My first day in New York

looked a lot more like that picture from the last post than what you're probably imagining. Instead of being immersed in skyscrapers and taxis and local grocers, I've been immersed climbing culture- rock, chalk, misty mountain vistas and the poison ivy-laden trails of the Gunks.

After a pleasant 18 hour train rolling through the lush greenery of West Virginia, the old-town train depots and urban DC and Philly stations, I arrived in Penn Station. My luggage- a frame pack, back pack, and rolling 70 lb mammoth of a duffel- about did me in with the 2 subway transfers (both walking with staircases) and 3 blocks to my temporary stay in Brooklyn. On the last next to last stair case, I really questioned whether I would make it. My left arm hooked on the grimy metal hand rail as I lugged the canvas beast step at a time behind me... "I think I can...I think I can!" A young guy helped me up the last stair and by the time I was walking the sidewalk towards the community house where I'm temporarily staying, my arm and red-raw hand would last about 15 feet before I needed to stop again for a break.
This, however, only made the releif all-the-sweeter when 2 members of the community came skipping down the sidewalk to help me with my burdens.

I was invited impromptu on a climbing adventure outside of the city the next morning. Man, climbing culture itself is like being immersed in a foreign language. I've been climbing for years (I was referred to today as a "gym rat"... all wood and plastic, no rock) and still had a shaky understanding of pros, cams, aliens, pitch, trad climbs and sport, hangs and falls, leads, follows, free...

School starts Monday and later this week I'll be moving (hopefully not all the luggage at once this time) to my summer apartment near Harlem. I'm once again grateful for the kindness of subway strangers and to have been invited so warmly into lives and communities. Home sweet home!