A day in Astoria

I'm tired. There are two birthday parties I'm supposed to go to, but I'm thinking I might stay in. I've been out the past two nights (last night at Simone's birthday; more about that later, after she blogs about it) and I spent the day today walking around Astoria. Plus, I just bought two DVDs in Chinatown, the director's cut of Stanley Kwan's Centre Stage and Eros.

I had been planning a day or weekend in Astoria for the past month, but I've been too busy to go. I started my day at the Fisher Landau Center for Art. Just off the N train stop on 39th Avenue, the gallery is housed in a converted parachute harness factory. The three floors exhibit contemporary art in large, well-light surroundings that put the art front and center. I didn't even notice the building save for how well it exhibited the art. I spent the most time looking at the recently acquired photographs on the second floor, and admiring the very grey (and very off-limits) library on the first.

On the way out, I asked an attendant for recommendations on what to do in the area. She suggested the Museum of the Moving Image and the Noguchi Museum. I told her I had been to both fairly recently, and she recommended a falafel place on Steinway Street and a restaurant on Broadway run by a Turk with an ecclectic menu.

I thanked her and walked north to 36th Street. A street fair was in effect, more subdued and fun than the ones you find in Manhattan. A number of the usual suspects were in evidence, but then there was a stand selling stuffed churros. I watched as a man squeezed batter from a metal seive into the hot oil. Muslim women shopped the stalls, their heads covered, their dresses flowing. One child called to her father to stop and come back to a stand to buy corn. It felt early, as if the stalls had just set up and were attending to their first customers of the day; it was already nearing one in the afternoon.

I walked to Steinway and turned left. The attendant had told me that the southern end of the street had some stores, but north of Broadway, I could find better shops. And north of that was a small Egyptian area, where I could find cafes and water pipes. I walked up to 34th Street to the Steinway Salvation Army (the falafel place was closed). Reported to be the largest in the city, I flipped through its racks of men's shirts. I found a few Banana Republic shirts for six dollars, but the colors didn't suit me in the end. As I was leaving, two men were fighting over a Disney TV/DVD player set. An attendant told them that the electronics section was closed, and that the player was not yet for sale. They kept asking if there were any DVDs with which to try out the system. As I left I could hear one man making an offer.

On Broadway I turned left, heading back towards the subway and the cafe recommended by the woman from the gallery. Around 36th, I saw a church tower that looked vaguely Armenian and I walked down to check it out. In front, a girl wore a pink dress. Around her, brothers and cousins wore black tuxedos with pink bow ties. Each wore a wide brimmed black hat. Her mother tried to assemble them for a picture. One boy stood off to the side, dry heaving in the heat. A limo was parked on the curb. I waited for a bit to see the bride, but then hunger got the better of me and I continued back to Broadway.

I took a sidewalk seat at the Omonia Cafe. I couldn't remember the name of the restaurant that was recommended, but it sounded similar. The food options were limited, but desserts covered the menu. I ordered a spinach pie and thought about dessert. The pie was bigger than I had expected, however, leaving no room. I ate and paid my bill and walked north on 33rd Street to 31st Avenue, where I turned right to get back to Steinway.

Steinway had completely changed. Chain stores lined the street, from Gap to Express to Payless Shoes. I wandered aimlessly through the stores continuing up Steinway until the stores gave way to Arab groceries and then Egyptian cafes. Passing one, I could smell the strong scent of apple tobacco. Closing my eyes, I imagined Damascus around me, until the crowds and traffic brought me back to New York.

At Astoria Boulevard, I realized I had been here before. Years back, when I first reconnected with Lauren, she invited me to a birthday dinner at Mombar Egyptian Restaurant. I was still new to the city, and unfamiliar with the boroughs outside Manhattan. I took the train to almost its last stop and walked along the unfamiliar boulevard in the darkness. It seemed to take forever before I reached Steinway, though the restaurant was not far from the corner. I don't remember much about that night, save the decor and the walk, but being back on the corner brought the memories rushing back.

I followed Astoria Boulevard back towards the river until I reached 12th street. A Greek Orthodox church lorded over the corner. I turned north and found myself in the middle of Old Astoria Village, the site of a number of pre-Civil War buildings. At 26-07 12th Street, I stopped in front of the 1840's house dubbed "Tara." Its colonnaded front porch and manicured shrubs bespoke an earlier time, and I longed to walk through the front gates to see what lie within. Across the street, a modern condominium towered over the street. Its monolithic wall of balconies and glass seemed to mark the end of the world as it blocked out horizon and sky.

I kept walking north, past the condominium and out to Astoria Park. The Triborough Bridge loomed above, its towers wrapped to resemble a projected by Christo. Cars hummed overhead as I walked along the river. Another bridal party prepared for pictures. A transvestite dressed in a pink dress served as a bridesmaid. He kept looking for someone, calling out their name. "Has anyone seen —?" I passed a plaque and stopped to read about the steamboat General Slocum.

On 15 June 1904, more than 1,300 people boarded the steamship on the lower east side for an outing at Locust Grove on Long Island Sound. They departed at 9:30 am, under an air of excitement. Children jammed the upper decks to see all the sights. As the boat passed 90th street, smoke could be seen coming from below decks. People thought the flames were coming from the kitchen and paid it no mind. Attempts to put out the flames failed as the rotten hoses burst. The captain wasn't informed of the fire for a full ten minutes. By then it was too late; the fire raged out of control. The captain ordered the ship grounded as fire barges attempted to quelch the flames. Other boats that attempted to help caught fire.

Passengers donned life vests and leapt into the water. Unfortunately, they hadn't been recently examined, and the cork used for bouyancy had rotted and disintegrated. Unable to swim, most drowned. Bodies washed up on the shores of Astoria. 1,021 people had died.

A week after the disaster, President Roosevelt named a five-man commission to investigate. A scathing report was issued in October of that year placing the blame on the United States Steamboat Inspection Service. Dramatic reforms were drawn up and put into place, leading to dramatic improvements in steamboat safety. And until the events of September 11th, it was the city's greatest disaster.

After reading the plaque, I looked out over the river, and noticed the swift current that churned the water near where I stood. People lay out in the park, children called out to each other just out of sight.

I kept walking north by northeast to the edge of the park and then turned to walk back to the subway. I had arranged to meet with Lillian back in Chinatown so she could lend me the last Harry Potter book. The train was waiting when I arrived at the last stop on the N line, and as I sat in a car, I gazed down over the area, and took in a mural recently pained down below.

Tomorrow, I hope to go further into Queens, to the Hermon A. MacNeil Park in a remote northwest corner of the borough. I have my book and a blanket, and I plan to sit and read and watch as airplanes come and go from Laguardia, just a few thousand feet across the water. Posted by eku at July 30, 2005 8:41 PM