Most days after work during that damp hot July, I would spend a dollar and take the Staten Island Ferry from Manhattan just to feel a cool breeze. Sometimes I go over and back a few times and watch the familiar skyline come in and out of focus until the sun sets beyond the Statue of Liberty. By day I am employed in a Yogurtarian Cafe in the Chrysler Building, in the evenings I walk around the corner to work in an Italian Restaurant and at weekends I make cocktails in a Chinese Bar Downtown. In between I bask in the luxury of air conditioning at the Museum of Modern Art or in the movie theatre where Woody Allen’s Manhattan is showing. I see it every week. I am totally smitten by New York City; the art, the purple pin stripe trousers I bought in SoHo, the eons of grime, the noisy diner on the corner, gunshots in the subway, sirens at night. I have romanticised it all, a habit I will perfect much later in life.
Our cockroach infested apartment on Greenwich Street is in the shadow of the Twin Towers. On humid nights we sleep on the roof. Next door under a flashing neon sign is a bar where girls dance on the counter and Tequila Sunrise is the drink of choice of Irish girls from the College of Art in Dublin.
I miss my husband of less than a year. I call him regularly from a phone box across the street. We plot and plan to reverse the charges in a way that means neither of us will have to pay for the transatlantic call. It’s an old emigrant’s trick. Without hearing his voice I would fade away.
I seem to accumulate a lot of dollars. I get good tips by practicing an “innocent Irish girl abroad” routine. Attracting tips doesn’t come naturally so I learn to speak a bit louder, shine a bit brighter, and follow the system the other waitresses explain.
On a night off we frequent CBGBs, see Patti Smith and hang out with RUR a band we follow. Hair gets shorter and shorter, skirts are replaced by tiny fitted Hawaiian shirts and narrow pants. I finally get my ears pierced in an underground tattoo parlour and chew gum on the subway to ward off interested parties.
And it’s all flow and freedom here. The rhythm and music of it, every detail lit up in sharpened outline, every day played out in upbeat vibrancy. After a while when I think about going back home I am hesitant, as if I would be stepping back in time to another me, one that doesn’t exist any more………
Funny how self portraits are now called selphies! Seems like the more we reinvent ourselves, the more we stay the same. I detect a wee bit of Bowie in there! Fascinating really to be able to look back at yourself in the preblogging days. In the years to come this will be our journal.
Most of my days are pre-blogging days haha! Thanks Kerri always good to hear from you:~))
I rather hate the word selfies and wouldn't denigrate your works of art by calling them such 🙂 This was such an interesting post, I wish I had had those experiences.
Thank you Cait. The word selfie is kind of new to me too but not the concept. Those days are etched on my mind for ever.
Wonderful images and memories from your time in New York. It must have be hard to live so far away from your new wedded husband. Do you ever return to New York? Sarah x
Hi Sarah! Yes I missed him terribly. Went back eventually two years ago. Revisited all the old haunts. Of course it has been cleaned up now in every way and 9/11 changed it too. It is still an amazing place. Do you know NY?
Love these photos and memories of New York, though I myself don't always enjoy remembering the me that once existed 🙂
Candi it is weird and I am full of mixed emotion too. x
Wow, look at you! And there was I thinking you were more plaits and pigtails:)
Beautiful piece of writing yet again and so glad you made it back to Foxglove Lane xx
Thank Patricia. As I say the short hair and hard stare were always a good cover for being the shy Irish girl with the soft voice. The pigtails and plaits came a bit later though xx
Sounds exhausting. You explain you like it. I think I would like it more as a memory than something to live through. And the description? Vivid.
Thanks Lucy. The energy of the very young is vivid isn't it…….
A wonderfully evocative piece of writing and great self-portraits. It must have been a great adventure though hard to be away from your husband.
Thanks Mairead! A mixture of emotions really and no mobile phones, internet, skype, barely even had land lines……OMG I'm so old!!!
Don't our younger selves seem at both so far away in time and yet so close. We change as the world changes and yet we somehow also stay the same. Those are incredible images that you've shared.
I am fascinated by your pilgrimage, and am in a sense following a similar path myself this year, though not on my blog, and quite unexpectedly. I guess for me it's a life stage thing.
Lovely to catch up here Catherine 🙂
Annie it's great to hear from you. I love that you are travelling along a similar path……you have got me very curious……it's definitely a life stage thing as you say…….
I am always unsure about looking backwards – your journey is totally different to mine – do we all look at our past through rose-tinted spectacles I wonder – fascinating stuff though.
Elaine, I seem to look in every direction through rose tinted spectacles….except for the periods when I crash and burn of course……..
WOW – I didn't know you lived in NYC and on this side of the Atlantic. Love the memory and the younger…punkier…you – :-)!
Love the look back, especial catching the Ferry to feel the cool breeze, fills my heart with summer memories.
A great story Catherine – and a great look too – could have been shot last year! Told you I'd be back!
I loved seeing this side of you…back in 79 I was graduating college and going far away to grad school. It was a brave time when I too made a pilgrimage…so amazing how we come back around to things.