On Friday, the weather in New York City was picture-perfect. Warm sunshine reflected off the Hudson and the blue sky was completely cloudless.
I chatted with a Louisiana woman, now living in New York City. She was with a bearded man wearing a Louisiana T-shirt and two adolescents.
Suddenly, displaying a smile sweet as pie, the woman says matter-of-factly that my hometown, among others, was a pit of crime and full of dangerous characters. Obviously, she wanted a reaction.
Fortunately, at that moment the Staten Island Ferry whisked us past a greenish Statue of Liberty, less impressive and seemingly smaller than in the postcards. The woman quickly turned her attention away from me to orchestrate group selfies with Lady Liberty as the backdrop.
***
That night Robyn and I would return to the Hudson River for Greek food at a place I’d read about beforehand on the internet. The place was hard to find, yet we arrived close to our 7:15 reservation time. The restaurant was quiet and uncrowded.
We were seated at a table with a white tablecloth, next to a large picture window, which provided an excellent, unobstructed view of the river and city lights. The staff was earnest and pleasant. They did their best to accommodate but could not improve the mediocre fare. We had to return the two main courses to the kitchen as the food was not sufficiently hot when it arrived. We passed on any desert.
Aside from the excellent view, our first night out in New York City was slightly disappointing. Between the overpriced meal and expensive Uber rides with sullen drivers, we were happy to return to our hotel, fetch ice, pour drinks, and settle in for a cozy night.
***
Thereafter we made it a point exclusively to walk or ride the subway. We performed miles of walking, which stirred my painful sciatica. The Advil I swallowed dry was only mildly effective. I frequently sat because the pain ceases temporarily if I sit, but doing so slowed us. Robyn waited patiently without complaint.
***
Before leaving home I purchased advance (senior) tickets to the Museum of Modern Art, better known by its familiar acronym, MOMA. Fortuitously, the place was located just around the corner from our hotel. It’s a world-class, generous modern space.
Everybody stops to view Van Gogh’s Starry Night, but there are other masterworks and notable pieces, including a fair number by Picasso. I overheard one middle-aged man, wearing a trendy “Heisenberg” pork pie hat, lecturing his attentive companion about Picasso’s use of space. I resisted the temptation to follow them as they bounced from one Picasso to the next.
During our visit, one featured exhibit honored Thomas Schütte. This broad-based exhibition of his work, which included sculptures, ceramics, watercolors, and architectural models, occupied nearly one entire floor.
However, my favorite on this day might have been Michael Smith’s delightful “Government Approved Home Fallout Shelter Snack Bar,” ostensibly a life-sized replica of a government-approved home bomb shelter with a snack bar! Ambitious in scope and audacious in concept.
***
Under a warm sun and clear sky, we took an enjoyable walk along the Avenue of the Americas, where a large open-air market was underway. I bought three pairs of brightly decorated men’s socks for $20.
Eventually, we ended up in the Broadway district for a 2:00 p.m. matinee performance of Moulin Rouge. Robyn thoroughly enjoyed this stage version; I preferred the film version. We caught one of the final performances by the current leads – Aaron Tveit and Joanna “JoJo” Levesque—encouraged by a cheering, raucous audience.
After the theater, we headed uptown, intending to find dinner in Chinatown. Instead, we ended up dining al fresco at a French café and restaurant in Soho. On this mild night we were lucky to have stumbled onto the place, and to land the last free table.
***
Sunday welcomed another glorious day, albeit a cooler one. In the morning, Robyn shopped. Meanwhile, I found a public place to sit where I could listen to a football broadcast involving my favorite team.
However, by the time we were finished, street barricades had been erected that cut off easy access back to our hotel, where I had intended to grab a down vest in anticipation of much cooler evening temperatures. A cop explained that the barricades were in preparation for the city’s traditional Columbus Day Parade, scheduled for the next day.
Back home, Columbus Day is now referred to as Indigenous Peoples Day.
***
We spent most of Sunday afternoon at the World Trade Center. Robyn said that visiting the museum reminded her of the concentration camps she had seen while traveling through Europe. The museum is depressing, of course, but the revitalized World Trade Center campus is a remarkable achievement. It’s a destination where you will hear a dozen languages being spoken, a truly cosmopolitan venue. And on this lovely Fall day it fairly crackled with positive human energy .
We had wanted to eat some Italian in New York City, and I felt fortunate to have scored dinner reservations at De Andrea in the West Village on short notice. I was encouraged to see that the place was packed with people when we arrived. Generally, I take such crowds as a good sign. As one table would empty a new party eagerly waited to grab it. Despite being crowded with diners, a large contingent of staff operated the place like clockwork.
My review: A thoroughly enjoyable last supper to cap off a nearly perfect weekend with Robyn. Why, we even splurged on desert and coffee.
***
At last. they announced boarding for our return flight.
I got up from a bench and reflexively patted the outsides of my pockets. I didn’t feel my wallet. Soon, I was patting myself frantically, even turning pockets inside out. Eventually, I experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a realization that my wallet and house keys were missing.
I dawdled by the gate as my mind raced to replay the events of the past several hours. I walked back and forth between the gate and the bench where we had been sitting, hoping the wallet magically would appear. Robyn stood waiting by the gate. I heard the crew announcing that all the overhead bins were now full.
Finally, in my mind’s eye, I saw myself back at the TSA security checkpoint, stuffing my wallet and keys into the property bin that contained Robyn’s large and heavy suitcase. I recalled thinking there wasn’t much room for anything else in her bin. I had struggled to lift it from the bin and place it on the ground.
In my mind, I saw other passengers scurrying to retrieve their property. I saw uniformed TSA staff remove the bins from the conveyor.
There it was. I had left my wallet and keys inside Robyn’s bin!
***
The flight crew was emphatic that we needed to board the plane before they closed the gate. I hesitated, then reluctantly followed Robyn to board. The last two remaining seats on the plane were ours.
Back home, I’ve spent the last seventy-two hours trying to reconstruct my identity and credit. Among other tasks, I’ve submitted separate, detailed “lost and found” forms to the TSA, the New York Port Authority, and JFK Terminal Four. Unsurprisingly, nothing has turned up so far.
Given its mission to secure travelers from harm, it is sad to consider the possibility that TSA employs some people who are mere opportunists, uniformed thieves. I don’t like to imagine that one of them discovered my wallet and keys in a property bin, sized up an opportunity for a quick score, glanced around furtively to make certain that no one saw him or her pocketing my wallet, then skulked off to a bathroom or other private place with the ill-gotten goods, stuffed several hundred dollars in cash into their pocket, inspected my personal identification, credit and bank cards, and either quietly ditched anything incriminating or, worse, sold my identification to a fellow criminal or dark web troll.
I don’t like to imagine this is what happened, but can’t rule it out. Hopefully, my property still shows up, but I’m skeptical. Darn, it was almost the perfect weekend.
