Coffee Cult
Once upon a time, moving meant that you just had to reconnect a few utilities at the new place. Then it was gas, water, electric and cable too. Later, you needed an internet connection, gym membership and sometimes a new mobile phone. Ah, simpler times, the good old days.
No sir, that doesn't end the catalogue for we urbanites in these modern times. Janet and I have most of the above already in hand, but are still working our way down the whole list. Since it's impractical to own a car in Manhattan, we signed up for a car club,
Zipcar. It allows us to reserve a car from a dozen places around the island for increments of as little as half an hour. All fuel and even tolls are included in the flat fee, and the membership card also opens the door, so its both simpler and cheaper than renting.
And then we embedded ourselves one step further into American society by joining the cult of
Nespresso. We bought a Nespresso machine, an espresso machine that uses a special little capsule to make a cup. The capsules can only be bought from Nespresso, so buying the machine is a commitment. And when I picked it up, the smooth, carefully dressed young man who welcomed me game me the full tour, with operating instructions, descriptions of each kind of coffee capsule, a special deal on the capsule display case, and a key ring with an electronic fob so that I can be instantly identified at any Nespresso boutique. Better than a secret handshake.
Aftermath
We went out for the late afternoon, so we missed the closing act. According to the local TV news (and the
NY Times) two firefighters actually died while fighting the fire. The purportedly live reporter claimed the fire was still not completely under control at 10:30 p.m.; but while there are still plenty of fire trucks and the streets remain closed, I can see no more flames or even smoke, and there are flashlights playing in the top floors of the building.
Fire
This afternoon our apartment has a very good view of a building on fire a couple of blocks away. The building was covered in scaffolding, and I presume it was one of those irreparably damaged on 9/11. Now it is obscured by oily black smoke with flames licking at the top, and there are too many fire trucks to count.
Biding in Battery Park
After a couple of weeks house-sitting in Bronxville, poor Emma was once more bundled into her bag. I drove the length of the Henry Hudson Freeway in the SUV loaned to us by our generous host with one hand on the wheel and the other in the cat carrier, scratching her behind the ears after every anxious yowl.
We found an apartment downtown, on our first day of looking, that we believe will suit us nicely. It is on the 25th floor with views in three directions, all of skyscrapers. The demand for downtown office space is much reduced since the day a few years ago when a very large amount of office space was suddenly removed from use, and some building are being converted to condos and rental apartments. Such a one is our new address; but the conversion is still in progress, so while we're waiting for our place to be completed we have a temporary address in Battery Park. When we move again in October we will have two bedrooms plus den, and amenities like a gym and a screening room.
Meanwhile we've started exploring the city. Our friends A&M were again the first to visit us, and we all went to the famous
Birdland jazz club on Sunday evening, and heard the renowned trumpet player,
Arturo Sandoval. I can't recommend the Birdland food, but I heard sounds coming out of a trumpet that I didn't know were possible.
