Imagined Diary - Grand Central Terminus

If you’ve read my wonderful New York Diary you’ll know that I loved NYC and even called it the friendly city. I wonder if I would have felt the same had my trip been at the end of November, beginning of December. Before I left for New York I wrote imagined diaries 1, 2, 3 of what it might be like, here is an imagined diary of what it might have been like had I gone a month later. 

4.03.2016 (A slight rewrite.)

New York was cold, icy cold. The thermometer might have said it was one degrees Celsius but the wind blowing in from the Hudson and East Rivers made it feel like it was ten below.  I was the meat in that wind sandwich and I was shivering like hell. It was the kind of cold that gets under your skin, that runs through your veins and freezes your bone marrow.

The city had been kind to me, a friendly place, happy, helpful people with no sense of danger; there was none of the fear that had dogged me on my previous visit, twenty-five years ago when I was just 18 and NYC was apparently the most dangerous place on earth.

It was my last day of my holiday; my feet ached and the cold was playing havoc with my sinuses. I’d had a great time, but it was time to go home. As always at the end of my days walking the city, I ended up at Grand Central Terminus. I loved the vibe of a busy transport hub at rush hour, the architecture, the Apple Store, the food hall and most of all Grumpy Café with coffee that took the edge of the chill and thawed my bones just enough. It was the perfect people watching spot and, as I was walking up 5^th I was looking forward to getting there.

I’d been thinking earlier in the day that I had found the root cause of New York’s insomnia. It was no wonder the city never slept when sirens blared from emergency vehicles all hours of the day and night.  But if I thought the norm was bad, it was nothing compared to the cacophony of noise that greeted my ears this evening. It was like the chase scene in the Blues Brothers, hundreds of NYPC cars heading in the same direction that I was. Horns blared as cars tried to move out of the way of the impatient vehicles. I felt a new shiver, not a shiver of cold but something else. More and more police cars tried to squeeze through the rush hour traffic. 

Amongst the sirens I was aware of shouting, chanting, it sounded like.

I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.

As I turned in to East 42^st I saw the source of the chanting and the destination of the police cars.

The entrances to the station were over flowing with people holding banners and placards, the chants went from I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, to how do you spell murder? The police were watching on, out in force but keeping a watching brief, for the time being. 

It was striking to note the protesters were mostly black with some white faces while the police presence was the opposite. It was like a game of chess.

This was no longer the friendly city. The surface had been scratched and a lava of distrust and tension had come bubbling through. I watched on for a little while under the heavy grey sky. Protesters’ faces were contorted with anger, hatred, while the cops wore faces of patronising contempt. Neither side looked ready to back down. This game of chess was going to end in stalemate.

I was scared, scared and bewildered, this would have been an uncomfortable situation to be caught up in back at home, but on foreign soil it was a nightmare. This was a tinderbox, one spark and it could get ugly, very ugly and I didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. I decided to give Grumpy café a miss and hide in the relative safety of my hotel.

18.12.2015
New York was cold, icy cold. The thermometer might have said it was 1 degrees Celsius but the wind blowing in from the Hudson and East Rivers made it feel like it was 10 below.  It was the kind of cold that gets under your skin, that runs through your veins and freezes your bone marrow. The city had been kind to me, a friendly place, happy, helpful people, no sense of danger, none of the fear that had dogged me on my previous visit. It was my last day, my feet ached and the cold was playing havoc with my sinuses. I’d had a great time but it was time to go home. As always at the end of my days walking the city I ended up at Grand Central Terminus. I loved the vibe of a busy transport hub at rush hour, the architecture, the Apple Store the food hall and most of all Grumpy Café with coffee that took the edge of the chill and thawed my bones just enough. It was the perfect people watching spot and I as was walking up 5^th I was looking forward to getting there.

I’d been thinking earlier in the day that I had found the root cause of New York’s insomnia. It was no wonder the city never slept when sirens blared from emergency vehicles all hours of the day and night.  But if I thought the norm was bad, it was nothing compared to the cacophony of noise that greeted my ears this evening. It was like the chase scene in the Blues Brothers, hundreds of NYPC cars flocking towards Grand Central. Amongst the sirens I was aware of shouting, chanting, it sounded like.

I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.

As I turned in to East 42^st I saw the source of the chanting and the destination of the police cars.

The entrances to the station were over flowing with people holding banners and placards, the chants went from I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe to how do you spell murder? The police were watching on, out in force but keeping a watching brief at the moment. 
It was striking to note the protesters are mostly black with some white faces while the police presence was the opposite. I felt a sudden shift in mood, I was no longer in the friendly city, now there was an atmosphere of distrust under the heavy grey sky. I watched on for a little while, shivering from the cold. There was real anger on the protesters’ faces, while the cops wore faces of patronising contempt. I was scared, scared and bewildered, this would have been an uncomfortable situation to be caught up in back at home, but on foreign soil it was a nightmare. This was a tinderbox, one spark and it could get ugly, very ugly and I didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. I decided to give Grumpy café a miss and head back to the relative safety of my hotel.