I was reading an article about the development of a little known street in New York City- Centre Market Place. It is wedged down in the southeast corner of the island, very close to lots of places like Greenwich Village, Chinatown, and the Lower East Side (it gets classified in some neighborhood, but I didn’t bother to see which one). Cartophile that I am, I had to look it up right away, and a memory came flooding back to me as I saw the location, just five blocks to the west of Sara Roosevelt Park.
I know this park well; far better, in fact, than I wish I did. I know it because I was feeling hopelessly lost in that vicinity on my second trip to NYC. A friend who lives in Philadelphia had directed me on how to get back to Philly on my own after we parted ways the day before- we had come over together on the always-an-adventure “Chinatown Bus”. It seemed simple enough- all I had to do was find this little stretch of street in Chinatown by 8 p.m., the time that the bus was set to depart. I had a card with the address and a small map printed on it, and I was confindent in my ability to get there.
What I hadn’t bargained for was the city at night. How disorienting darkness can be, even when we are somewhat familiar with the area- I should have remembered well a similar experience in London when I was a college student but, you know, things fade. And so that night, as I circled the same block more than once, signs for Sara Roosevelt Park kept coming into view, as did the concrete rectangular space itself. The lighting was dim, the looming Manhattan Bridge to the immediate southeast was imposing, and the thought of my spending another night in the city took on an air of inevitability.
However, I do like a challenge, so I made one last desperate attempt at escape. I found a nearby busy street (Houston? Delancy?) and tried to hail a cab. This being rush hour for New Yorkers, I was competing with lots of others for those yellow prizes, but I was fueled by my desire to not spend another $200 to sleep in this town. I practically threw myself into the path of a Honda Odyssey Yellow Cab, but he stopped. Child of the world that I believe myself to be, I appreciate, but cannot understand, all languages- my cabbie and I had this in common, for he spoke an African language and I spoke English. I showed him my map/Chinatown Bus business card, and he called a dispatcher (perhaps he could read better than he could speak…or else he just didn’t want to talk to me). I sat back, anxious but hopeful, as we sped by neon signs and paper lanterns. To my great relief, we suddenly came upon that familiar corner near the dim sum place where I’d had lunch with my friend the day before…and that lovely hulking tour bus was right where it was supposed to be, as was the diminutive lady shouting, “Philadelphia!” We made it, with minutes to spare.
My first, but not last, New York adventure- just one morereason why I love that place
McBeth67 