Chicago is going to be upset with me, I'm having a small love affair with New York. Tonight I meandered into Chelsea with a mission to check out the High Line, a public park constructed atop an old, elevated freight line.The concept sounded unique, so I thought maybe I'd walk a few blocks, sit for awhile, take a few pictures. As soon as I alighted from the steps, the ambiance was distinctly different from street level. I had no doubt that I would be in love, because it possessed my favorite subject: juxtaposition.
It was a green space, a congregation of people moving at a relaxed pace or merely lounging, defined by quiet conversations and solo venturers. Yet, it's generally no more than five yards from rail to rail, and the city is thrumming along as usual just below. Manhattan still towers over you to the east and the lights of New Jersey illuminate the west. Somehow, even surrounded by all of that steel, glass and light, the atmosphere feels idyllic.
And they've somehow managed to provide unique assets to different expanses of the walkway. There's an area of lawn, various unique lookout points with rows of seating, benches placed within extremely shallow running water. A stretch of loungers is featured just outside of a pseudo food court, which is housed in a section of building with the walls blown out. Sometimes your view is dominated by brick walls, then it opens to a street view, and suddenly you're on a narrow path surrounded by plant life.
The variety and contrasts never got old. Before I knew it, I was at the southernmost point of the park. Heading back, I was entranced enough to miss my exit point and end up at the far north end. About 3.5 miles later, I finally arrived back at my hotel.I know that NYC overflows with restaurants and bars, many of which are well-suited to impress a date. My perfect man would stake out a spot on the High Line, grab a bottle of pinot noir and a few tasty things to nosh on. If you happen to know that guy, let me know.
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