Entry #21.3 / 9th July 2022
‘Why the hell are we trusting Google Maps again?’ The responsible voice weighed in as I stumbled onto one of the subway trains. Everyone glanced my way as I slightly tripped to an available seat. I double-checked the subway number on the notice boards above as it left the station. ‘We’re just asking for disaster at this point.’
I paid no mind to the responsible voice as music erupted into my ears. Over the past few years, I’ve been able to deal with crowds much better than I had, but being on my own in a completely new place was enough to make my anxiety tinkle a little.
It wasn’t long until I arrived at the destination, and soon, climbing out of the subway tunnels, I was back on the streets of New York and heading towards the main attraction for the day.
The Brooklyn Bridge.
When I briefly spoke to others who had been to the bridge, I was deflated to hear that they didn’t fully enjoy the experience or that it wasn’t worth all the buzz. It was cool to see, but nothing spectacular.
However, as soon as I laid eyes on the bridge as I rounded a corner, I knew my experience would be far different from theirs.
Excitement – no, what’s a better word?
A fire of exhilaration festered through me. The crowds slowly became a blur with each step I took towards the bridge. Childlike wonderment makes my bones nearly spring out of its covered skin. And to the many strangers on the street, I probably looked like a blonde maniac.
(Which I probably am one hundred per cent of the time.)
At this point, I wasn’t even on the bridge yet.
It took a few minutes of politely pushing past people when I finally took my first steps on the bridge.
Words couldn’t, and will never, fully explain how beautiful the views were. It wasn’t, at first sight, the views – you had to walk a bit further into the bridge to see and appreciate the views that it indeed offered. But once you did…
What the fuck were the others on about?
I felt the anxiety of the crowds around me diminish as the views… Beautiful, gorgeous, breath-taking… No description I could ever come up with could genuinely capture what I was seeing. The sun was glistering in the sea below. The high buildings shine proudly. Cars rushing below our feet sound like a constant heartbeat on the bridge. I was walking on something that could be built anywhere, but the flowing energy the bridge held within its stands… It felt more like I was meeting an old soul who had seen and lived through it all and still created such authentic originality that held its own purpose in this world.
Pausing to truly take in the sights and take a few photos, I then came across another market stand—of sorts.
It was a woman standing off to the side with a sign advertising Polaroid photo-taking. I saw the woman (who was obviously working it) taking a Polaroid photo of a couple with the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.
Titling my head to the side, I slowly approached the woman’s stand as she finished with the couple and looked at the sign.
“$5 for a Polaroid!”
“Hi there!” The woman welcomed me as soon as she noticed I was reading her sign. She had such an infectious, enthusiastic smile. “Would you like a photo?”
I pushed my lips together, contemplating, before a shrug took over my body. “Yeah, sure, why not?”
After a few directions from the woman and positioning myself flatteringly, the photo was taken, and the five dollars were well spent.
However, as I approached the bridge’s connection, I saw people standing up on the stands and taking photos. I glanced around, seeing many tourists in the surroundings, but none that looked… trustworthy. And I didn’t feel like I could approach the ones that were.
Looks like I’ll have to make do.
Once a spot became available, I hurled myself into one of the stands, sitting on the edge and tried to think of ways to take a photo.
‘You could always balance it against your bag again, ‘ the bright voice advised, though the uncertainty in her voice highlighted the nerves of doing that.
It was fine to do it at the library, but with the number of crowds on the bridge, The moment my back is turned, or I’m too far away, someone will probably see it as a chance to nick my phone.
I can’t afford to get a new phone in America or anywhere else.
So, I settled on taking a few selfies, which wasn’t jaw-dropping, but it’s something.
However, on my pause and as I accessed a way to make a great selfie of myself and the bridge, a man—somewhere between his late fifties and mid-sixties—approached me with a camera in his hands.
“Would you like a few photos?” He asked with a small smile.
I hesitated.
‘It’s probably going to cost some money.’ The responsible voice concluded.
But I don’t have to buy them? I argued back thoughtfully. At least not all the ones he takes. If he takes one I like, I can just buy that one.
I nodded enthusiastically, shifting my sitting position on the stand as the man backed up. I then posed – one just smiling towards the camera, then another pose with my arm up in the air with an excited expression. A few minutes later, after a few poses, the man approaches me again with the camera screen turned towards me.
He showed me the photos, including the non-flattering one he took before speaking to me.
“How much?” I asked after a few moments of looking.
“Sixty dollars.” The man said after a few moments of contemplating.
I grimaced, “how about for just two photos?”
“Ten dollars.”
I nodded. “Can I just have two, then?”
The man nodded, “Which ones?”
I then stared thoughtfully at the set of photos, “Hmm…” I freaking hate being an adult sometimes.
“How about thirty dollars for all of them?” The man then suggested after a few long moments of silence (well, not complete silence. We were on the Brooklyn Bridge).
I frowned, “Are you sure?” I’m not messing with this man’s livelihood!
He smiled again, though, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s only a few photos.”
After plugging his camera into my phone and downloading the photos onto my phone, I paid him and thanked him repeatedly before continuing across the bridge into Brooklyn.
***