I'm thinking of that "Wear Sunscreen" song...

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

But you know here's the thing... I'm torn. Really I am. New York is a great city and embodies everything that you can think of as "city". It has the food, the architecture, the history, yet at the same time it has everything that embodies collapse. Broken bricks, eroding streets, urban decay, and all of this exists right on top of everything else. Yesterday we went to DUMBO, a neighborhood on the river across from Manhattan in Brooklyn, the Fulton-Ferry Park, this is close to the docks and the asphalt here is worn thin and the cobble stones below it are visible. The turn of the century seems to poking its head out and announcing the fact that its a long lasting construct than our modern age. The view of downtown is fantastic from the park. We walked around taking pictures and talking. Eventually, we stopped at a small cafe that made the most wonderful hot chocolate. When I say hot chocolate I'm not referring to a packet of swiss miss, but rather a brick of melted chocolate in your little paper cup. It was, as the menu item said, wicked, complete with chili powder to spice it up. From there it was off to Brighton Beach, for those not in the know, this is "Little Odessa", a predominantly Russian neighborhood where the signs on the stores are in Cyrillic and Russian. We bought some goodies for a party and then stopped at Cafe Kashkar for a nosh. It was almost like being back in St. Pete's, just a more sober version of our trips to Caravan Sarai.

There was a moment there when we stood outside of The Brighton Bazaar, a huge Russian supermarket bustling and bursting at the seems with black leather jackets, animal print clothing and cold stares from behind the deli counters. Mariya and I were waiting outside for Tom to pay. I asked her what she was thinking about, as she seemed a little deep in thought. She said that coming to Brighton always took the wind out of her sails. She went on to say that she didn't like this part of town, as it was a dream gone wrong. People came to this country to have things they couldn't have in Russia, and what they got wasn't something anyone really wanted. I don't know how accurate of a statement that is, people seemed to be enjoying this little transplanted corner of reality, but at the same time, it looked like Russia. Driving down Ocean Parkway I thought we were back on Moskovsky Prospect, but more than that, the immediate area of Brighton is run down, its that peeling brick and broken sidewalk. I don't know it well enough to be able to say if the people are happy, but they seemed content. She did make a good point when I said "this place is preserving some culture", she pointed out that it was just consumerism or materialism, hard to argue with that when you look around and see the shops, the buying and selling, this isn't culture... but there's the language and then there are the attitudes and foods... yes, one aspect of culture but not a defining quality by any stretch of the imagination.

This whole city is strange, the lines are drawn and they don't seem like they move often. Neighborhoods are separated and don't seem to melt with their surroundings yet it takes all these various hoods, from Spanish Harlem, to the polish of Greenpointe where we are now, to create the construct of New York. In derivative, it is an amalgamation of fiefdoms and differences. In reality, I don't think it can be comprehended how this leviathon lives and breathes, yet it does. One of these days I'll spend more than a weekend in the city.