“We’re going home, Kévin,” said Krista while we waited in line to board a plane from the Charles de Gaulle airport. That’s when it hit me. I’d never hear my name pronounced “Kayveen” again. Until that moment, it had felt like I was just continuing my travels and boarding another plane to the next destination. But no, I was heading home. I thought about it, and I was not at all looking forward to my week in New York. I saw it as nothing but an obstacle between home and me. Honestly, I’ve felt similarly about every other destination for the last month. When I arrived, however, I loved it and was thrilled to be there – just like with every other destination for the last month.
I first exchanged some money at the airport. The man at the counter first handed me a nickel, something I hadn’t seen in a while. It looked strange to me. I took a bus and a train to get to Times Square, the closest station to my host’s apartment. I immediately saw what a great location Howard lives in: a few blocks from Times Square, the Empire State Building, NYTimes building, UN headquarters, etc. I was lucky. I actually thought I’d have nowhere to sleep because I ended up having to find a host in a pinch. This is almost impossible in NYC. Fortunately, I found two 70-year-old gay men who had recently walked the camino de santiago. They sympathized with me and, even though they were already hosting 4 people (German, French, Swedish, Irish), they decided to take me in.
I followed Howard’s instructions to find his building, got into the elevator and pushed the number 5, remembering that the ground floor is considered 1 here. Little things are different and, after just 8 months overseas, it feels strange to me.
I knocked on Howard and John’s door, triggering the crazed barks of two small dogs on the other side. A short old man with a white beard and a half-buttoned shirt that showed a white nest of chest hair answered the door.
“Hey, Howard? I’m Kevin from Couchsurfing.”
“Heyyy!” he shouted, enthusiastically. “Where’ve you been?! We were expecting you hours ago! I thought you were gonna be a no show!”
He emphasized “no show” with a flamboyant jab of his finger to my muscly chest. I liked this guy. He often walks around with his shorts unzipped and hanging from his hands, ready to drop them at any minute. “It’s hot in here!” he’ll complain. Then, boom, pants gone. He’s 70 and gay. I’m 23 and straight. The difference doesn’t stop him from hitting on me, though. He cooks well for us – papaya juice in the morning and gourmet meals at night.
I’ve been spending my time wandering around the city, walking camino-style to save money on public transportation. It’s nice, though. You run into all kinds of interesting things, like a mass of anti-zionist orthodox Jews protesting some of Israel’s actions as well as the state itself. I’ve done many of the free things (ie the Staten Island Ferry) and none of the unfree things (i.e. the UN tour, much to my dismay). I’ve spent a lot of time reading, writing and people watching in Central Park. And every night, I come back to a house full of couchsurfers and a gay old man who playfully hits on me. I like it here.
Tomorrow, I plan on going to the science cafe for a Q&A with Neil deGrasse, for you astronomy enthusiasts out there.
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