“The sky’s not the limit; it’s just the beginning.” – Chuck Yeager.
April 27th, 2024: Rays of sunlight entered the window blinds, and my phone’s alarm clock buzzed. The time was 08:00. I was a little exhausted from yesterday’s vacation. I knew I had about an hour to get ready for the flight to Newark, which included taking my clothes out of the dryer and packing. There wasn’t much to pack because the larger luggage hadn’t been opened. Uncle and Aunt greeted me. After a short breakfast, aunt summoned me to her room and offered to gift me and Mum stuff, which she packed. She bubble-wrapped the things, which included glass and toiletries. She then set out my clothes, which I placed in the dryer in my elder cousin’s room. After that, she went to get dressed for work, said her goodbyes, and left the house.
Uncle told me that he needed to go out for a while and would return in an hour, leaving me and Zachary in charge of the house.
For the rest of the time, until Uncle returned, I packed the clothes in my smaller Kamiliant baggage, zipped it up, and locked it. I performed a final check of all the rooms to see if I had misplaced anything. It was 09:30 when Uncle returned. I was prepared by then. I loaded my bags into his trunk, said goodbye to the residence that had welcomed me during my stopover here, and moved into his SUV. He accelerated on the Sam Houston Tollway after filling up with gas. He started a conversation with me as we traveled home from the airport two days ago. We landed at Houston’s Intercontinental George Bush Airport Terminal C. Uncle offered to help me with my bags till the check-in counters, but I declined. I had previously paid $90 for both check-in luggage (both were supposed to be checked in) and my class of ticket. United (the airline for my trip today) had some counters (Bag-drop shortcut) just outside the terminal where you could print your own baggage tags and check in (if you had checked in online). That was a cakewalk.
United Airlines’ flight (UA1265) left Houston (IAH) at 12:20 p.m. CT and arrives at Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR) at 17:00 p.m. ET. I spent $183 for my ticket in the United Economy class. I entered the terminal after saying farewell to uncle. This would be my first domestic journey in the United States. After entering the terminal, I saw counters on my left for passengers who hadn’t checked in (for Economy Class), and on my right for passengers in First Class. I had to go through the TSA security check (I wasn’t enrolled in the TSA Clear program, so I had to stand in a big queue for around ten minutes). The direction for the security check was unclear to me at first, but an airport security official directed me to walk in the queue. The security check was quick. Every staff member did an excellent job and quickly assisted impaired individuals. I did not go through the body scanner because the security official advised me to go straight to the gates, even though I watched other passengers go through it.
I felt an urgent need to use the restroom and roamed around looking for signs. One such notice directed me to a toilet. I entered and discovered a woman and two children inside. There was only one bidet with a wash basin. I hastily exited among the mother’s furious glances and cursing at me. What type of toilets were these? I heard that such toilets are referred known as “family toilets”. Another lesson for a traveler that I should have known before coming here.
Boarding for my flight had already begun. I needed to travel to the C8 gate. As I proceeded towards the gate, I remembered what my uncle had advised me: “Buy something for yourself in a restaurant at the gate because I wouldn’t be receiving a hearty meal on the flight.” I observed several restaurants (including the CIBO Express). Passengers were waiting in line for boarding at my gate. Fortunately, I discovered one such restaurant near the gate: Vida Taqueria, which serves Tex-Mex cuisine and drinks. I purchased a box of five tacos (it took some time to prepare, and I briefly considered missing my flight solely for a box of tacos — I had already purchased them) and boarded immediately after scanning my boarding pass. There was no one behind me, so it appeared that I was the last passenger. My seat was assigned at random, which was in the middle (24E). Two female passengers (from France and the United States) were sat in the aisle and window seats, respectively.
The lower right pictures show the United Airlines flight’s interior.
The flight took off on time, and I set the clocks in my phone and watch to Eastern Time. Many passengers on the airplane closed their windows during takeoff and landing, which is against FAA regulations. The United crew did not care either. They came twice across the passageway, and I took a packet of pretzels and cranberry juice, which I enjoyed with the tacos.
The flight to Newark lasts four hours. The flight was unremarkable. My fellow passengers were playing a game on the entertainment system and watching a French film. Meanwhile, I investigated the in-flight entertainment system. Although not as wide as the Emirates, the United had a decent selection of English, European languages (French, German, Italian, Spanish), and Chinese movies, albums, and podcasts. There were games, too. It also had a world-flight explorer function, which I was sucked into while reading an e-book on my mobile. The free food selections on the flight were fairly restricted. While I was eating my tacos, the lady in the window seat gazed at me several times. And I believe she spent the entire trip playing a multi-player game on the system, similar to Scrabble, without taking any pauses. The
As I suspected, many passengers on the flight were on their way to Newark for additional connections. The flight landed at Newark Liberty International Airport. I connected to the airport’s Wi-Fi and noticed messages in my conversation from Dad’s classmate. I spoke to them as I proceeded towards the baggage claim area. I stopped at a café on the way and got a cold cappuccino. (This was a horrible idea given the frigid temperature outside the airport. Heck, I didn’t even wear my jacket).
This classmate ordered me to wait in baggage claim section 1 till he came to pick me up. I hadn’t observed him, so I exited the gate to the passenger pick-up area. Whew, it was freezing outside! I hurriedly put on my jacket as the chilly cappuccino began to affect my body.
There was no indication of him for nearly five minutes. I called and told him to pick up at this place. Did I know how to identify this guy? I saw him ten years ago in my nation. I recognized him among the throng of travelers streaming out of the terminal as he walked about trying to identify me. I called his name, and he rushed over to me, enthusiastically. He told me that he had parked his car in the airport’s parking garage and that we needed to get back inside. It was only a short distance to his car, which involved taking an escalator one level above the baggage claim, an elevator two levels down, and a stroll over the walkway that connected the airport and the garage.
He owned a 2016 BMW SUV. His home was around forty miles away, which took him an hour to drive. The route taken was the New Jersey Turnpike (Interstate 95). Temperate-zone vegetation was observed here, as opposed to tropical ones in Houston. The sky was cloudy. It appeared dull. The traffic density was high throughout the day, corresponding to peak rush hours when people return home from work. He spoke with me for a long time and pointed out the major towns along this path. I could see the New York City skyline as plainly as possible from the airport.
We arrived at his place, and I met his family. The weather began to cool even more, and I experienced some lethargy. I worried about getting a cold and jeopardizing my trip to the metropolis tomorrow. He had bought a LycaMobile SIM card, unpacked it, and installed it into my phone. It did not identify the SIM card. He questioned if I had taken another phone to the United States, which I did not. He gave me his old iPhone (7S model), installed the SIM card, and after a while it was recognized, however it couldn’t pick up a signal from the area. I wasn’t sure if it was a smart idea to do this because I had never heard of the firm and the signal coverage was poor; it would be much better to get a SIM card from a well-known company or a prepaid cell. But he instructed me to return the iPhone on the last day of my stay. He gave me dinner for the night and laid out a plan for my visit to Downtown Manhattan the next day (I recall him saying that I should take the PATH train to the World Trade Center, walk down Broadway, detour to Fulton Street and Wall Street, see the Trinity Church on the way to Battery Park, and walk south).
Another classmate of Dad’s came over at night, introduced himself, and took me to his house, where he had a spare room for me. I was exhausted, and the level of malaise had worsened. I took a bath and decided to go to bed about 22:30. The next day’s doubt was clearer because I hadn’t planned anything in the city other than seeing the Statue of Liberty and his “clear words” for my plan tomorrow. Honestly, aside from making a basic itinerary for the remainder of the days, I knew nothing about Manhattan’s grid system or transportation. Mum and Dad advised me to avoid taking the New York City subway. They also urged me to return home by dusk on every day I spent in New York City. Could I carry out this plan?
April 28th, 2024: A day I shall never forget.
“If you want to become a real New Yorker, there’s only one rule: You have to believe New York is, has been, and always will be the greatest city on earth. The center of the universe.”– Ellen R. Shapiro
The day I exposed myself to the wind. So vulnerable, so insecure, this day marked a watershed moment in my life, teaching me an important lesson. Something I didn’t know till today. And that day began on April 28th, at 5:00 a.m. I awoke in a little room and attempted to remember the man’s instructions. I think I’ve forgotten! It was my first visit to the Big Apple!
He informed me yesterday that I should get dressed at 7:00 a.m. and that he would drop me off at Newark Penn Station. I drew on the whiteboard about my plans for the day, which helped me recall roughly half of the directions he gave me, due to the rough guide USA. This approach of generating my daily agenda took roughly one hour.
Both his iPhone and mine mobile alarms rang at 6:00 a.m. LycaMobile still received a low signal in this area. I was concerned about whether it would pick up any signals in New York City. I opened the blinds, and the sky was cloudy. It was foggy outdoors. Mum and Dad exchanged messages through my chat program, indicating that they were still awake. I took my prescriptions, cleared my money belt of any unneeded items, packed my Quechua bag with the necessities, put on my clothing, and walked downstairs for a quick breakfast (cornflakes and oatmeal with apple).
The man said hello and handed me two Nestle PureLife mineral water plastic bottles, five Belvita protein bars, and ten Nature Valley bars to snack on. I strolled out of the house to meet the other man who had picked me up from the airport. It was Sunday. Dad made it plain during our preparation that his classmates would accompany me to New York City on weekends and drop me off at the nearby train station on weekdays. But that did not appear to be the case, since no one seemed willing to join me to the Big Apple. I suspected that could have been a misunderstanding between Dad and his students. I complained to Dad about it, but he ordered me to be quiet and not make a “big deal” about it.
He had plans for the day and was on his way to college to complete his executive MBA on weekends. He picked me up and discussed our plans for the day. Fortunately, he amended my plan and particularly instructed me not to bring any bikes, as my area of investigation — Downtown Manhattan — is conducive to a decent walk throughout the day. The sky was still gloomy, but sunshine filtered through. Our journey to Newark city (called “Nu-Ark” to prevent any obvious misunderstanding with New York) took forty miles (about an hour). There was little traffic here. We took highway 9, not the NJ Turnpike, as we did yesterday. He advised me that when I enter the station, I should follow the “PATH tracks” signs and get a ticket at one of the counters outside the turnstiles.
The first three pictures on the top left shows the Newark Penn Station and the PATH train to World Trade Center station at NYC arriving here. The other pictures show the World Trade Center station.
I could see the New York City skyline as I reached Newark. As we approached Newark, the streets and lanes became narrower and dirtier, with people wandering down the sidewalk. Dilapidated buildings with graffiti and sketches of Black people were observed. He turned onto Highway 21, then made a right into Market Street and parked his car. I spotted a train station. He warned me to cross the street carefully because there are many “crazy” drivers here. I entered the train station, where two police policemen (NJTPD officers) stood, the doors like the thick ones found at Moscow train stations. The signage looked old, with capital letters and a bright yellow illumination. I took the small escalator upstairs. Some people were sitting on it, including the homeless and some who were using cannabis. The lighting within the station is weak, as are the signs. I entered the platform through the waiting area, where I noticed a few individuals waiting for their trains.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. Where are the path counters? I spotted some folks waiting here, mostly Blacks and Hispanics, and they appeared to be unemployed. Some of them were looking at me, and as I returned their gaze, their eyes followed me. I proceeded to one end of the platform and saw nothing but two homeless folks sitting there. As I stood at the end of the platform (the roof stops here), wondering if I’d be successful here, I noticed the sunrise vividly in the lonely, deserted, and unkempt place where I was standing, despite the cold weather. The old mirrors reflected sunlight into my eyes. I noticed rubbish immediately opposite the rails, and it appeared solitary. I felt instantly vulnerable and insecure. I just glanced at the sky, wondering what to do next.
I went downstairs via the staircase (picking up my pace slightly in case the two vagabonds threatened me or something) and asked the two police officers for assistance. They casually instructed me to walk upstairs to Tracks 4 and 5 (where I had gone) and get the tickets from the counters. I repeated it again and returned to the platform. Going in the opposite direction, I noticed an LED board with the words “Trains to World Trade Center” displayed. Nearby were PATH kiosks.
PATH stands for the Port Authority Trans Hudson. I tapped my credit card, and it dispensed a one-time use ticket that I had to put at one of the turnstiles to enter. This means there are no conductors within the PATH train.
After 10 minutes, it was 8:35 a.m., and the train arrived. A swarm of passengers boarded the train (at one end of the terminal). I boarded the train and took a seat, amazed at the interior of the coach. Without any embellishments, it appeared rather straightforward, and I examined the PATH service map shown inside the bus. The World Trade Center line runs through Harrison, Journal Square, Grove Street, Exchange Place, and the WTC. You can glance at the map below.
I didn’t take many shots here because there was a large throng inside and I was concerned that people might be provoked for petty reasons. So it was best for me to remain silent and watch as the train passed. An Asian couple sat opposite me, while a Hispanic woman sat next to me. She shot many selfies of herself, post-processed them, and posted them to Instagram. A group of white visitors stood there, and I knew they were tourists because an obese-looking man kept asking a lady (who appeared to be the tour director) if they had arrived in New York City. A young man with a distinctive hairstyle stood next to me, listening to music with his headphones and occasionally staring at me and my phone while I spoke with my parents. There was a lot of commotion in the carriage, with individuals speaking loudly to one another. A Black couple sat at the opposite end of the seat section where I sat, sleeping and caressing one other.
The train moved slowly and spent much of its time underground. It looked like a pub. And we arrived at the World Trade Center station at 8:50 a.m. I stepped onto New York City soil for the first time in my life. There was a five-minute delay in the rail stretch connecting Journal Square and Grove Street. My first impressions of the station: I’ve never seen anything like it before! Grand and wonderful! Millions of people use this station since it is important, like New York Penn Station and Grand Central New York, and it has stores, pathways to Fulton Center and the Oneworld Observatory, as well as connections to the subway and PATH. NYPD cops were present at a few places. When I asked them for directions to the Fulton Center (the first part of his instructions), they simply instructed me to follow the signage. As I glanced at the World Trade Center station’s roof, I could still perceive it as an architectural marvel, with the One World Trade Center structure hovering above.
I had an issue. A large one! The LycaMobile SIM did not detect any signal in the iPhone. And I neglected to bring a safety pin. I strolled out onto Broadway, and what did my “first-time-in-NYC” eyes see? Tall buildings and skyscrapers. And the frigid temperature did not suit me well. I wore a hooded jacket that I had packed with me. My hands were numb as a result of the extreme cold. I couldn’t wear the jacket at first since there were so many people walking along the street. I had to put my Quechua bag down on a construction site near to a ditch and wore the jacket with difficulty because my numbed hands couldn’t feel much when I tried to wriggle my hands through.
To be honest, I have never gone to a city with many skyscrapers, let alone one in my home nation. This is now the most serious issue. I had no internet, no ability to dial “9-1-1” from my phone, and no GPS. This made me blind as a bat. Patients with an occipital infarction, for example, experience “cortical blindness”. I could see stuff, big and large structures, but I couldn’t figure out where I was. I didn’t know my orientation in the Manhattan borough either. I was so anxious and afraid. As I walked, I noticed Trinity Cathedral and went inside after a security check. There was a continuing mass. An usher handed me a brochure with the schedule for the day’s mass. I sat in the left row of chairs (where no one else sat; most people appeared to sit in the middle and right rows), knelt, and made the Sign of the Cross. I prayed to the Lord to guide me on this unknown trip for today.
After about ten minutes inside the church, I realized I had not followed the instructions on my way to Battery Park. And I checked my watch: 09:50 AM. As soon as I stepped outside, gusting winds blinded me for a time. My head was filled with ideas of how my day trip seemed to fail. And do you still understand why? Because the frigging SIM card had no network!
I couldn’t phone anyone, not even “9-1-1”. I tested it, and it did not ring. I roamed aimlessly through the streets, remembering walking down Wall Street and Nassau Street. The sight of some tour groups snapping photos next to the “Charging Bull” made me even more upset. As I glanced at Trinity Cathedral from Wall Street, I decided to acquire a T-Mobile SIM card. But I was blind. I searched for the presence of NYPD cops. There is no one on Wall Street or Nassau Street. New York City does not have a “tourist police”. My aimless wanderings led me back to Broadway (it took about thirty minutes and I was convinced I was having a panic attack), where I saw two NYPD police cars with no officers inside. I feared I would be stranded in the big city, and the worst-case scenario was that I would just disappear, despite the fact that I had money.
I walked and walked. I returned to the World Trade Center station and found a police officer. I begged him to assist me find the nearest “T-Mobile” store, to which he replied, “A couple of blocks in this direction,” indicating somewhere with his finger. I followed this, and five minutes passed. There is no T-Mobile store. Nothing. I panicked and decided to start sprinting across the sidewalks, hoping to get rescue. My Statue of Liberty Cruise was set for 11:20 a.m., and without any of my usual navigation aids, how will I get to Battery Park?
Another police officer was walking along Broadway. I hurried up to him and explained my dilemma. He was somewhat harsh and did not assist me. So, if the NYPD can’t aid solo tourists like me, who can? I went till I reached Waters St, where I noticed three people playing a small game of paddleball before entering a building that houses Duane Reade (building number 200), close to Starbucks Coffee. By the way, Duane Reade is Walgreens’ New York City pharmacy. It is more than simply a pharmacy; it is also a convenience store.
I asked the cashier where the nearest T-Mobile store was. His first words? “How did you get here?” “Did you drop from the sky?” Even though it looked ridiculous to me, the clerk whimpered, “Oh man!” I really don’t know. I’m sorry, man, but I can’t help you. As I was about to leave, he called back. He stepped away from his counter and asked another employee about it. I received my answer. It is more north than where I was (he showed me his Apple Maps, and I realized I was in the Seaport District). It’s located further along on Water St, at the intersection with Maiden Ln. Thanking him heartily, I walked away. And lo, it was closed. What should I do now?
I returned, ran across Water Street’s sidewalk, and entered the building again. I informed the cashier that it was closed. He had no answers, but he graciously offered me his phone, and I contacted Dad’s classmate about it. I became angry because I was fatigued and worried. When I told him about my whereabouts, he didn’t seem concerned. He promised to discuss this with my father when he was attending class in Newark. I was angry since I didn’t have a guide and was strolling alone in the Big Apple. But there was a silver lining behind my anger: a testament to the website’s name, Wander Writes, still burns in my heart.
Thanking the clerk again, I went ahead and decided to ride the bike to Battery Park. I had no idea how to get there, but the directions and GPS coordinates on that guy’s maps provided me a good sense of orientation. I walked till I found a CitiBike booth. Unfortunately, the kiosk was not user-friendly; after I swiped my card for the “Day-Pass option for $20,” a code appeared, which I had to shuffle back and forth in order to read the number that was displayed for 10 seconds and hit the buttons (there were only three buttons – “1”, “2”, and “3”). Some motorcycles did not open with this five-digit combination. One bike is unlocked.
I put my Quechua bag on the bike tray and began biking towards Battery Park. An error. Initially, I pedaled my bike on the sidewalk at a quicker speed, ringing the bell amidst the masses of people walking on the streets, until I saw an instruction on the tray that I wasn’t allowed to bike on the sidewalk but on the cycle lanes. I’m an amateur biker, and I was able to keep the bike under control under dangerous conditions. Riding motorcycles in the Big Apple appeared dangerous to me. But I’ve moved on.
And, thanks to my tenacity, I arrived at Battery Park by 11:00 AM. Nature seemed to yield to my determination. The weather turned clear and sunny. I followed the cruise directions. The employee who manned the entrance to the cruise wait directed me to park my CitiBike further ahead, near the MTA bus terminal. I got to the CitiBike station and parked at number 50. Unfortunately, there were no proper instructions for locking the bike. This mistake cost me $100, and I’ll explain why. I did not dock the bike.
A tranquil neighborhood in New York City facing the Hudson River, there were lots of visitors heading for the cruises and New Yorkers, some jogging and others lounging on the benches, reading a book or listening to music. It was a Sunday, and the crowds were enormous. As you may have read in the first part of my blog, I was unable to book a Crown ticket, so I settled for a penultimate “Pedestal Ticket,” which granted me entry to the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty.
Statue of Liberty: Anyone who has seen New York City through television or images has undoubtedly seen this towering, gigantic sculpture. It is composed of copper and designed by Auguste Bartholdi, a French sculptor. It is a depiction of Libertas, the Roman mythological goddess of liberty. In the modern period, it is regarded as a symbol of freedom for immigrants arriving in the United States by sea. New York City has historically welcomed immigrants. They observe this statue before heading to Ellis Island (located near Liberty Island, formerly known as Bedloe’s Island) for immigration formalities. This neoclassical sculpture, seen as a gift from France for aid to the United States in her struggles against the United Kingdom during the independence movement, extends around 305 feet from ground level to the torch (including the pedestal), while the copper figure itself measures about 150 feet. It is dedicated to the American people on October 28, 1886. The statue depicts Liberty marching forward, with a broken shackle and a chain at her feet. Her right hand holds the torch, while her left hand holds a tablet with the date of the Declaration of Independence etched on it. (Using Roman numerals). It also represents the abolition of slavery following the American Civil War and demonstrates that the United States welcomes all ethnic groups, making it a varied country.
I headed to the cruise ticket booth, which was housed inside the famous “Castle Clinton”. The queue was brief. After providing the ticket-guy with my ticket’s confirmation number, I received my physical ticket. I retrieved it from a cached email from Statue City Cruises. There were notices urging travelers not to buy tickets from other vendors. So, dear readers, please do not fall for the deception of purchasing such tickets, since they may be invalid or overpriced.
The next stage was standing in a large queue to board the ferry, which took about an hour. The weather was quiet, and clouds were starting to break apart. I observed tourists wearing brilliant green plastic crowns portraying the Liberty. The environment was bustling, with street vendors selling ice cream, hotdogs, and confectionaries in Battery Park (which also houses the ticket booth, queue, and ferry boarding point).
The queue was divided, and it was subjected to airport-style security checks. As I went slowly, a group of Korean tourists, who appeared to be more eager than me, broke the queue and attempted to storm inside the area, despite severe warnings and shout-outs from the officials, who instructed them to remain composed. Photography inside was plainly not permitted. The screening took approximately ten minutes. After that, I walked up the slope to the ferry’s boarding deck.
Hornblower operates Statue City Cruises. Many tourists desired the upper deck for greater views of the New York City skyline (hence referred to as NYC).
I ascended to the upper deck and sat on a bench in the center. The ferry quickly departed. People equipped with their smartphones snapped selfies as soon as it left. The skies cleared, and the Manhattan cityscape became an amazing sight for everyone on the upper deck. Tourists were upbeat and thrilled. How about me? I was a little fatigued after the dilly-dallying in search of the SIM card. As the ferry continued its journey, I noticed something about the enormous structures. I had never visited a city with skyscrapers, and the sight of the tall structures intimidated me. Your first impressions of them will undoubtedly differ from viewing a photograph of the New York City skyline, and I believe this is because to the scale element. The other factor is you. The fact of adjusting to the large buildings surrounding you. Apart from the grid orientation system, they serve as guiding signs for me when I move deeper into the city in the event that the GPS fails. As a first-time visitor to New York City, I could only identify the “One World Trade Center”.
The clouds have almost dissipated, and one can clearly see the skylines of New York City and the adjacent cities in New Jersey. And after about twenty minutes (my watch read 11:45 a.m.), I could see the Statue of Liberty. Several tourists took selfies with the statue. Some of them, who were in the center of the deck, stood on the benches to take shots. I didn’t have to do this because I am a tall guy.
I took multiple shots of the statue, similar to a time-lapse video of it from various viewing angles and views. Another photo of the statue with the Manhattan skyline in the backdrop. As previously said, the Statue of Liberty personifies several things, most notably freedom. And a skilled photographer can admire the statue’s quiet, serene, picturesque splendor and capture some of the best-looking photos. I thought the cruise offered the nicest view. Hence, the price is worth it. I photographed the other side; there are piers in the Brooklyn borough. And as the ferry docked, an announcement was made that it would continue on to Ellis Island. I disembarked and went to the statue. After a short walk, a tall flagpole of the United States became apparent. There was also a large crowd of tourists.
A notice board advertising “Liberty Island Outdoor Walking Tours” abuts the flagpole. And I had already passed the tour’s deadline of 11 a.m. To my left was the Statue of Liberty Museum, and to my right was the Statue of Liberty itself (dorsal perspective). First, the statue! I went to the indicated location and paid a five-cent price to put my items in a locker. After an initial flight of stairs, I took the 176-step stairway to the pedestal. Others with medical conditions can take the elevator instead, which has another long line.
It took roughly two minutes to climb the steps. Take the staircase way to experience the architectural marvels for yourself. And now I’m at the “Statue of Liberty Enlightening the World”. For example, you can see the massive bolts that are intended to secure the statue to the pedestal. (You required a big wrench to tighten them up!) I stepped outside onto the pedestal to get a better look of the panorama. Apart from the clear sky and skyline, there were numerous ships, cruise ferries, and dredgers on Upper Bay. There are also helicopters. I stepped on the pedestal, admiring the Statue above me. From the pedestal’s angle, I could easily see Ellis Island. Another angle shows the Brooklyn Bridge, the Brooklyn skyline, and Governors Island. The back of the statue also provided a glimpse of Liberty State Park in Jersey City. As I returned to the common atrium, I gazed above at the stairs leading to the Crown. I was a little disappointed, but I resolved to return to the Crown the next time.
And I descended to the base of the pedestal by the stairs to see its intricate, gorgeous design. Another set of stairs leads to the ground level. The pedestal’s cornerstone has plaques that read “Historical Landmark by American Society of Metals,” “International Historic Civil Engineering Landmark,” “National Corrosion Restoration Site,” and a worn-out plaque honoring its 100th anniversary. I went back inside the building to check out the display. Visitors are greeted with the message, “The Statue of Liberty is more than a monument.” She is a dear friend and a living symbol of freedom for millions throughout the world.”
The exhibit discusses the sculptor (Auguste Bartholdi), the concept of erecting a statue of the Roman goddess Liberty to represent new immigrants entering New York City in the past, the design, the Repousse Method, fabrication techniques, its eventual dedication amidst the city’s huge fanfare, propaganda, and merchandise. What is repousse? Essentially, it’s a sculpting method in which a malleable metal, in this case copper, is hammered and punched to produce designs; the word repousse, in French, means to push forward.
More than a hundred thousand French citizens contributed to its development through fundraising activities and a lottery. In reality, one woman named Emma Lazarus donated a poem to an auction to collect funding for the statue. Interestingly, the sonnet was attached to the statue’s base. This was portrayed as the “Mother of Exiles” to the nervous immigrants who were ready to begin their new lives in the land of their dreams.
Liberty is currently symbolized by Bartholdi’s “Goddess of Liberty,” Lazarus’ “Mother of Exiles,” and New York’s “Lady in the Harbor.” As I stepped outdoors, I went back to the lockers to retrieve my items. My next plan is to go to the museum. I got an audio tour from a booth near the flagpole and went inside. We began by visiting a viewing hall that depicted the history of the Statue of Liberty before moving on to the museum’s exhibits.
The display included video terminals demonstrating the repousse method, various pedestal models (previous to Hunt’s 1884 design), figurines of the statue, funding arrangements for the pedestal (built in the United States for approximately $300,000, equivalent to more than $7 million today), and souvenirs commemorating the construction. I remember seeing an unusual menorah with nine little sculptures attached to each branch. At one end of the museum, there is a massive billboard labeled “Becoming Liberty” where visitors may take images, link their countries to it, and watch them fly in the electronic billboard that will eventually become a part of the statue. Bob Marley once stated, “It’s better to die fighting for freedom than to live your life as a prisoner.” At the other end, a model of the statue’s torch is displayed. I spent forty minutes visiting this museum.
I walked out of the museum and saw the skyline again. The view of the skyline, which is easily visible to me due to its natural, yet consistent appearance, became monotonous for me. I headed back to the boarding dock and stood in line for the ferry for almost twenty minutes. I felt like I lost a lot of time while waiting in line. As the ferry sailed for Ellis Island, I had a quick snack of tacos with New York pretzels and sat on the top deck, taking in the omnipresent Statue of Liberty as I traveled further away from it. A beautiful statue, similar to the Washington Monument.
At 15:00, I strolled out onto the Ellis Island boarding deck. The National Museum of Immigration is on one side, while the hospital is on the other. I didn’t finish the tacos, so before entering the museum, I decided to relax in the shade and eat them. Sarah, a guide, was holding a banner that said “Orientation to Ellis Island” on it. Several guests were standing there, and I joined them. After introducing herself (I noticed her ID card; it resembled a TripAdvisor guide; nonetheless, I just wanted to finish eating), she led us to the museum’s entrance and instructed us to sit on the stairwell. She began discussing the museum and its relevance.
Ellis Island, nicknamed the “Gateway to the New World,” is located in the Upper Bay and was originally the United States’ immigration center. Named after an American businessman, Samuel Ellis, who owned it in the 1770s before the State of New York transferred it to the United States government. From 1892 to 1924, around 12 million immigrants passed through the island. Ships came here for passengers to disembark (third-class passengers were subject to station checks, whereas first- and second-class passengers were briefly examined on board their ships before being let inside). Why? It was considered that they had enough resources to live a normal life and not cause any disturbance (unlike third-class travelers, who could be criminals or infirm). After immigration procedures were moved to New York City, this facility was utilized to keep foreigners who were unable to complete them. The majority of this island is in the state of New Jersey, but a small portion of it, including the majority of the hall itself, is part of New York State and so an exclave.
Third-class passengers had to go through a series of medical checks and legal procedures before they could enter the city. This is what Sarah talked about. She talked about her personal experiences with her Irish grandfather, who landed as a third-class passenger here. The conversation lasted around thirty minutes, and she spent half of it talking about Ellis Island. Did you realize how long it takes to analyze a passenger? Only seven seconds! Isn’t that crazy?
And I went to the museum with this important piece of knowledge in mind. As you enter the hall, you’ll find yourself in the baggage room. This museum has a gift shop, an ATM, restrooms, and a cafe. I watched the first exhibition, Journeys: New Eras of Immigration. But first, I entered a room. The American Family Immigration History Center offers record services. This is where people may trace their ancestors back to the island, where they first landed as immigrants. Self-service kiosks and counters can do this for a price.
Tourists are allowed access to the following exhibits:
- On the first level: Journey: New Eras of Immigration, The Peopling of America, Citizenship Gallery
- On the second level: Through America’s Gate, Registry Room and Peak Immigration Years.
- On the third level: Dormitory Room, Silent Voices, Treasures from Home, Restoring a Landmark and Ellis Isnd Chronicles. Bob Hope Memorial Library requires prior permission for entry.
So I went to the first exhibit: Journeys. It documents the reasons for immigration to the United States, including what anthropologists call “push” and “pull” influences. Take note of them; they’re scattered around the display. Poverty, natural disasters, persecution as a result of continuous atrocities, political persecution, war, and authoritarian governments are all driving forces. Economic opportunity, social relationships (many family members have established themselves in the United States), quality of life, and the potential for global connections are among the draw factors. The exhibit includes numerous multimedia terminals with testimonies from people who have moved to the United States, as well as the migration processes (Leaving, Making the Trip, Arrival, Struggle and Survival, and Building a Nation).
The following one is titled Citizenship Gallery. It explains what it means to be an American and includes an exhibit with questions from the citizenship test and American stories about how immigrants contributed to the country’s history.
I climbed one step higher and entered the Registry Room. This room was critical in those days because it was overcrowded with fresh arrivals awaiting examination. Going from one end of the hall to the other symbolized progress toward the New World. A large hall capable of holding 5,000 people at once.
I walked on to the next exhibit on the same floor, Peak Immigration Years, which tells the stories of people who immigrated from all over the world. The majority of migrants came from Western Europe (9 million), Eastern Europe (8 million), and Iberia (5 million). The remaining migrants came from Canada, Mexico, the West Indies, South America, Asia, and Australia. Around 20,000 people moved from Africa. Remember the push and pull factors? That is beautifully represented in the testimonies shown in this exhibition. One can also see the immigrants’ passports.
The second exhibit, Through America’s Gate, depicts what happened to the immigrants during the process. This exhibit depicts their exploits on the island. A medical and legal evaluation lasted around three to five hours. For others, it meant a longer stay. This display showed medical examination instruments (being a doctor, I was astounded to see antique tools still being used in professional tests and procedures). Some of them who were detained for an extended period of time may have had tuberculosis or trachoma, which may have been treated effectively. Drs. Howard Knox, Grover Kempf, and Gwyn created IQ tests to identify and diagnose mental problems (for example, the Knox cube imitation test). To be honest, I was most enthusiastic for this show. (By the way, when you buy your cruise tickets, you need to buy a “Red Hat” ticket to enter the hospital.
I returned to the third level to inspect the dormitory rooms occupied by detainees and deportees (around 2% of the immigrants who arrived were deported back to their home country). I could see the Registry Hall better from the third floor. I returned as it became late. It was nearly 17:00, and the museum was about to close. I did, however, take a quick glance at The Peopling of America, a history of the United States.
After a two-hour visit to the Ellis Island Museum of Immigration, my mind was racing with ideas and musings about anxious immigrants and their quest to reach the American dream. I moved to see the skyline from the island, which was breathtaking. Skylines appear beautiful, much as they did when immigrants saw New York City from here. There is a well-kept, landscaped garden with a flagpole and pavilion adjacent to it. It includes the names of documented immigrants from A to Z (by first name) who came on the island.
I needed to get back to Battery Park soon. The cruise ferry arrived just in time as I walked rapidly from the pavilion. Fortunately, I was able to board, and this time I chose the lower deck because I was tired of viewing the same skylines repeatedly. The ferry took around twenty minutes to arrive. Taking photos here was a bit risky, comparable to what I experienced in Galveston. The ripples in the bay were evident due to the reflection of the sunset. I was able to stretch my legs and arms and see the surroundings. I spotted a bald eagle following the ship in the middle of the cruise and then leaving as we entered Battery Park. Despite my reservations, I visited two big tourist attractions. Other ideas written on the whiteboard have to be postponed until another day. I arrived at Battery Park and chose to go to the CitiBike station to retrieve my bike. And it was locked. Suddenly, I received a signal and saw a notification saying that $100 had been removed. I knew my stupidity had cost me a lot of money, so I walked away feeling unhappy.
What should I do now? I decided to suspend the tour for the day and ponder on my mistakes. I hail a prepaid yellow taxi and ask the driver to take me to the Penn Station on 34th Street. He took about 30 minutes to get here on the FDR Drive. The driver, Gulshan, was from Bangladesh. I arrived at Penn Station, walked to the NJ Transit ticket counter, bought a single-journey ticket to Princeton Junction, boarded Train 7863 to Trenton at Track 3 (it was a double-decker train), and arrived at 18:30.
I said nothing when I got at my classmate’s house. After a while, the other one returns home and is dissatisfied with what I have done. He chided me for my inability to navigate New York City, warning me that using GPS to get about Manhattan is a fool’s paradise. He advised me to familiarize myself with Manhattan Borough’s grid layout. Despite his temper tantrums, he was nice enough to acquire me a Verizon Wireless SIM card from a neighboring Target. It didn’t work with the “realme” mobile as expected, but it did with his old iPhone.
I took a quick shower, sat in my room to reflect on my blunders, and decided to traverse New York City safely. Just as I was able to navigate Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Bangkok. The journey to Washington, D.C., will test my ability to prepare ahead of time and explore New York City’s major sites. Another thought came to mind: “Will I be able to cover Washington easily?” Before I closed my eyes, I took one more glimpse at my iPhone for the day. The Verizon signal was satisfactory, with three bars.
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