Last year Louis and I went on a short trip to Scotland, just a couple of nights, I wished it had been longer. There’s a little about that in my blog post “All Things Must Pass”. During that long drive back home from Glasgow I wondered whether he’d had a good time, if you have read that post you’ll already know there was a huge amount going on in my mind at that time. All things must and do pass. Hold on. Call President Zelensky, tell him to forget the war, John Harper had a crappy time last year. I wonder if the UN will intervene, you know, send me some kind of aid. I’m okay for food and missiles, just a few million dollars to start with would be a great help. Anyway, back to that drive, I hesitantly asked Louis if he’d had a good time and his answer was “It was the best time of my life”. If you’re a parent you can’t ask more than that and I vowed that the following year I’d take him on a longer trip for further bonding. I chose the US because it’s one of the few places this well travelled and impossibly cool young man had yet to visit, plus I’d be able to almost afford it with that incoming UN money. The shot above encapsulated it for me, not sure if they’re welcoming their long lost son or arresting him.
Louis had been practicing his New York accent in preparation for our trip and there’s no getting aways from it, a pretty good one. “Hey, I’m walkin’ ‘ere”. That’s what I heard on the way up to London and aboard the plane as Louis and I crossed the pond. As with all great holiday catchphrases it was easily adapted, an in-joke and therefore funny to us, by inserting any verb. Chiefly though it was “Hey, I’m sweatin’ ‘ere”. NYC was hot. Over 30C each day we were there. It gets hot in the city, wait, surely somebody should write a song.
We had four nights in New York before heading off to Washington D.C. for a further three nights. We arrived in the evening and as always your first objective is to get to the hotel, drop your bags and find something to eat. We weren’t interested in walking too far, that said I wanted to quickly find my bearings. We strolled over to Times Square, a couple of blocks, for Louis to see it. I was hoping that he wouldn’t like it that much and to my relief he didn’t. I know it’s very popular, but I really don’t get the attraction. There are far better areas in Manhattan, for the most part I avoid Times Square. I have a favourite place in the city, we’ll come on to that later. Closer to our hotel the best I could find was an Irish bar, the other thing I avoid like the plague wherever I am in the world. I simply don’t get it, they’re just pubs. We have enough in England, no offence to the Irish, but I like English pubs. If I’m in another country it’s the last place imaginable that I want to have a drink. That said the Irish landlord was very convivial, we chatted, I got to have a beer, the food though was nothing to write home about. Unless you wanted to write home and tell them that it was crap. I went in there with low expectations and they were fully met thus reinforcing my view on Irish pubs in other countries apart from Ireland. Rant over.
Food is an issue with Louis, put it this way, he has a very limited selection of foods he likes. It needs to be beige, but that doesn’t include cheese, must be salty or sugary and generally what any normal person would think of as unhealthy. Actually you’d think the US would be perfect for him, obviously discounting the cheese. I’ve often joked with him that he should eat the crust from the top of a tomato ketchup bottle to get at least one of his five a day. That’d be funny if he was always grabbing a bottle of Heinz, accept he doesn't like tomato ketchup either. I have a suspicion it’s because he believes there are actual tomatoes in it, if only he’d realise that it’s practically all sugar and salt and therefore perfect for his dietary requirements. The first morning we were going down to Battery Park to catch the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island ferry. First job, breakfast. I found a diner that hadn’t changed since God was a boy, well at least the 1960’s. Louis had a half stack of pancakes, bacon, all covered in around a gallon of Maple Syrup. He was happy and if he’s happy I’m happy.
Just a note here to say that I have hundreds of photos, I’m just slotting some in to follow the narrative and not because they’re particularly good photos. I struggled to find any really good frames on this trip. It’s difficult to concentrate, because we know photography, particularly Street, is a lone wolf occupation. There’s a choice to be made, do I come back with some great Street photos or with the 11 year old boy I went with. Rather than face the wrath of his mother when I got back to the UK and announced that I’d lost him somewhere in midtown Manhattan I chose to keep a very careful eye on him. Let’s get over to Grand Central and make our way downtown to Battery Park on the subway. I’ll skip the Grand central photos because we’ve all seen them a million times before. Here’s one I do actually like because of the movement. The interesting point of this photo is that I was in a train opposite when I took it. Presumably they were both pulling away at the same speed?
We arrived at Battery Park and made our way to the ferry. I was totally prepared for the long security queue, temperatures were rising and not just the heat. I never understand how people get impatient or angry in queues, it is was it is and therefore part of travelling. Getting angry isn’t going to change anything, an official isn’t going to suddenly walk up and say “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was you and you’re getting frustrated. We’ll change everything just for you in the future, in the meantime please walk this way to the front, you are very important and special after all”. You see it everywhere, especially in airports and train stations. That will come up again when I write US Bond Part 2.
So, on the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty and I got the opportunity to take a few shots.
You get a choice with Liberty. Either just go to the Island, the best option pay another few dollars and get into and up to the pedestal, the third option is all the way up to the crown. Now, that third one might seem inviting. I can tell you that there’s around 190 steps up to the pedestal and when it’s 32C that’s more than enough. I’m not unhealthy, I’m fit, it took me about 20 minutes to cool down afterwards. I saw plenty of people resting in places set aside for the very purpose, for some I feared it might become their final resting place. To reach the crown you have 350 steps, on a staircase that gets steeper and narrower the further you ascend. If you’re out of condition, it’s boiling hot, you’re claustrophobic, there are no resting places and you can’t give up and turn around then it might not be the best option. Of course had I wanted to I could have ran to the top, leaping over the various people laying on the steps having panic attacks or heart attacks, stood upon Liberty’s crown and performed the most magnificent swallow dive with pike and twist entering perfectly the cooling waters of the Hudson. I just chose not to that’s all.
On to Ellis Island, where immigrants had high hopes of beginning a new life. Louis was fascinated. Those hopefuls were fearful of their own governments and the Police. I wonder if that feeling of not trusting those in control has been passed down through the generations in the US. It appears that many in America don’t believe that the government, police or even their neighbours have their best interests at heart. Those immigrants went through hell to arrive in the “land of the free”. Actually that reminds me of one time I arrived in Chicago, there were a myriad of signs telling us all not to smoke, drink, take photos, use the elevator, turn right and so forth, the American next to me was watching me looking at all these signs and said ‘Welcome to the land of the free buddy!”. Of course a nine hour flight from London doesn’t quite compare with weeks or months in squalid conditions sailing across the oceans, eventually passing the magnificent French statue to disembark on Ellis Island. More cramped conditions and waiting, not knowing if you’d actually gain entry to realise your dreams and freedom. Often they were simply sent back from wherever they’d tried to escape. Imagine going through all of that only to face the nightmare return journey home. A home without any hope or money because you just used both of those up. When you think about it not much has changed, even with the conventions we have in place.
On our return Louis requested to visit Ground Zero. I’ve been to New York before, but had never been to pay my respects. He was fascinated to take a look and was extremely respectful, lost in thought at one point. He really felt the loss and pain, the enormity of 9/11 struck him. Me too, I remember well hearing the news, initially a small light aircraft crashing into one of the Twin Towers was reported. I listened on the radio, a few miles from home, that first news flash. By the the time I got home live pictures from the scene were being broadcast on the TV News. I was in shock. Futures cut short, families left bereft, the futility it all. A year after, when I was still a golfer, I played with a dozen or so New York fireman who were involved in this tragedy. A guy we knew raised money to have them flyover to the UK, stay in a hotel and just golf for a week. I’d like to tell you some stories told by these heroic firemen, but guess what? As all people who emerge from tragic or life changing events, medal winning soldiers spring to mind, they don’t talk about it. Seems to me that all these types have the same personality traits, they’re loyal, modest, moralistic and extremely quiet.
The next morning we were heading back downtown to the Helipad. A much promised ride in a helicopter. Once again that UN money will go towards this. Man, it was expensive and more or less worth it. A smooth trip, I dismissed any thoughts of ‘Blackhawk Down” as probably unlikely. Arguably you could get roughly the same experience by go to the top of the Empire State, or better still the Top of The Rock (Rockefeller Centre). Nevertheless it was a great experience, Louis borrowed my shades and took on a striking resemblance to Tom Cruise.
What! A woman pilot! Okay, calm down, I’m only joking, she was exceptional. Back safely on the ground Louis decided he wanted to see the Native American Museum adjacent to Battery Park. For the NYC part of this trip that was the only museum we did. He wasn’t interested in MoMA or the Guggenheim, nor the Natural History Museum. We did visit Ellis Island and Ground Zero though. Fortunately he didn’t have any urges to go shopping, I’m forever grateful. Unless I know what I’m buying and therefore specifically entering a shop for that item I have zero interest in shopping. Back on the subway then, time for the Rockefeller Centre. Remember we’d just spent a small fortune on the helicopter, now we were all set to see the exact same view for 95% less lettuce and some might say, in relative safety.
We decided to change our breakfast venue after the first morning and so each day for breakfast we headed for the The Red Flame Diner. Excellent and just a few steps from our hotel. I walked in and spotted a guy sat alone at a table with a Leica, I vaguely recognised him. Greetings were exchanged, it was the photographer Peter Turnley. Peter worked with Robert Doisneau, a very famous French photographer. Al these names are linked, have a look at their work perhaps, I recommend it. We both agreed that between us neither had any interest in gear, cameras and lenses. We were passionate about the human condition, observing and touched upon how photography can change or reinvigorate a person once they have a camera to express themselves. The process is all important. I mentioned to my very good friend and insanely talented French photographer Jeff Chane-Mouye that I had bumped into Peter and that we spoke each day in the diner at breakfast. Jeff hadn’t heard of him, obviously he knew of Doisneau. Those French seem to make very good photographers, it’s quite annoying. Actually Peter, although an American, spends most of his time in Paris. I’m going to pronounce that Jeff is a far better photographer than Doisneau, Turnley and Harper combined. Note to Self: Become French Citizen. Guaranteed to improve photos. Find apartment in Paris once the UN money arrives.
We’re getting close to the end of Part 1. Anyone who has got this far, I admire your staying power, well done and you have my promise that Part 2 will be much shorter. Besides there are lots of photos and events since August to write up. Time is short, on Wednesday I’m travelling to Venice, meeting up with a couple of Australian photographers and so Part 2 will be written rapidly over the coming weekend.
Peter suggested that Louis and I take a trip to Coney Island, it was already in the back of my mind and so back on the subway. On the way a taxi tried to drive through a red light as we crossed to the station, Louis got to yell at him “Hey, I’m walkin’ ‘ere’. The cab driver shrugged his shoulders and hung his head in shame! I was very proud of him, Louis not the taxi driver. The ride on the Q train from 42nd Street to Coney Island is 40 minutes, out through Brooklyn. The bargain of our trip, $3 each.
We went in the morning on a weekday. I can see the attraction for Street Photographers, later in the day it’ll be packed with people. For us it was very quiet. Louis went on some rides, we walked the boardwalk and ended up on the pier watching the fisherman. Louis’s latest hobby is fishing. Had I been on my own I would have aimed for the afternoon, as we left just after lunchtime it was getting really busy and there would have been some great shots to be had.
We decided to make our way back to the station and so walked down the pier. There we crabs everywhere, presumably they’d been caught. An old lady was kicking them back off the edge of the pier. People were watching and shaking their heads as they do. The daughter yelled “Hey, Ma! What the hell you doin’ to the crabs!”. Louis turned to me and said “Hey, I’m kicking’ crabs ‘ere”. The daughter, under the watchful eye of the offended crowd carefully picked them up.
We arrived back in Manhattan and went straight to my favourite place in New York. You can keep Central Park and all the other filmset locations held on the island. Bryants Park is a dream. Full with hundreds of green wooden chairs and tables, this park surrounded by skyscrapers is heaven. There’s even a bar. In the evenings it’s full. Louis and I sat there one sultry night and observed. There was not a single person on their phone. Simply people sitting and enjoying each others company. Chatting about their lives, their days, the small details and bonding. Louis and I did the same. Here’s a couple of photos, people on their own and using laptops. Kind of ruins my point, but they were in Bryants Park so following in the vein of not very good photos that sort of follow the narrative I put them in. Personally I think they should fold away those laptops and get together, although who knows, maybe they were emailing each other and don’t need relationship advice from a man that has clearly failed on every level as far as romance is concerned.
Nearly finished. I hear you and don’t think I’m not getting tired of this post too. A couple of NYC stalwarts. Trump and the Naked Cowboy. Louis spotted the Trump building. I knew it was there and hoped to avoid it. There’s nothing to see in there, essentially very shiny without much substance. We’re talking about the building right? However, we do these things and something good often comes out of it.
Outside, after the two minute visit into Trumps lair, we saw the aforementioned cowboy. Louis was a big fan.
But turning to my left back at Trump HQ I saw a much better shot. I think chiefly because of that New York light. It can be strange. The sun shines, but it’s being reflected off the buildings. We’re in another part of the world and as I’ve discussed previously on this blog the light is always different.
I like that shot, it’s almost as though they’re models. Obviously the impersonator has a mask on, but they’re all real. The guy is actually trying to strike up a conversation with him. That light is tremendous. Here’s another two shots that are all about that light. You may not like them, but I do. One for example is just some men with phones, I’d avoid usually, but they’re all on their phones and well, the light struck me. Adams on their Apples in the Big Apple. The same with the crane and the guy with a cigarette. Daylight, you can see that, but it could equally have been taken at night. Admittedly I could have changed my exposure, but you know with photography that we’re reflecting what we see and feel.
And there you have it. We’re done. Next stop Washington D.C. where I had a long conversation with some who purported to be a geologist from Texas working in Ukraine who was just visiting Washington for his first time. Yeah sure. “Hey, I’m spyin’ ‘ere”. #CIA!
All images can be opened by clicking on the thumbnails and are made using a Leica M with Summicron 28mm Lens fitted.
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