New York, New York

It all went a bit slow. Not only the decision making, but also the application for the journalist visa, plus an own entry permit N.I.E. (National Interest Exception) that I needed to even enter the US, at the moment. After a long filling out of some, in part very personal, questions in the online form, came the last step, uploading the photo. But the picture was never good enough. If it wasn’t the format that didn’t fit, then the light wasn’t right. Too much shadow here, too dark circles under the eyes there. In addition, I had to appear at the American Embassy in Vienna for an appointment. No, problem – or so I thought. If I don’t get the visa, at least I‘ll be able to see a few long-missed friends and have a nice time. I also arranged a meeting with Ida, who is not only translating my blogs posts but also my first novel, Sommerfrische (Summer Retreat), into English. We had only exchanged emails at that point and wanted to finally get to know each other. But even before I sat down on the train to Vienna, I kept thinking to myself: Do you really want this? Look at you, you’re tired, you’re exhausted, you’re entering the final stretch of half a year of lockdown towards a regenerating summer. Is this really the right moment to travel to New York, to do two live interviews? Family and friends supported me in my decision-making as best they could, I received encouragement from all sides. When I arrived in Vienna, I immediately got the visa and the N.I.E., whereby the latter was only valid till the end of June. Meeting Ida was refreshing, as was reuniting with dear friends. My social deficit was covered for a while, but I was still undecided. Family and friends supported me in my decision-making as best they could, I received encouragement from all sides. When I arrived in Vienna, I immediately got the visa and the N.I.E., whereby the latter was only valid till the end of June. Meeting Ida was refreshing, as was reuniting with dear friends. My social deficit was covered for a while, but I was still undecided. When something churns inside me in such a rough and tough way, I usually interpret it as a sign to abandon or postpone the endeavor. Because a gut feeling is always right. But mine was confused. It woke up every morning with a different opinion. One day it would be: “What a great opportunity, to do these interviews in person, not by Zoom, or email, but real meetings. Experience New York, in general, as it’s waking up, while the borders to Europe are still not open. What impressions lie waiting there, what luck to be able to experience this!” Then again, I listed all the reasons against the trip, and announced: “No, it’s better to stay put, and fly there in autumn.” My husband sighed and asked: “How long is this going to go on? When will you finally decide?”; my daughter said: “Do what’s good for you.”; and my son mumbled: “Mom, just do it.” The days of the lockdown – as probably for everyone else too – were not always easy. More than once, I hummed “I want to break free” while vacuuming, and often whined that I spent more time cooking than writing or revising texts. But I couldn’t just leave my pack behind so easily, even briefly. Maybe it was some kind of Stockholm syndrome. Then I pushed my confused gut feeling aside, reminded myself that I wanted to have my collection of interviews completed and revised by the fall and decided, on very short notice, to make the trip. Then everything happened very quickly, and suddenly I was in New York. I resolved to take it slow. I gave myself two days to settle in. So, I strolled through the city where most people talk and walk fast, if not run, like in another matrix. I soaked up all the impressions like a sponge, and when it got to be too much, I pulled back. I suspected that a big city could be somewhat overwhelming after a long secluded time in a small Austrian village. Now I knew for sure. It was not my first visit, but my first visit alone to New York. A lot had changed. I saw now what I only knew from newspapers and reports. The pandemic had hit New York hard. The city was just waking up. Many small stores would probably remain closed forever, many faces in the subway – even behind the masks – were tired and sad. Some seemed a bit overwhelmed, while smiling pensively as they sat together again, after such a long time, in restaurants with friends or family. The number of homeless had risen enormously, many of them had visibly lost their minds on the streets during many of them had visibly lost their minds on the streets during the hard winter months of the pandemic – speaking and gesturing wildly, having conversations with invisible people. Well-dressed New Yorkers rushed past, also talking loudly to themselves, but with white buds in their ears, holding plastic cups. The whole world is tired, I noticed it all more here. I tried not to take personally the chronic bad tempers of the employees of the hotel, a famous coffee house chain, bookshops and museums, despite diminishing cheerfulness by the hour. What did I know of what these people had gone through? So I dragged my privileged white butt through the city and tried to collect impressions, without making judgements. When I got out of the subway on 24th Street and found myself in Chelsea again, I breathed an inner sigh of relief. In some neighborhoods I was visibly too poorly dressed, too old, too fat, too slow, too whatever, as evidenced by many a quick appraising glances. But the good thing in New York, is that you can be who and what you want, because basically nobody cares. Here in Chelsea, however, I always feel more comfortable than anywhere else in the city. That day I had a three o’clock appointment with Guy (www.missguy.com) at a Chelsea Square diner, and had plenty of time. Wistfully, I meandered past the Chelsea Hotel, where my husband and I had stayed on our first visit to New York – the place has been under renovation since 2011. I also remembered being in Chelsea Square before, and was delighted when Guy walked through the door and immediately hugged me. We chatted away and suddenly two hours had passed. Although we had to stop again and again because of the high noise level, I was able to record a wonderful interview. The meeting with him had filled my weary heart with joy, and as I walked across the Highline towards the Hudson, I thought I’d made a good decision by coming here. A conversation like this could never have taken place on Zoom. Two days later I met Donna Ferrato (www.donnaferratostudio.com) in TriBeCa. First, she postponed the appointment and then invited me to breakfast at her home. She had time from 9 to 10:30, then she had to get back to work. I was warmly welcomed and instantly introduced to her daughter, her grandson and her cats. Also with her, we jumped right into an intense conversation and after a while she suggested we go round the corner to grab some breakfast. But time passed too quickly and so I waved this offer off with a thank-you. She made a couple of jam sandwiches, her daughter put a pot of coffee in front of us, and we began the interview. Donna has a lot to say, she answered my questions for a whole hour. I bid her good-bye, much later than originally planned. Donna said it wasn’t a problem, this interview was more important. And it was true: this encounter will remain vivid in my memory. The last days of my stay, I spent wandering through the city, gathering impressions. Of beautiful, lively, as well as uncomfortable things – and everything in between. Arriving home, I knew for sure: It was good that I’d made the effort, left my comfort zone, and travelled to New York. Many images, encounters, special interviews and exciting experiences later, I’m totally ready. Summer can come.