The Jewel in the Subway Crown

The New York City Subway isn’t quite as old as London’s Tube. In fact, it isn’t even the oldest in the Americas – that distinction goes to Boston. But when it did open, over a century ago, it was a momentous occasion. One that would change the course of the city’s development, and give it the very pulse it’s known for today. The year was 1904. The 27th of October was the chosen date, and the station where it all began – City Hall, in lower Manhattan.

On the last weekend of February, I had the rare privilege to tour City Hall Station – the very birthplace of New York’s Subway – a station that has been lying abandoned since 1945. Here are a few chosen images and accompanying descriptions from my visit.

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We gather at the front end of the downtown platforms at Brooklyn Bridge Station. After checking in, we file into the first car of a terminating #6 train, which has just offloaded the last of its fare-paying passengers. Traveling some 600-feet around a sharp curve, we alight minutes later by the grand entrance that leads to the mezzanine level of City Hall Station.

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150 years of Tube’ing

Prologue

Browsing the magazine section at WHSmith in Heathrow’s Terminal 5, I come across ‘Modern Railways‘, one of many UK-based rail mags. Of the lot, its cover is most appealing to me – a special issue on ‘150 years of the Underground‘. Without further ado, I drop a few more quid than planned, and pack it in to my carry-on bag.

Despite my best intentions, the magazine remains there till its time to use the bag again – on a short trip to Bombay i.e. Reading it on the flight out of Delhi, I discover, to my utmost delight, that special runs are planned in London to commemorate the occasion – starting on the 13th of January – the very day I will be transiting through the city again 😉

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It is a chilly, gray January morning in London (shocker!) as I make my way from the Tube station to my cousin’s pad in Hampstead. A quick, but rather filling, breakfast in his neighbourhood, and then we’re off on our jaunt – me willingly, him not so!

Scurrying between the Northern Line platforms and those of the sub-surface lines at Moorgate, I glance at my watch – 12:08 – two minutes to departure! Rushing through the final stairwell, I exclaim, ‘I can smell it’. My excitement is contained momentarily by a tensile barrier, as I join hundreds of onlookers, who, like me, haven’t been fortunate enough to get a seat on the coveted train. Regardless, we’ve made it here, and just in time to watch her depart…

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The Goan Holiday

Visiting the state after a gap of 15 years, I have mixed expectations. A lot would have changed, no doubt – some of it, hopefully, for the better. But our arrival into Dabolim is completely underwhelming. Given all the hype the state of Goa has received as a tourist destination, and the massive influx of visitors since (some of them on chartered flights even), the airport remains a complete eyesore and an all-round shit show!

The ride to our hotel is almost an hour long, but over the course of it, our disappointment with Dabolim wanes. The Ramada‘s vaulted lobby is grand in appearance and wears a festive look for the holiday season. As the light begins to change, a walk through its sea-facing, sun-kissed property is at once invigorating, banishing any residual thoughts of the D word…

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Despatches from The Mara

Thursday, 10:35 AM – Kichwa Tembo

As our aircraft awaits a couple of tardy passengers, we step out and stroll over to the front of the Dash 8 to watch the action. Kichwa Tembo, a private airstrip serving a safari lodge by the same name, is busy at this hour. It is one of several dirt strips in the Maasai Mara, and even though the stop doesn’t feature on our schedule, Safarilink‘s flight 001 is a hopping flight in every sense of the word!

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Jambo Kenya!

Jomo Kenyatta International Airport is dimly lit and depressing. Worse still, if you happen to land there at 0230 in the morning! Outside though, is a land altogether different, and one that begs to be explored.

In fact, sharing a fence with the aerodrome is Nairobi National Park, the world’s only wildlife conservation in such close proximity to an urban centre. As we drive along its perimeter in pitch darkness, I try hard to imagine what lies beyond. Daybreak couldn’t come sooner!

Healing Kiss

A fellow Libran, Ibrahim was born on the 3rd of October 2011 to Daisy II and Jock Junior. When he turns 2, he will relocate to one of the country’s many national parks. For now though, he’s available for viewing in Langata, a western suburb of Nairobi, at the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife’s Giraffe Centre.

It takes two men and a few minutes to coax him towards the viewing platform of our enclosure. The shutterbugs fire away, some people attempt to feed him, and I simply get the best of his affection 😉

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Stopover in Stamboul!

Gadi has already traveled to 110 countries – plenty more than I’ll be able to accomplish in this lifetime! You can pretty much point to a country on the flight map, and chances are he’s been there. He’s even been to places in India, which I’m yet to visit! His next destination is a toss up between Azerbaijan and Moldova. He speaks about 8 languages, a number which he considers unimpressive! Gadi is an inspiration. He’s also my fellow passenger on flight TK004.

At Atatürk International, we part ways. His connecting flight to Tel Aviv departs in 45 minutes, whereas I have a full day’s layover in the city. Before I begin my sojourn, however, I must deal with rush hour in Istanbul!

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The Boatel at Marina 59

The platform at Broad Channel is packed to the rafters as our train pulls in – rather unusual for a Sunday morning, this far out in Queens! The doors open and every single one of our fellow passengers – with surfboards, picnic hampers and folding chairs in tow – alight to join the throngs. Clearly, we didn’t get the memo this morning. Either that, or things have changed considerably since my last visit to the Rockaways!

We alight two stations later at Beach 60th St., and the platform there is as desolate as can be. With only a smattering of passengers on board, the A train trundles off in the direction of Far Rockaway, while we make our way a couple of blocks north to the Boatel at Marina 59. Having figured out how to get into the gated compound, we are motioned in the direction of ‘A dock’.

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Biking through the South Bronx, one green patch at a time!

Chances are, you’ve passed right over it, in your car or in a bus, whizzing along the Bruckner or the Major Deegan, as you make your way into or out of the city. Or if you’re a baseball fan, you’ve probably ridden the #4 train to watch a game at Yankee Stadium. But there’s a lot more to the South Bronx than the Yankees, or views of industrial blight afforded by the many expressways that criss cross it. Just east of the Bruckner, in fact, a little known resurgence is taking place along the Bronx River. I set out one morning to investigate for myself.

The Hunts Point section of the South Bronx lies approximately 5 miles north of Astoria, a 25-minute bike ride for me via the Triborough / RFK bridge. At the southern end of Tiffany St., about a mile off the gritty Bruckner Blvd, past old warehouses and truck repair shops, sits an 11-acre patch of green by the name of Barretto Point Park.

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Alpine Train’ing

There are plenty of window seats to choose from as we pull out of Cointrin International but at Cornavin the carriage starts to fill quickly. I soon realise that I’m sitting on the wrong side – the Swiss follow British running practices! Determined to find a window seat on the ‘correct’ side, I make my way to the dining car.

The Swiss rail system is every bit a marvel, and a complete joy to experience. Trains thread their way through the length and breadth of the country, connecting the largest towns with the tiniest of hamlets. Schedules are frequent, connections seamless, fares affordable and the trains themselves are comfortable and always punctual! Better still, the dining car is alive and well here and continues to uphold the gold standard in timeless rail travel – table linen, chinaware, waiter service and a full menu!

For me to ride these trains is nothing short of a privilege and the dining car brings back pleasant memories of saloon travel in India. I tuck into my croissant, take a sip of my stiffly brewed Lavazza, and check off ‘most desired rail system’ #2 from my list 😉

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Pueblo Pickings

‘Drink plenty of water’, he reassures me, ‘and welcome to Santa Fe!’ With that said, Tenzin, who mans the front desk at the Sage Inn, moves on to the next guest. I’ve just completed a marathon session of travel – 19 hours of flying later, I am 12 and a half hours west of where I started, with a 20C (66F) variation in temperature, and a 7000 ft gain in altitude! My body is in complete shock and begins to offer the first signs of resistance – a stiff headache! But Tenzin probably knows a thing or two about this – after all, he hails from Tibet! I heed his advise, drop my bags off, and head out towards Santa Fe’s newest attraction, which conveniently enough, lies across the street from my hotel.

One track mind

The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway never quite made it to Santa Fe, or at least its mainline didn’t! And nor does its present day successor, the mighty Burlington Northern Santa Fe. Even puny little Amtrak gives it a miss, instead calling on Lamy, some 20 miles south. But regardless, Santa Fe continues to celebrate its place in American railway history through its most recent urban renewal project, the Railyard. This once decrepit railroad yard today boasts contemporary art galleries, performance spaces, a Hispanic cultural centre, a farmers market, boutiques and restaurants, and a beautifully landscaped park designed by New York-based architects. But most importantly, trains continue to roll in to its historic depot! And that in itself is a sight for my very weary eyes..

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