I volunteered with my kayaking club to support the NYC triathlon. Basically swim support means we go out in our kayaks and prevent the swimmers from swimming out into the open river or swimming into the sea wall. They're so focused on moving forward, they get off track easily.
This meant I got up at 3 AM. I was out the door by 3:30 to get to the 79th Street Boat Basin by 4. Less than an hour later, we were on the water, lining up and watching the sun rise.
The first wave came through a little before six. There were two clusters, a large group and then a smaller group. Altogether, it looked like a serpent roiling through the water, or perhaps two giant hands twisting their way through the river. These guys were fast. These were the professionals, competing for a $100,000 prize.
After that came a series of swimmers. They got less serious as they went on. We were instructed to call out to the swimmers the direction they should head, i.e. "Swimmer! Left!" or to point with our paddles. We could even bonk them with our paddles if we needed to. The first guy who ran into my boat didn't pay any attention and ran right into my side. "Swimmer, left," I gently cooed. "What? in your bloody canoe?" he scowled. Swimmers in the back half of the race apologized as if they had reached too far in front of me at the grocery store. "Sorry," they would say, and then bob in the water aiming their goggled eyes across the waves, looking for the way out.
A man had a heart attack and died. I didn't see that. There were many reports of jellyfish stings. I did see them. They look like giant muffin wrappers in the water.
Afterwards we took our boats back to where they belonged. I stayed at our spot on 72nd street even though we weren't opening. It seemed pointless to put the boats away. I turned away all walkups except one: Doris, a woman in her nineties who comes by early morning every weekend to paddle. When i told her we weren't opening until noon she was crestfallen. I let her go out - and she stayed out for over an hour. I hope someone will put me in a boat when I'm that old.
After that, I ran back and forth between 56th and 72nd running errands, then walked all over the upper west side looking for a bank, for stationary, and finally for lunch. It was hot and muggy, humid and in the 90s, brutal weather.
I met my friend TM and we went downtown to see if we could find the waterfalls. We got out at Wall Street and walked over to South Street Seaport. We were able to see the falls under the Brooklyn Bridge, as well as a set out on Governor's Island. TM's work relocated downtown, so he took me to some of his favorite spots in Battery Park.
After walking through Battery Park we came upon the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Behind it was the old terminal, now renamed the Governor's Island Ferry Terminal. It has a neo-rococo look, with several flags hanging out front. Only a very small space is devoted to the terminal. The rest is being refurbished, and this summer is host to an art installation by David Byrne. Because of something to do with the incomplete renovations and the ownership of the site, we had to sign waivers in order to see the exhibit. I've never had to waive my rights to see an art installation before.
The installation itself was interesting but underwhelming. An old organ has been wired to different sound effects in the building that replicate the industrial sounds of its former life.The space itself was far more interesting, one of those derelict urban spaces that reek of history and assert that they aren't through yet. Gangways for the ferry, stairs over water, and a giant brick waiting room with a dirty skylight were all on display. It's the kind of urban space I like to find.
After the terminal, we had another encounter downtown, this time with a French-speaking violinist busking for change. TM gave him money, and I thought we were through, but the man insisted that TM pose as if TM were the fiddler and the man was putting money in the case. I took pictures, then I took on the role, holding the violin to the man's exacting specifications. TM took pictures. I sent one to my father, who played violin as a child. He pointed out that I was holding the violin wrong.
Next, we hopped on the JMZ line to go up to Delancey. There was a restaurant I wanted to try in the Lower East Side. The Chambers Street station and the Delancey Street station were very interesting. The first was large and expansive, but somewhat ill-kept. The second was far more brightly lit than I remembered, and had a weird arrangement with the intersecting F line.
We walked over to Avenue C - Losaida - and sought out the restaurant. We never did find it, so we settled for Esperanto, a charming little bistro with a reasonable menu. I had appetizers - a wonderful chayote salad along with some friend potato-cod balls. TM had the house chicken, rich with coriander. Desert, a warm brownie with molten chocolate inside was wonderful. I only regret we did not try their drinks.
All along our day, the weather was brutally hot and muggy. It drained the life out of us. We kept on sunblock, and even with it on TM was a shade darker by the end of the day than when we started. We drank gallons of water every change we had. For myself, this was all on top of having gotten up at three in the morning. I thoroughly enjoyed our day, but by the time I got home - around nine - I was ready for it to be over.
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