Harlem, Bronx and Central Park

Simon said there were car dealers up by Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. Unfortunately, he’s already become an American. Of course there wasn’t a single one. So we walked, walked, walked. Over a bridge from the Bronx to Harlem. Nothing special. Oh yes…the first chess player I see. Unfortunately drunk off his arse. Markus Gravey Park in the north of Manhattan. Wild squirels and dealers everywhere, abandoned swimming pools in between. A half-collapsed bell tower on a small hill.

It’s hot, fucking hot. I paint white traces of salt on my blue shirt. I sit down in the shade on a staircase. And quickly realise that this is probably North Central Park right in front of me. I actually wanted to do it by bike. But never mind. I’ve already walked 70 blocks, and Central Park is just as quick. Everyone knows it’s big. Even me. But it’s hard to realise just how big. It takes me just under 3 hours to cross it quickly.

Duck ponds, lakes, baseball fields. Wild forests, steppe meadows, huge silence in the noisy city. And it’s beautiful. Even without all the chaos outside. Tennis courts, pelota, a few kids playing baseball. Twice I’m mown down by triathlon cyclists travelling at 50 km/h. I often don’t see a single person for a few minutes.

Just the skyscrapers between the trees. Children on playgrounds the size of football pitches. No joke: I see a mum directing her 5-year-old child back by mobile phone. Seems appropriate to me. By the way: computer games educate. at least GTA. I’ve known my way around here for years, and I did the monster century jump over the bridge in the centre of the park in a Chevy. I anxiously feel my way over the side of the bridge, looking upwards.

In the centre of Central Park is the Great Lawn, about 10 football pitches in size. Me: As totally unclassic as can be. Today I hear something. I actually have to go and buy a car, I have an appointment in the afternoon. But the music pulls me drastically to the left. There’s no other way. In the middle of Central Park, the Metropolitan Opera is in full rehearsal. Choir, orchestra, soloists. I don’t know what they’re playing, but it’s so beautiful that I’m melting in the sun in the middle of New York.

The rest of the day? Changing money and realising that my credit card doesn’t work at the ATM after all. Shit. Home, unsticker. Off to Coney Island, where a guy who looks like the villain from“Once We Were Warriors” wants to sell a Ford Crown Victory taxi for $1700. Drives well: 4.5 litre engine, roars like an elephant with 2 cm of gas. But it also needs an estimated 25 litres of fuel per mile. I don’t trust this guy. Back home, the garage round the corner offers me a cheap little Chevy. More on this tomorrow.