The Great Georgiana...

...or Brooklyn day one

Travelling by train is a great way to introduce yourself to a city. It approaches slowly - even if you are the one actually moving.

New York has a presence that announces itself firstly by the nasally PA that infects railways around the world. I swear the driver sounded Bostonian as we left South Station and like a lifelong Brooklynite as we crossed into Manhattan.

actors/dancers at The Great Georgiana

The Red Cap at Boston said he'd arrange a colleague to meet me at Penn Station and there he was to trolley my three large equipment bags up several escalators to street level in midtown NYC. 

It was cab driver changeover time, the queue was long but moving steadily. I spent time making some pictures on what we call a real camera these days as well as chatting to the woman behind me in the line. She had also travelled from Boston, though she was spending a long weekend with her daughter who lived in the city. It's always wonderful how much complete strangers share so much of their lives in such a short time. It's a shame we can't always do it with those closest to us.

The cab master found a driver to take me across the bridge so close to knock off time. I tip too much but the time and hassle saved on the busy streets of an un-relenting city is worth it.

The journey to Brooklyn was a series of texts to Anne, the owner of the apartment I was renting, in between making pictures out the cab window. The train had been late, the queue long, the traffic heavy and Anne had a class beginning at 5pm. She arranged her sister to let me in and then spent a lot of time texting and phoning to make sure all was well. She's offered a tour of the neighbourhood tomorrow afternoon to show me around. In the meantime she pointed me to Dekalb St where I find myself now. In a bar, The Great Georgiana, owned by an Australian from Melbourne and listening to 'Summer Breeze' being played on vinyl. 
Weird but wonderfully so.

Around the corner and just down the street from the apartment a major miniseries for the BBC is being packed up. A couple of the extras (dancers from Queens) are drinking in the bar and tell me that that they spent all day waiting to be called to set. The call never came but they got paid and fed steak for lunch - these two young guys are drinking beer and happy and hoping for that call tomorrow or at least another steak.

Jesus, now Minnie Ripperton is playing on the turntable. This place is full of people born after she died (nearly). Well, no, she actually died it just that there are lots of young vibrant, hopeful people here. I hope what my generation has done and continues to do doesn't disappoint or disillusion them too much.

The draft beer selection at the Great Georgiana

Travelling for me has often been about finding new places to lose things. I guess the things I lose are really just a way of marking those spots where I discover so much. So far on this trip I've lost a phone, a passport, a wallet (all on separate occasions) and a filling. All have found their way back to me by various means and happenstance (except the filling). 

Shit, day one is drawing to a close. Its just gone 8.30, I'm still in the bar and about to order my third beer from Tory (actually it became a nice Californian pinot noir). Tory is chatty and inquisitive and she's probably looking after me like she would her dad - making sure he's happy and not getting into any mischief!

More to come...