A Bus from the City that Never Sleeps

They say the crazies come out at night. I'm certainly up late most nights. Partly a result of an unnatural body clock and partly the result of having spent three years as a university student. We arrived at the Greyhound Bus station around three AM. The ticketing area also doubled as a refuge for the damned (aka homeless or fashion innovators devoted to homeless chic). The air had the unmistakable stench of sweat, urine and aggression. It was the first time in America that I felt physically at risk. This was despite there being four armed police personnel in the station.

A Hispanic looking man became enraged when he couldn't get the ticket he wanted. "How can I get to Queens!" he shouted repeatedly. It was more of an order than a question. Somehow it was sorted out between the man, the ticket lady and two of the armed guards/police.

A far more difficult problem to solve, appeared to be the issue of Ed and my tickets. Having bought month long passes on the Greyhound bus from a Sta Travel in Leeds, they were in a style the ticket lady was unaccustomed to. She spent a good ten minutes on each one.

Before coming to the bus station we had read reviews on the greyhound bus. Probably not the smartest move, considering we had to take it either way. If you ever plan to take a greyhound bus trip, read the reviews. If you still want to take it you must really want to go.

Pessimism has its advantages. You won't be disappointed. And certainly the bus journey was completely fine. An event made all the more glorious by our expecting the worst. Seven thirty five in the morning, we arrive in Baltimore, Maryland. City of the TV show The Wire. If you've not watched it, watch it.

Searching for Woody Allen

Nearly ten years ago I remember watching the replays of planes crashing into the World Trade Center. I was in school, it was virtually the only time we were allowed to watch anything on TV in the school. I remember being very underwhelmed at the time. The news was saying that thousands of people had died tragically, but the news always seemed to be saying that. Large numbers of people die in acts of violence constantly. But not so much in the Western world. Nearly ten years later and that act of violence continues to shape the foreign policy of the most powerful country in the world.

Ground Zero is just a construction site, one with a melancholic air. Completely banal without remembering the story behind it, this land marks one of the most iconic events in recent American history. As with the Kennedy assassination it will be studied for many years to come. Conspiracy theories have and will continue to flourish. Some people will become obsessed by a desire for more knowledge on the subject. They will read every book. Watch the footage from every angle. Tell anyone and everyone their views on the subject. But not me. I only gave it a few minutes of thought. Does that do an injustice to the dead and their suffering families? Perhaps.

Far more fascinating was Ed and my search for Woody Allen. Or more specifically, the bridge from the final scene in Woody Allen's Manhattan. I do like his films but I have not seen this one. Ed has seen it and insists we go. But he doesn't know which bridge it is. The iphone finally shows its real value. The Queensboro bridge. Also, John's Pizzeria also had a scene shot there, but that doesn't satisfy Ed. So we decide to walk there if it is a reasonable walking distance from Brooklyn bridge, where we happen to be. The iphone claims it is a two hour walk, but it doesn't look that far on the map. Couple that with our distrust of apple products and we decide it's probably not that far.

So we walk. Ed's shoes have been ready to fall apart since the beginning of the trip. But I finally deal them the finishing blow as my uncoordinated foot taps the back of his sole, ripping the whole thing off. Now the sensible thing here is to give up on walking and go get a taxi. But, the walkway along the waterside by the bridges isn't so simple. We have to walk about another hour before there is anyway for us to exit. It was probably only a thirty minute walk, but Ed was severely limping as a result of walking in one and a half shoes.

Finally we get to experience the joy of a Kmart. A glorious store with the low prices that bulk buying and cheap child labour make easy. Eventually we get to Queensboro bridge, I don't even remember how: possibly a taxi, maybe the metro, maybe we just kept walking.

Ed spots the place where the final scene takes place. It was right under the bridge. So we spend a good fifteen minutes trying to find ways to get exactly under the bridge. Although, having read part of the plot while working out which bridge to go to I understand it is a film about a relationship. Standard Woody Allen. What Ed intends to experience with me under the bridge is a slight concern. It does look like a nice spot though. Right by the water. Eventually we give up looking for a way in and move on.

We have a dinner fit for a king at subway. Then return to our building to prepare for our first ever greyhound bus journey. Exciting stuff.