Boucarou and a baby
NYC has everything. One minute you’re in a comfy apartment in Park Slope snuggled up with a friend’s 8-day-old daughter, drunk on her new baby smell, monopolizing all her time; the next minute, you’re popping champagne in celebration of a good girlfriend’s forty-something birthday at Boucarou, a restaurant/lounge where West Africa meets the East Village (with some Asian fusion thrown in for good measure). The circle of life and all that.
That said, I could never live in NYC again. When I lived on Eastern Parkway across from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden for 4 months in 1994, I lived in a kind of quiet terror of the city. Too many people, too much traffic. The subway was an underground den for criminals, and I avoided it at all costs.
The city was inconvenient and apathetic. No one cared when a pothole on Flatbush Avenue, the size of a kiddie pool, popped my tire. I hated how different NYC was from other cities, how hard it was to do a simple thing like buy needle and thread, or find a parking space when you finally find a place that sells needle and thread. (I burst into tears after circling that block for a space until I lost track of time, until a cop (driving at top speed without her siren on) blew through a traffic light during one of my circuits around the block, and nearly slammed into me.).
Nearly 15 years later, I look back in amazement at how much I missed out on, being scared of the city, and not appreciating all that it had to offer. Of course, NYC was a different place then, but still there was much more to it than I dared venture out and see. The parks, the neighborhoods, the food, the cultural institutions. It sounds so silly now that I didn’t dive into NYC when I lived here. But at that time, my fears ran deeper than subway boogeymen and crazy drivers who never used turned signals. I was afraid of the crazy possibilities within myself, dogged by personal boogeymen who kept me from ever feeling safe or sure of myself, regardless of geography. I can love the city now because I am no longer afraid, no longer haunted by all those scary what-ifs.
But I still couldn’t live here. Too many people, too much traffic.
April 13th, 2008 at 9:59 pm
Hey, we were neighbors during your 4-months on Eastern Parkway! I lived across from the garden for 3 years. It’s true, there are too many cars and too many people, but I have to say I love it here still. True, I’m trying harder than hard to orchestrate a relocation to Jamaica, but I do love me some Brooklyn!
–Stacie
April 13th, 2008 at 11:17 pm
Hey, Stacie! I believe our building number was 115. It was a great apartment.
What part of Brooklyn are you in, if I may ask? I was in Bed Stuy, Park Slope, Ft. Greene, and Ditmas Park this weekend. I’m a big BK fan these days.
April 15th, 2008 at 12:11 pm
Guess Deesha’s got no love for New York :o)
That’s alright though… you’re always welcome on our red carpet, despite all that “haterade” you’re carrying in your backpack.
April 15th, 2008 at 12:21 pm
TAO:
You’re just mad you have to come to Pittburgh to hear the sounds of nature.
;-p
April 21st, 2008 at 11:08 pm
Well, I feel you Deesha. There IS a reason we moved back to Pittsburgh from London. I remember, one year into our stay there I looked at my husband and said, “I lived like an Empress in Pittsburgh.” Yes, my eyes were sideways slits when I said it. And my mouth was flatter and more brittle than pressed Spring flowers after 2 years in the press.