So on Thursday morning, we slipped our tokens into the subway entry and rode up to Times Square. We wanted to see The Lion King, and we knew for that privelege we would have to wait. With no reservations, cancellation tix were our only option, so we qued up outside the box office behind about 20 other folks who had already been there longer than us. The young man in charge of us rebel show-goers emerged from inside in a faded pink polo shirt with a bleach-blond hair cut that was growing out fast. His name was Jeremy. His eyebrows never dropped below an expression of complete surprise. He gave us his spiel: one ticket per person in line, cash only, yadda yadda.
A corner of Times Square.
Those of us in line developed a commeraderie as the day wore on. Brief absences were marked by the return of fast food from one establishment or another. Whenever a group was called into the box office (therefore out of the hot, sticky weather), when they reemerged with tickets we all cheered and clapped, peeking over one another's shoulders to find out where there seats were.
With about 15 minutes before curtains, the young woman in front of us, alone and visiting from Israel, was offered two prime tickets, and she took one. Which split the pair and left us at the very front of the line biting our nails. Five minutes. Tick tock. Here came Jeremy. He swiftly directed us to the man who would take our money, and we got in with primo seats in the orchestra with just minutes to spare.
The show was unbelievable. And unlike anything else.
High from the performance, we were amped the whole subway trip home to the Taj Majal.
Friday morning we checked out of urban paradise and parked off to the side, then hitched the PATH in to Manhattan for a last hurrah. We hadn't seen a fraction of the stuff there was, but time was pressing. We went to Wall Street and the New York Stock Exchange, watched the action on one of the most famous trading floors in the world. We went on the Circle Line cruise, per Alison's recommendation, and cruised around the island of Manhattan. A two-hour trip from which you get a taste of all five burroughs in NYC. It was a great way to see a lot in a short amount of time.
The view from the Circle Line.
On the walk back from the dock, we ran into a NY Mounted Police Station/Stables, where we questioned the logic of horses in one of the largest cities in the world. The officer told us that 20 horses is as effective as 1000 men on foot. They are essential for crowd control, offering an intimidation factor unattainable by an officer on foot or bicycle, or even motorcycle or patrol car. Regardless, it is so odd to smell horses in the middle of the city. And I bet the horses think it odd, too.
We had to walk about seven blocks to get from the harbor to the nearest subway station. During that walk we decided we'd try to see another show since it was late and we were there and after all it was Broadway. So we headed to sushi and then went to kill a bit of time by exploring a mysterious place called Barcode. We thought at first it was a club, as the entry is right on 7th Avenue in the midst of Time Square, with two sets of escalators ascending from the sidewalk. Two or three "enticers" stood guard at the base of the moving stairs in bizarre outfits, beckoning passers-by to go upstairs. We did.
It was a huge, two-story arcade. Story two had a full-serve bar, a juice bar, and a variety of large format video games in addition to glowing blue neon-rimmed pool tables. Story three was wacked. It had just about every kind of activity you could imagine in video-game form. Skiing. Kayaking. Skeet shooting. Skateboarding. Dancing. Yes. You did not misread. There was actually a video game for dancing! As we stared in disbelief, a couple came up and mounted the platform, dunked in their $4 and started dancing to get points. What a trip.
Move over Mario Bros...here comes Dance Challenge!
We departed Barcode with the same amount of money in our pockets...a good thing. We headed to see Les Miserables, a show so fantastic it is still running on Broadway after 14 years. And it still lives up to its reputation.
When we arrived back at home-sweet-dump, the party was just beginning. The Liberty Harbor Crew, in their effort to eek out as much cash as possible, also had a dance club called The Sand Bar that they ran on the weekends. Well, it was Friday night and just about after we fell asleep, the intoxicated Sand Bar crew stumbled out to their cars parked all around us, shouting things at each other, laughing hysterically, and generally having no regard whatsoever for the fact that 40 families were sleeping just yards away. Regardless, after much name calling and drunken cackling, the noise subsided and our final night in the service-oriented Liberty Harbor came to rest.
The morning drew clear and bright, and we packed up and headed out of the depths of New York City.
