I entered New York three times for the first time over the last four days. Train from Boston Friday, car on Saturday evening, Coach USA today. Arrival into Penn Station, via the George Washington Bridge and the Lincoln tunnel.
Friday involved an in and out, without stepping out, of stations. Cloaked in a humid, frantic and harsh Friday evening space. New York a promise of familiar names, signs and lifelong memories.
Saturday evening I walked a chunk of Manhattan Island with the friend/colleague I was staying with in Nyack. Promise more than realised as we grazed Central Park, Times Square, 5th Avenue and the Empire State Building.
Today I caught the bus from Nyack and checked into the New York Yotel. Mid afternoon, I went to walk the High Line. The park that almost wasn’t.
Built on a historic, elevated freight line destined for demolition… run by the non-profit conservancy Friends of the High Line which relies on individual donations.
A disused elevated freight line made into a park. An extraordinary, joyful space with original tracks, plants, walkways, seating, artwork and views.
And then I came across the choir.
Eh? Sorry, what was that? A park on a bridge across the River Thames?