on if you're home
For every soul a pillow at a window please
In the modern Rome where folk are nice to Yoko

Elbow - New York Morning