... i've been in NYC something like six times on this trip and still haven't had great pastrami ... we decide to wake up early, plan in two hours of delay and go to the 2nd avenue deli (now moved to 3rd) for what solid goldstein believes is the best pastrami in new york, possibly the world.
oddly we were able to clear all the necessary stairs this time (possibly because *i* was carrying my accomplice's fricken extra bag this time) and left castle crytpo unscathed (assuming you don't count me leaving my travel hat behind).
our subway plans worked with swiss precision and we arrived at the 10:00 dead time. the old host welcomed us warmly ("josiah, please make a table for these two wonderful people who have just arrived in person") and we had run of the house. very nice considering we had our luggage with us.
i sat below a signed photo of dustin hoffman with the owner and decided i would have a of motza ball soup with noodles now and a pastrami on rye toast to go for the plane.
(note the gribenes [fried chicken skin and onions] at the 11:00 position to the bowl -- exceedingly rare)
they serve motza soup a great way here ... they actually bring all the goods dry in a bowl, then add the broth at the table. it was very good, extremely dill-y, but not the best i've had. the ice tea was spectacular, but served in small buy-every-glass portions.
after brunch we made our way to T5 and my accomplice, not fully confident with having luggage in bins overhead, checked our first collective bag of the trip. we also scored super-coveted #AYCJ luggage tags.
for the flight we were given the ultimate (non-reclining) row on the plane, which could have been disastrous if not for ... well, let me tell it this way ...
before the flight got underway, a flight attendant said, "... and we want to give a shout out to all our all you can jetters ... where are you?" (my accomplice and i raise our hand, but so does the guy to our right) "there they are in the back ... who are flying all the way to bogota today."
before i can say anything to him he fires a line out to me "you have a pass too?"
"yeah, yeah."
"where have you been?"
and so begins the conversation. it winds, it bends and it turns. we talk about this and that ... but mostly he's asking me questions about me. this, in itself, is unusual. almost everyone i ever meet (and i meet and talk to a lot of people) are far more interested in talking about themselves, or something else, than they are me. which is fine. in fact, it's what i'm used to, and the way i like it.
so i say a few things, he asks me a few more. i talk about the usual stuff: my upbringing, how water purification works in the bermuda and why i like puerto rico because it feels like what the US would be like if mexico won a war against us ... but i need to shut him down.
"you know, it's very unusual for me to sit next to a stranger and have them know more about me than i do about them ... in fact, i don't really like talking about myself that much."
and i open the question barrage. all my dear readers who know me (and there are a surprising number here, actually) have been subject to this ... so you know what it's like.
and this guy is very circumspect in his answers, which of course, only brings on a more intense barrage.
he hems and haws around giving me partial answers, near answers and changing the subject answers, but i'm getting places and i'm trying to put the puzzle pieces together ... he's a middle aged guy, he's traveling all you can jet, he's going to colombia and has been to puerto rico, bermuda, costa rica and the dominican republic already ... his name is george ... he's price sensitive, so didn't stay around in bermuda (and is impressed that we had stayed as cheaply as we had [in fact, we stayed cheaper than he did everywhere we crossed paths, but hey, it's me doing that, right?]) ...
but it's not making sense. because he has the intentions, airs and behaviors of a rich guy, but clearly isn't. he also is extremely nice, bordering on warm, which is damn near unheard of for someone who is truly new yorker male.
people are puzzles. you can figure them out, but you can't ignore anything they tell you. there are no red herrings, only quirks, tendencies, weaknesses and personality traits. for this guy, it adds but is incomplete.
(lightload towel in the lower left here)
... and he might as well have handed me a live rattlesnake.
"i know this! you're the towel guy? are you the towel guy?"
he starts laughing as i go into full wind-up. "yes."
"remember, i said i went to morocco with my pal entropy dave? WELL, I TOOK THESE WITH ME. THIS IS WHAT I USED."
"really?"
"what? you think i'm going to sit here and lie to a stranger? of course i took them ..." i spin it around in my hand. "... but it had different packaging."
and this throws him back. "what? what's that you say? how was it different?"
and i point to a sub-logo on the package. "it had this design."
"whoa! whoa! that is an early one."
"of course it's an early one. what? you think i'm some sort of idiot? you think i'm a guy who travels in the back seats of planes just to lie to the potential towel guys i meet?"
"how'd you get it?"
"entropy dave is a way harder core traveler than i am. he's been to georgia ... and georgia? it has no hotels. and he's a jew and he's been to iran. that really says it all. and he's also a fricken east coast supremacist - he thinks everything on the east coast of the US is better than the rest of the country ..." george nods his head in approval so i tap him repeatedly (and hard) on the left shoulder with my towel "... WHICH IT'S NOT ... but one of his east coast pals picked it up somewhere ... that's how we got 'em ..." i'm still putting pieces together.
"how old are you?" i ask. and again he hems and haws around. and i hate that. you're either the age you are, or you're dead. come on. this conversation is going to take forever. i'm not even a new yorker and i'm finding this borderline intolerable. "okay, you're 55 so that makes you ..." and before i can finish ...
"WAIT! how did you know i'm 55? how do you know that?"
"oh jeez, i don't know george, from all the conversations we've had over our lifetimes. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK? i write books about poker
. if you do that, you need to be able to read people. poker is a game of playing people, not a game of playing cards on a table."
. if you do that, you need to be able to read people. poker is a game of playing people, not a game of playing cards on a table."and i've got him. he's dangling in the pscyhological wind. whatever i want to know, i can get now.
"so you would have graduated in 1972 ..." he shakes his head in wonder, "... so you're a little too early to have followed the beatles path through india, but you're essentially on the hippie trail."
and off we go. he's a hardcore meditator. we talk about buddhism and christianity. we talk about the difference between old style and new style dill pickles. we talk about walking the florida trail. we talk for two and a half hours. we talk from the time the wheels leave the ground until the wheels touch again.
"have you ever seen fight club?" i ask.
"no."
"in it, brad pitt, who is essentially a psychopath, meets ed norton who essentially travels too much. ed norton has the idea of 'single serving friends,' like a sugar packet that you use once, these are people you meet once and then they go away. ed tells brad pitt's character that he's his favorite single serving friend ever ..." george nods, he's with me. "you are my favorite single serving friend ever." he's truly touched by this.
(FL's equivalent of the barrier islands)
we reach the airport and go our separate ways, but not without a parting comment.
"george, you might think that i like you, but don't take that too far. there is a part of me, a small part, but a real part, that hates you because you are taking the trip that i planned on, but then couldn't."
the rental car place was apparently just inside the boundaries of the land inhabited by the damned because people there were surprised by things like having a $350 hold put on their credit cards and you weren't allowed to do things like jump your car off a two story building without possible repercussions. it took over an hour to get through the line.
but it was cheap.
my accomplice was feeling the burn so we got to our hotel ($26/night, free internet) and both napped.
on waking we decided to go to my penultimate favorite southern chain, waffle house where i had a double pecan waffle and my accomplice had an all american breakfast (bacon, hashbrowns, eggs, waffle raisin toast). apparently it was the perfect choice. my accomplice was fired up enough to tip the server, ms. donna, 50% ... and the total was still $20 (i'll leave it to the instigator to figure out what the original bill was -- i won't be home for a fortnight, that might be enough time).
but all is not well for the accomplice. last night as i was typing here i noticed a swelling of the brow ... today that subcutaneous fluid has move down my accomplice's face and has created puffiness around the bridge of the nose and what was earlier extreme flaming redness and puffiness around the eyes has turned to something more fully evil and dark.
my accomplice's left eye is now swollen about half shut with full-on black eyes on both sides. it's possible (although i don't think likely) that my accomplice's eyes could be swollen shut tomorrow.
having a mom as an emergency room nurse, a grandfather who was a doctor, a scout master that was a green beret and having worked in a pharmacy myself, i know about as much as you can about medicine without actually, oh, being accredited ... and i can say with fair certainty that there's nothing wrong here. it may not be the way you want to look as you wander through the world, but as long as the fluid doesn't try to fill the ocular areas, everything's fine.
it's definitely, definitely, tapping my accomplice's energy, but spirits are high. ice, jacuzzis and slow pace all help.
we'll probably have half of a true travel day tomorrow, but hey, we're movin' ... and it's easy to imagine worlds where that might not be the case right now.
