9:00 am. The snow is very light, so the bare areas are ok. Just need to be careful. After the border it's supposed to be clear.
10:15. We’re through. Grateful for our NEXUS cards. Hello America.
2:45. Just boarded the train in Albany. It leaves in 5 minutes. A porter came around and asked if we'd like some help boarding early...I guess we looked old, or else he needed something to do...so we said sure, and he took our bags and escorted us down to the platform and into the first car, and hoisted our bags up onto the rack. So he got a nice tip and we got good forward-facing seats on the side next to the Hudson.
On our way down, we had eaten lunch at a diner. The menu indicated Greek owners...gyros, souvlaki...finally a man came out of the kitchen, in a blue T-shirt and khaki shorts, looking like he could be the owner. He stood in back of the counter surveying the room, nodded at us. A waitress brought him a coffee and I saw him take a tall glass bottle out from under the counter and pour some into his mug. Retsina, probably. The food was good - clam chowder, generous sandwiches, bottomless cups of hot coffee. "Are you going to talk to him?" J. asked. I shook my head and smiled. "Maybe.” When we were finished and paying our check I turned back, smiled at the owner, and said," Efcharisto!" (Thank you.)
"Parakalo!" he answered automatically, and then said, "Wait a minute, I have to talk to you! Do you speak Greek?"
"Ligo," I said. "A little. I can read better than I can speak."
"My kids are the opposite, they can speak but they can't read it."
"It's because of the way I'm learning, on Duolingo. You don't get practice speaking."
He nodded, grinned and looked at my husband, "When I saw you, I thought you might be Greek…?"
Jonathan shook his head. "He's Armenian-Syrian," I answered.
"Aha!" he said. "Then we can complain in common about the Turks!"
We ended up having a fast, wide-ranging conversation about our connection to his country. When we mentioned how much we liked Thessaloniki, he gestured toward the counter where two older men were seated. "That's where those guys are from! We were just speaking together."
His grandfather had lived in Montreal, near Park X, and he still has family in the city. " Next time," he said as we left, "I expect to hear lots more Greek from you!"
"Antio!" I said, giving him a big grin.
"Antio!" he repeated, correcting my pronunciation and waving back at me.
10:00 p.m. In our hotel room at 26th and Broadway. We arrived at Penn Station around 5:30, and walked the six blocks to the hotel; it's cold and windy here but not nearly as bitter as at home. The room on the fourth floor is fine, with a small kitchen, a good bed and bath, large windows that look out on Louis Sullivan-era buildings as well as a new slightly-angled skyscraper of blue glass that towers over these earlier structures. This is a tech hotel; there's almost no staff and you navigate everything using your phone. It feels more like an Air BnB inside a hotel structure. We unpacked and headed out to Trader Joe's to buy food, and came back and ate.
I'm tired now, and a bit cold. The neighbors have their tv on and the wall is very thin, so it's going to be an earplug night. My bedside table has a white noise machine on it, with six settings: things like “ocean” “rain” and “summer night,” which is crickets. C. called about an hour ago to thank me for the calendar. She was amazed to hear we were in Manhattan, where she lived for so long, though she grew up in Montreal and California. She said she was glued to the screen, watching her old neighborhood of Pacific Palisades burn in the forest fires. "My old high school is in flames," she exclaimed. "My friend Mary has had to evacuate her house and she may lose it. It's horrific!"
Ah, the neighbors are finally quiet.
1/9/25 Thursday
Early to the camera store, where J. bought the components for my new computer setup. An unexpected thing happened: after helping us and entering the complicated transaction for our invoices, the salesman turned to us: "May I ask a personal question?" Because he'd learned we were Canadian, he wanted to apologize for the recent remarks by the president-elect about annexing the country, and he wanted to know how this had been received in Canada. He ended up speaking for at least half an hour about how upset and worried he is about his teenage daughters and what he fears will happen. He just stood there and said how he felt and how astonished he was at some of his colleagues who had voted for the man; I was worried they would overhear the conversation. I doubt that we made him feel any better, unless it simply did him some good to talk to some Canadians and fantasize about moving there if things get really bad. We didn't tell him how difficult that would be for him; he seemed to think he could just bundle his family into the car and drive across the border into a new life.
Then J. went upstairs to look at lenses and I walked up to Mood Fabrics after stopping to get a yogurt. Later on, I took a nap, and did some drawing, watching the late afternoon light on the beautiful old and ultramodern buildings we see from our window. In the evening, took the subway uptown to the 70s to have dinner at an Italian restaurant with good friends.
1/10/25 Friday
Slow start to the day; we slept late because we desperately needed to, and didn't leave the room until 11 or so. We took the subway to Houston St and walked to Greene and the Patagonia store, where I replaced my venerable black jacket, which must be 30 years old.
Then we walked up to B.'s on LaGuardia Place. He made lunch for us while we sat around in the kitchen. (His daughter) R. called while we were there and we both talked to her - she had to evacuate her house in L.A. because of the fires; it seems to be OK but she's gone out to stay with a friend in the desert because the air quality in the city is so terrible.
I've wanted to do a drawing of some of J.'s ceramics for a long time, so today I managed to do a quick one while Jonathan was sitting in front of the windows where many of them are displayed. It's not good of him but it captures the ambience well enough. The apartment is still so full of her, even so many years later. B. showed us a video of a recent concert he did, and at 6:00 we all went to a nearby cinema to see Almodovar's The Room Next Door. Sushi afterwards at the Japanese place on LaGuardia, then we walked the 20 blocks back uptown on Broadway. Warmer tonight, and the wind has finally died down.
—to be continued
Very recently a thirty-something couple (well-educated, world travellers, have visited us here) who live in Portland OR contacted me to ask "how to move to sweet Canada". My advice was to consult an immigration lawyer, because immigration is a complex matter and admission policies are subject to change. They said, "Immigration?!"
And I agree that in the moment, in the camera store, the main thing was to be available and listen. Very few Americans have an opportunity to talk with Americans who immigrated to Canada.
Posted by: Duchesse | January 28, 2025 at 09:33 AM