The rain on Saturday afternoon really started to pour down just as soon as I finished writing up Part Five of this blog post. That was about half past four in the afternoon, and the pharmacy closed at six. I checked my weather app and it was predicting a break in the rain before 5PM, so I waited until then; and sure enough, the rain pretty much stopped by about five, and I was able to make the 15-minute drive north to Chappaqua in relatively dry weather; and without too much traffic. I got there and got my pills -- I did not see either Bill or Hillary Clinton, though I did witness a sort of Gathering of the Clans in the drug store's parking lot. There were a surprising number of people wandering around there on foot, and the guy in the car in front of me seemed to know them all.
When Steve got back from whatever he'd been doing, we decided just to go down to the Village* for dinner. The train station in Valhalla has been converted to a restaurant. (Trains still stop here, but all the ticketing functions are now done by machine, so the station building is surplus to requirements.) The new restaurant, called Valhalla Crossing, occupies the entire old station building, plus a rail car added for the purpose. I forget what Steve had; I ordered the shrimp po-boy, which is served "on a wedge." This, it turns out, is not a slice of lettuce, but the local word for a hoagie roll. It was just okay; the shrimp weren't very plentiful and were prepared in some unusual way that made them look like they were fried until burnt, but actually were just in some kind of dark batter. They had a good texture but no memorable flavour. There were maybe half a dozen of these oddly-dark medium shrimp on the "wedge", with lettuce and the other proper accoutrements of a well-dressed po-boy. I had it with a kölsch, which was the best thing on the table. The service was excellent, and the ambience was good. I think Steve picked up the check -- we seem to have been taking turns, completely unplanned -- so I don't recall if the prices were right. I'll assume they are.
Sunday was gorgeous: cool, with clear blue sky. We went for breakfast to the City Limits Diner in White Plains, getting there just as it opened at 8. This time it was Steve who went for the lox and bagel with cream cheese and all the trimmings -- red onion, capers, olives, I don't know what else -- while I went simple with just a bagel with cream cheese, and coffee. The coffee there was excellent, the best we'd found to that point, and the service was outstanding. We had a relaxing breakfast, and I was surprised to learn that we'd spent an hour and a half there. Once we were done, we drove to Port Chester to pick up Steve's girlfriend Dorothy, who wanted to go with us into the city.
The number of people walking and biking on the bridge late on a Sunday morning is amazing, and they're almost all young, like 20- and 30-somethings. I had heard that Brooklyn is currently a big draw for the post-college crowd, and it certainly appeared to be so from this, my one time in the area. I think, though, that it may be a victim of its own success. The living spaces we saw in the area immediately around the bridge are surely out of reach for the vast majority of young people, but until the upscale market is completely saturated I don't expect they'll be building more affordable housing in any place where you can see even the tallest tower of Manhattan or the slightest hint of the East River.
Anyway: we spent at least an hour out on the bridge. We only walked to about the halfway point, just far enough that we could get views of Manhattan free of bridge cables. The weather was gorgeous, and the crowd was tolerable. Even though you're on the upper deck of a very busy artery, you hardly notice the traffic down below; which, by the time we left (after a light lunch in a small park there), was bumper-to-bumper heading into Manhattan. We drove over to Williamsburg, which is another neighbourhood that I'd heard was sort of up-and-coming; and I suppose it is, but mostly it's remarkable for the number of Hasidic Jews that live and work there. I've never seen so many people wearing black, or so many men with wide-brimmed hats. And, of course, with the sideburn-curls that are the most immediately identifiable affectation of that population.
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| the Vessel |
So the Vessel is ... what can I call it? A climbable sculpture? A tourist attraction? At the moment it's closed -- has been for years -- while the people responsible for it install clear barriers to keep people from using it as a launching pad for suicides. In the brief time it was open to the public, it quickly became the go-to spot for people who wanted to end it all in the most unpleasant and public fashion possible. (The possibility of that happening seems never to occur to the designers of these projects, despite the long history of Falling to One's Death as a means of shuffling off the mortal coil.)
That evening, back in Westchester, we dropped Dorothy back at her place, then just cruised around the area. Steve has lived in Westchester essentially his entire life, so every place is a memory for him. For me, who has been here only a handful of times for a few days or a couple of weeks at a stretch, the memories are fewer and farther between, and less clear. Still, I enjoyed just staring out the window of the car while Steve recounted some person or event associated with a place we passed, and every now and then I could say, Oh, I remember such-and-such happened here, or there. We passed the place where Steve and I had dinner once, and he ordered satay, which I had never tried before. The restaurant's gone, apparently, but the memory remains.
Our own choice for dinner Sunday night was the Nautilus Diner, in keeping with our accidental theme for the visit of eating in places that feature American food. Steve got a pulled-pork sandwich, which came with an overload of french fries, while I chose the Texas Nachos.
There wasn't anything particulary Texan about the nachos, but I guess the name suggests southwestern cuisine to people here. In the present case, I'll accept it on behalf of my home state as a great compliment, as the nachos I got were very good, and there were a lot of them (because things are bigger in Texas, I suppose). The menu mentioned chili as an ingredient, so I was expecting, worst-case scenario, Doritos with canned chili with beans on them. The chips are not Doritos, but some kind of large rounds with good corn flavour and not too much salt. There's a lot of jack and colby cheese, some black beans, some pickled jalapeño slices, and lots and lots of pulled pork on top. The nacho plate is piled high, and they're delicious; it's served with sides of good-quality chunky salsa, sour cream, and guacamole. I only managed to eat about two-thirds of the portion served me, and today (Monday) it's my lunch, and still delicious.
After writing that, I took myself out to Kensico Dam Plaza again to walk; after all that walking yesterday I expected to ache in my joints, but I feel fine, and I want to try and build on that, in the hope of getting myself down to a tolerable weight and condition. I remembered that there are various walking routes laid out at the plaza. I picked the route that's half a mile long, and made two circuits, plus going slowly around the 9/11 Memorial (called, I learned, "The Rising") and looking at the names of Westchester's dead. No one could doubt that this country is a melting pot (or maybe a stew) when they read those names: Albanian, Arabic, Chinese, English, Irish, French, German, Italian, Japanese, Korean, Polish, Scottish, Spanish, and some with roots I don't recognize. For all our faults as a society, that mix of nations is something to be cherished, now threatened by people who prefer to hate and fear others.
Lots of dogs out, too, setting the good example.
N.B. I wrote that last bit before I found out that Haitian immigrants are eating the dogs in Springfield, Ohio. My point was that there were lots of things going on at Kensico Dam Plaza. But I wish I knew how to embed a meme of the Cheeto making the dog-eating claim during the presidential debate.
* It occurred to me that this reference to "the Village" might confuse people. I don't mean "Greenwich Village," which is commonly known simply as "the Village"; I'm referring to the one street of shops along Highway 29 (Columbus Avenue) across from the train station that is the business district of the Hamlet of Valhalla. It also is known simply as "the Village," but much less widely.
