NY Smorgasbord

Thanks to you all for indulging me with your comments. I wax sentimental on this blog far too often, and I wax sentimental in my heart even more often than I do on the blog. So you won't be surprised when I tell you that my heart felt sad when the thought crossed my mind that some "US Americans" (to quote a certain beauty queen) may never have the experience of looking out over the Hudson River and seeing Lady Liberty. It's just something that feels right if you're an American (or at least if you're me and you're an American).

Our second day in NY was a fruitful one. On the agenda: a trek across the Brooklyn Bridge, lunch in Little Italy, World Trade Center site, and most important- buying knockoff purses on Canal Street.

One of Em's friends (a bag connoisseur one might say) told us that if you look out for one, a certain Asian lady would lead you to the back of a Chinese restaurant where you could buy the illicit cargo for 10- 20 bucks cheaper than in the shops on the street. We turned down Canal St. and I felt lucky to find the elusive 'purse lady' so quickly. (Little did I know if we had walked another block, it was difficult to get these pieces of walking human bait out of one's face). We followed (babies in tow) said feminine specimen to the base of a steep stairwell. Our "guide" muttered something in some Asian language and pointed for us to leave our strollers in what appeared to be the garage of an abandoned warehouse. "The sale/ purchase of counterfeit Louis Vuitton or any other counterfeit products is illegal and shall be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law". The sign warned us as we made our ascent into, what I can describe as nothing other than a sweatshop filled with Chinese (or other Asian ethnicity) ladies at sewing machines, silenced as we walked into their workspace. We were led to a tiny room where hung some of the most authentic looking counterfeit purses I have seen. We left empty handed, though. It just felt all dirty and wrong, like we were single handedly supporting terrorists or drug dealers or something. We vowed not to go in any more sweatshops and instead bought our knock off Dolce bags from a street side Chinatown vendor who, after bartering with an unwavering Emily, finally said "Just give me the money!". Oh yeah. Feels so right.

Anyway, the picture up top is of St. Paul's Chapel. I am a sucker for old churches (especially ones with graveyards) and this is a cool one. It is right outside Ground Zero, and not only survived the Sept. 11th attacks, but also the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.


Mulberry Street. One of the last streets on what we were told is a dwindling Little Italy.
Ground Zero.
Gelato! The San Gennaro festival was in full swing that day. I don't think I have ever been in a more crowded place than making my way to that streetside gelato stand.