Day 28: Rest day, New York, NY
Welcome
Yesterday we had a rest day in New York City.
In the early hours of the morning we had arrived in Secaucus, New Jersey. Blue Paradise was parked next to a secret and exclusive hotel, in a lot filled with the gleaming forms of Prevost coaches, each and every one belonging to a touring artist on their way to the large apple. Large buses are not welcome on the island of Manhattan so it is commonplace for them to sleep here while their occupants get shuttled across the Hudson in vans to whichever music hall they are inhabiting for the evening.
We emerged from the dormitory to find Mr Bus enjoying the comfort of the main lounge, relaxing on the couch in his BBQ shirt and watching compilations of scary videos.
I prepared myself a breakfast as I waited for the first phase of the day’s operations, using a sharp knife to remove two slices of bread from a dense, seeded, whole-wheat loaf, and toasting them. Both slices were slicked with butter, and one was finished with marmite, the other with Pics Peanut Butter, a New Zealand pantry staple, a large jar of which has been travelling with us in the bus’s cupboard.
I washed this down with a mug of hot, black coffee, and soon enough phase one began with the arrival of a cargo vehicle, a white box-truck that would carry our equipment into Times Square. At a similar time, a white Mercedes Benz Sprinter arrived carrying several members of the Princess Chelsea band, strong and helpful members who were along to help with our day’s logistical challenges. The rear door of the trailer was lowered, and everything was transferred across to the truck, and neatly stacked under the supervision of Gabe’s watchful eye.
Phase two was initiated, and we began to shift our personal belongings off the bus, double and triple checking every single cupboard and drawer so that not a single possession was left behind. Condiments were abandoned, fruit was left in the bowl, and we took only the good drinks from the fridge, leaving the Miller Lites to the mercy of the bus cleaners back in Knoxville. Another van arrived, this one painted black like the Batmobile, and we moved our bags across to this vehicle for the trip to our New York accommodation.
Phase three began with the assembly of every member of the touring party. The group was lined up in front of Blue Paradise and we took a group photo with our wonderful driver, the man whose identity will remain secret for his own protection, the man who we had come to love and respect over the past few weeks, Mr Bus.
Phase four was executed by Gabe and Annie and helped by the strapping youths of the Princess Chelsea rhythm section. They accompanied the equipment into Manhattan and unloaded it at Sony Music Hall, a venue right in the throbbing heart of the city, set amongst the busy Broadway theatre district.
Phase five happened concurrently with phase four, and we were spared the arduous loading task by the good graces of our companions, as were borne across the city in the air-conditioned comfort of our Freightliner passenger van. Our vehicle crawled through some of the finest New York City traffic for ninety minutes, crossing first under the Hudson, and then under the East River with a scenic bout of Manhattan’s chaotic Midtown squeezed in between the two tunnels. Early in the afternoon we were deposited on a narrow street in Bushwick where we checked into our Airbnb, hoisting the bags up several flights of stairs and finding a comfortable apartment, a collection of rooms decorated copied straight out of the Airbnb instruction manual. “Make your guests feel at home with art works that inspire them” – pg 12. section 2.
For the next few hours, we relaxed in our quarters. This could be called Phase six, if we continued on this theme. We washed and dried our clothes and enjoyed not having to set up and pack down any equipment. Later in the afternoon Tristan set off to visit a drum shop and shortly after that Jon and Liz headed out for dinner together, and I enjoyed some time to myself, clacking away on my computer keyboard and trying to imagine new and fun ways to describe doing the same tasks every day.
Jonathan consumes a digestif in the form of a walk along the Greenpoint waterfront.
When I arrived in the East Village a couple of hours later it was the early part of the evening and Tristan had bought a new cymbal. The man was drinking a cold beer and yarning to the Princess Chelsea crew and underneath his table was a black rubbish bag concealing a metallic disc of some considerable value. This musical instrument accompanied us for the duration of the evening as we travelled around the city, trying to catch as many jazz gigs as we could on a quiet Monday night. It turns out that a quiet Monday night goes until 2am in the city that never sleeps and Tristan and I were kept entertained by the jam session at Ornithology until the bar tenders finally grew fed up and kicked us out along with the other dregs who had survived the past hours’ musical carnage.
We walked back to Bushwick and found our way back into the apartment, enjoying the comfort of a bed that stayed completely stationary for the duration of the night.