)(( hannah mello ))(

Tales of a Village )))

I grew up on 350 acres.
The Santa Cruz Mountains, CA.

Acreage of a pond, hiking trails, redwood trees, varieties of ferns. Creeks and streams that would RUSH in winter as if they were white-water-rapids. Bay and Japanese Maples. Pine cones in Fall. Green green green. Evergreen. Lexington Reservoir in a space just beyond the sea of trees on the ridge-- oh-so-visible from my mountain cabin living room with its 3 walls of windows.

Now, I find myself in quite another span of acreage.
14,694.4 acres.
Manhattan, NYC.

Acreage of skyscrapers and delis and banks. "I (heart) NY" souvenirs piled onto carts on every corner. Hot dog and pretzel salesmen. Young kids with their coolers of $1 water bottles. Acreage of pedestrian walkways that are not exclusively used (I love jaywalking... it reminds me of Naples' street crossing). Oh-so-many yellow cabs and black towncars having the same function. Fast walking masses with expressionless faces. Almost every set of ears housing Bluetooth or iPod earphones. Bodies fashionably adorned. Everyone doing their best to look young and powerful. and If not powerful, respectable...

Today, I spent hours circling the under-Central--half of Manhattan.

The Financial District,
then up through the Lower East Side,
the East Village,
Gramercy,
and then over to Chelsea
and then down to Greenwich (the West Village).

After hours, I had to pull my tired legs away from circling the West Village over and over again. Both the West Village and Chelsea have overarching trees sheltering their streets. The trees make the Village (and Chelsea too) feel small and quaint, even though it's a bustling metropolis surrounding. Every residential building entrance has rod iron handrails and steps leading to their sometimes-colorful doors (which are, in a way, reminiscent of Dublin, Ireland to me).

Every cafe and bookstore has character. The earth-tones of the signage. The fonts of the names. The names themselves-- each one creative and poignant (provoking interest, an emotion, as well as a presupposition of style, delivery, and content). The natural window displays-- not glitzy and trying-to-be-eye-catching, but strong and intentional. Window displays with layers & textures & forms. Style enough to spoil yourself & empty your pocketbook for. Ah, and how I love the wooden door jams, trim, and threshholds which MARK your entrance significantly... the paint peeling and wood splintering... Rustic. ... Alive. ... The weathered-ness reminiscent of each and every sole that contributing to cutting down its once polished and fresh veneer...

I found this website which has snapshot "reviews" of key places of character and interest for women living in the city (including other cities around the world)... it could be helpful if you're interested... Plus this one and this one about NY specifically (the last has extremely great weekly emails too, which you can sign up for!)...

I love being in city areas that aren't ridden with shops or markets, but are an assortment of place to be-- cafes, yes, but more parks and residences. I get easily sucked into the consumer buzz. I get easily overstimulated, greedy and discontent-- wanting, loving, enjoying (all too much). So, in this Village space of not-overstimulating/not-consumer-driven-ness, I luxuriously was able to stop, stand, be, and observe. Parks did the trick as well. There were 2 unremembered-name Village Parks (one on the East and one on the West) and also up in Madison Square Park, consecutively. I remember those moments...

The just-off-work twenty somethings with their significant others,
thirty-something friends,
single every-age-rs with their dogs.
An occasional young professional on their laptop.
The "hipsters" with their trilby hats
(otherwise known as the Justin Timberlake hat)
and funky Vans.
The girls in their printed sundresses and trendy jewelry and shoes.
Homeless men with their particular smell
still dressed in tucked-in shirts and dockers.

In Madison Square Park: a disheveled, curly and long haired fifty-something year old man
with a pipe ...
his probably-ten-years-weathered work clothes--
his leg crossed horizontally over the other one,
slouching his back and leaning his arm along the back of the bench
(and his facial expression...so pensive and relaxed...
his wide nose dipping lower onto his lip with thoughtfulness...
his bushy eyebrows nearing his eyelashes...).

Across from the green of the West Village park:
an old women in a window,
looking below.
Beside her window,
a young woman,
in the apartment besides hers,
looking below.

A toast to the Village and all those that live, journey, and/or in within its streets... :)


This photo is of the West Village in October of 1970.











This one is of the West Village more recently...













One of the many restaurant/cafes with character...
















My favorite street is definitely this street pictured here. The West Village's Jane Street. The first day of Greenwich exploration, it captured me. I would love to work at Baci Ristorante or a little bookshop that sits on one of its intersections' corners... just to do it. Just for a couple months... Maybe. Maybe. :) (With jobs, I always love the theory and the IDEA so much more than the tasks themselves... :) like how I like the idea of working in a factory... :)...)

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 7:36 PM