So, we all arrived safely at our destination, JFK Airport in New York, with a layover in Rome. But no sooner had we finished celebrating our landing than we were faced with that queue again, and another mini-interview with someone who would finally decide whether to say "welcome to the Big Apple" or "goodbye, get back on the plane and fly another 12 hours, but back home." Again, there was anxiety, although the probability of being let into the United States was higher than being sent back, some nervousness was still present. But this time everything went smoothly; a nice person in uniform asked me the purpose of my visit to the USA, where and what I would be working as, where I was studying, took my fingerprints, and said, "Welcome to New York." After those words, it was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and despite the fatigue from the flight, I felt very energetic and happy. The thought that I was finally in New York and no further checks awaited me was simply exhilarating.
My first impression was: "What a huge airport!" There is an express train between terminals that can take you to any part of the airport for free. So, I went from my Terminal 1 to Terminal 4, where in an hour the plane from Amsterdam was supposed to land, from which my expected Miss Universe was to disembark.
Next, we (now the two of us, with Miss Universe) found ourselves in the subway, where we unsuccessfully tried to buy a transit pass, having no idea how to do it. A woman helped us, showed us how to buy a ticket, and even helped with change since we only had large bills. Navigating by my route planned on Google Maps and using the help of locals, an hour later we were at the place where our reserved hostel was waiting for us.
In the office of this student dormitory, a nice dark-skinned man in a hat was waiting for us, who later turned out to be the owner of this hostel, Santos. He showed us to our room and told us about various places in Manhattan where we could go. And he tirelessly repeated that it was a safe place and that we could walk around here until night.
This was Harlem (a neighborhood of Black and Latino people) in Manhattan. As scary as it might sound at first (believe me, at first we were a little uneasy, it was more out of habit), I must say that it is indeed a safe neighborhood, provided, of course, you don't go deep into Harlem at night.
The first few days felt like a wonderful dream or a romantic movie in which I was directly participating. It was like falling in love. I just fell in love with this wonderful city. I wanted to walk everywhere all the time, which, by the way, we did, and just stroll around the city.
"Yes, New York is truly beautiful," I heard the voice of an elderly man next to me when I was sitting with my head back in Washington Square, soaking in this specific air with sincere pleasure, eyes closed. "Yes, it is amazing," I replied.
In New York, people are generally very easy to talk to. People you see for the first time might wish you a good day, give you a compliment, ask how you are, offer help, or wish you a good morning and a great evening. "That's all of New York; you can sit somewhere and tell the story of your whole life to a person you just met and never see them again," said one wonderful New Yorker with whom we also happened to strike up a conversation.
After a couple of days of carefree wandering, the serious search for housing began. Money was running out every day, and the places we needed to visit were increasing every day. And here craigslist.com helped us a lot—on this site, we found many addresses where we could rent a room. We wrote down the phone numbers of landlords who suited us in both price and location and started going to see our potential future rooms where we would live for the next month. After looking at several options, we settled on the very first room we saw. It was in Brooklyn. Another tenant and the landlord lived in the apartment with us. A couple of days later, I started looking for work.
Here is an excerpt from my summer notes:
"Today was my third day of work! Amazing, right? It happened like this: on Monday, I had been desperately looking for work for days. The places where I left my resume and filled out various forms weren't calling back. Every day, the despair grew deeper. Getting up early that day, I decided to look for work near where we lived. I went around several places, and with every hour and every next cafe where they said there were no vacancies or 'we'll call you,' my feeling of hopelessness began to grow. Having heard another 'sorry, we have no vacancies,' I walked on, looking at shop windows, posters, and signs on doors. Suddenly, I heard the voice of a man standing in an apron on the porch of what later turned out to be his little restaurant. He shouted something like, 'Is this the place you're looking for?' I smiled confusedly and said I was just looking for work. Then he looked at me with a studying gaze and said, 'Come in.' In the end, after talking to him for 20 minutes, I realized that I needed to come in the next day at 7 a.m., and that would be my first day of work. I would be helping the woman who prepares everything. After that conversation, I walked out onto the street, happy and exhilarated, waiting for the next day..."
And in that very restaurant, I worked for a month and a half, six days a week, from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. Of course, it was very hard. It's very hard to force yourself to get up at 6 a.m. almost every day when you go to bed at two or three in the morning. Because getting home early if you live in New York itself is very difficult. There are too many interesting things, new acquaintances appear, and this city is all sparkling with lights and is too beautiful in the evening.
But the next morning would come, and I would go to work dutifully; of course, it was annoying, but despite that, I loved it insanely. I liked standing on the porch of the restaurant sometimes and selling lemonade. When passersby smile at you, your mood just overflows. Just standing and smiling, not because you have to, but because standing like that, I thought about the fact that this is happening to me, that right now I am in a place that I love insanely, and that right now and here I feel myself. I feel that I am living. And of course, I look at the clock and count the minutes until it's 4 o'clock and I can go and sit in my favorite park, just walk around the city, meet someone, go to some concert of local bands, or just eat ice cream while sitting in some new, eye-catching place.
That's how a month and a half passed. I quit my job because about half a month ago, we bought tickets for the next stage of our trip—traveling. The strangest thing is that we wanted so much to finally finish with work and start traveling, but when it was time to leave, we desperately wanted to just stay and not go anywhere. New York is so enchanting. It can't get boring. It can't be dull. But there was nothing to be done; the tickets couldn't be returned. After thinking for a few days, we decided to go anyway. By the way, we bought the tickets on http://www.greyhound.com/, the tickets are not very expensive, and there is a Greyhound terminal in almost every city (thanks to the guidebooks from CMO for the site and general useful information).
We decided that since we are on the East Coast, we would travel around it. And the West Coast, next time. And there will be a reason to return, although to return to this place, you don't need reasons at all.
