Spring Break Postcard: New York, N.Y.

Born to New Yorker parents and raised in Connecticut, I am not inspired by New York City to breathless wonder unlike the millions of tourists who visit every year. Regular childhood visits and frequent dance classes in Manhattan as a teenager have left me too familiar with the City for my own good. But when spring break rolls around, a Californian blockmate comes home with you, and the winter leaves you beachless, you and your friend must flock to NYC seeking adventure and new profile pictures.

During a similar trip to New York City last fall, the same friend and I spent our visit in Midtown, and I showed him the Empire State Building, Times Square, Radio City Music Hall, etc. This time around, we decide to head to Lower Manhattan, see the Statue of Liberty and the 9/11 Memorial, and visit Wall Street like the good Harvard students we are.

The day of our trip, we wake up at my house early but not early enough. I stumble into the shower, rushing to get to the train station as quickly possible. Over the years I’ve learned my lesson: The Metro-North Railroad waits for no man. We get into the car and proceed to drive at exactly the speed limit and absolutely no higher because to do otherwise is illegal and my mom reads my articles. We park in the lot and run to the train—something my sinus infection-hampered body doesn’t appreciate. Luckily we get on the train with a minute to spare.

We arrive at Grand Central Station, where everyone is polite, respectful, and never bumps into you or pushes past you. Still running late for our ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty, we hop onto the subway, which, because of our terrific luck (or lack thereof), is experiencing delays. We then proceed to ride in extended silence—the subway passengers of NYC aren’t known for being chatty. We get off at Bowling Green and make our way over to Battery Park, where we’re able to enter the paradise that is the ferry security check line. This is an oasis of calm where machines beep (loudly), children scream at their parents (“GIVE ME BACK MY COAT!”), and visitors regret having worn that super cute but cumbersome belt (“Yes ma’am, you do have to take that off”).

As we sail out to the Statue of Liberty, the strangest scene unfolds. The ferry has these sliding metal doors you can open to ride on the deck of the ferry—an unpopular option on this day given the low temperatures and bitter wind. One man, evidently much hardier than most, was trying to open the door, but it was jammed. He struggled and struggled, but the door just wouldn’t budge. Out of the crowd, a good samaritan appeared and joined in, but the door remained firmly shut. After several more minutes, the duo is finally able to open the door enough to slip through.

Cool story bro, you say? As soon as that poor soul was able to get the door open, the entire deck burst into applause, clapping and cheering to celebrate this small victory. After the nightmarish morning we experienced on our commute, that random act skyrocketed my faith in humanity.

Embracing the cliche, I shake my head and laugh, “Only in New York.” Spirits restored, we look out the window and continue the journey to Liberty Island.