The imposing skyline in black and white and the clarinet glissando in Rhapsody in Blue . So opens the brilliant comedy of the 1979 Woody Allen . And this for me was the idea I had of Manhattan until last November 5 when, landing at midnight at New York JFK , I found myself in front of a galaxy of lights I takes the breath away. At least until the next day, when, still dazed by the latest from travel and change time zone, leaving the dilapidated hotel, and I begin my pilgrimage to a week on the streets of the Big Apple . The city is a gigantic madeileine that awakens in me memories continue films ranging from comedies by Woody Allen in Once Upon a Time in America, When Harry Met Sally Taxi Driver, by Sex and the City - the series television, because the films tend to be chronic yawning - West Side Story and I could go on like this all over the page. But it is not very funny. What the big screen can not give you is the level of continuous noise exasperating, 24-hour 24, but I will write this later. Let me tell you instead of adventure capitatami few days after my arrival in this Babel for a few cosmopolitan tourists - several, actually - is nothing but a huge shopping mall where satisfy their instincts of compulsive buying. was the first time I was traveling alone and , I assure you, the experience memorable solo gives pearls. Things first. Tuesday, November 9. Downtown New York. The bright day, the unexpectedly mild climate and the colorful palette of autumn colors me full satisfaction of having chosen this time of year to explore one of the most classic destinations. The route today was decided by consulting the Bible of the average traveler, the Lonely Planet , includes Ground Zero, Wall Street - including balls of the bull - and the ferry to Staten Island, the only way to see more or less closely the Statue of Liberty, since, after dealing with the heroic code of the 'Empire State Building , Rockefeller Center and MoMA , I have no intention of getting another row that mileage will increase the number of wrinkles on my face. Japanese-style, is a prosthesis camera and immortalizing path in the fixity of digital architecture at the mercy of a time when everything has already passed. I do not have the decency to stop in front of a place that has hosted a tragedy not only for the United States, but throughout the Western world. In my defense I can only say that those photos were later cleared. Given that there was to see, and watch dozens of people who, like stupid, are photographed together with that horned bull is not really the best scenes in the best of possible worlds but you know, hard to ignore the attraction of souvenir photos, moderm totemic fetish, I headed to the South Ferry pier to board the ferry to Staten Island . The mass of people gathered at the entrance reminds me of being in the right direction. Only problem: Where does the ticket? Without a black policeman, reproduction of the Statue of Liberty, but big, and expose the improcrastinabile question.
"It's free," he thunders with his voice on the bass.
Oh yeah? The trip begins to like. I almost do it two speeds, on the ferry. When the man of the Monte says yes, the crew is channeled politely on the catwalk, as long as elbowing and jostling to be taught daily in the famous Oxford course "The camallo that is in us: the ontology and semantics of swearing in kicking ass." Because I want to capture the old lady with the ice cream cone in hand, I start looking for the stairs, I am sure I will in the outside of the ferry where I can grab the best place for me pseudo art. A mole would do a better job: no navigation system, my mission seems destined for a sure way to failure. Disappointed, I sit in front of the window . Better than nothing. However, I still do to win. Beside me, two girls, probably American. They will help me.
"Excuse me, do you know if there is an external part of the ferry where you can take some pictures?". I ask this but I'll translate in English because I know that Monday is a difficult day for everyone. They get to confabulation. In Hebrew . Maybe I'm not American.
"Are you Israeli?" . Sometimes I'm amazed of my disproportionate IQ. The bait has been launched. So, after telling of the deep bond that binds me to the country where they come from - the Israeli girls with tits genetically modified by Galina and hummus in Tel Aviv -, let us know. The hour drive there and back, passes between a word vomited continuously and my photographic reportage puts me through tendinitis in his right hand index fulminant curable, according to doctors of international reputation, with the only ' amputation of the right brain. Once off again in Manhattan, the two ask me if I want to join them for a walk along the Battery Park suggestive. I understand the hint, and I accept with pleasure the invitation . So we walk and a cigarette in one hand and camera in the other, the storyteller with tales excited and involved in my Italy. I did not know to be so patriotic, but the distance from home produces these effects. Or perhaps the effect is produced by something else ... And while the sun sets and the Statue of Liberty is swallowed by the winter twilight darkness who became an hour ahead of schedule - again made his appearance the summer time - we decide that it is too early to say goodbye. An appetizer before the leave is what you need. Draw your Lonely Planet as a Jedi with his lightsaber, and having reviewed the names and reviews, find the right place for us. Then, pull out the map, the open waging a fierce battle with the wind and, when I noticed that I'm reading backwards, I take it the right way - the maps, like all things female gender must always be taken in the right direction - and I can finally decode it and to establish a starting point and way to go to reach the coveted goal of alcohol. Down there, on Broadway! It is the beginning end, but for the rest of the story you have to wait Monday. Good week to all!
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