It was a damp(じめじめした) evening in March 1966 when thecharter bus(貸し切りバス) I was on pulled into Midtown Manhattan. The rain had stopped, and the air was heavy.
I was 15 and part of a group of teenagers on a visit to New York City from central North Carolina, accompanied by several chaperones(付き添い).
The trip was to include visits to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, an Easter show at Radio City Music Hall and a day at the U.N.
Tired after a 12-hour ride, we hurried off the bus and into the hotel lobby.
Remarkably, after we had unloaded(荷物を降ろす) our bags, we were allowed to go out for an hour to explore the area, bound(~という制限の下に) only by the admonition(忠告) to stay with a tour mate.
It was an hour of sheer(全くの) magic. As I walked outside through the hotel’s revolving door, my senses were deluged(押し寄せる) by the sounds, the smells, the lights.
The sidewalks were crowded. People hurrying by spoke in melodious foreign languages. Cars and taxis sped past, sounding their horns. Street vendors(露天商) hawked(行商する) goods displayed on blankets spread on the sidewalk and sold steaming hot chestnuts from carts.
The traffic lights and pedestrian crossing signals were reflected in the wet pavement. Neon signs blinked(点滅する) from storefronts.
Window displays teemed with(~でいっぱいである) jewelry, garish(けばけばしい) clothes and souvenirs. Restaurants and diners beckoned(手招きする) with the aroma of freshly made food.
Mesmerized(魅せられて見たり聞いたりするのが止められない), I vowed(誓う) that someday I would live in New York City.
Time passed; life happened(いろいろなことがあった). Occasional visits to the city reinforced(強固にする) its charms.
Finally, on March 1, 2016, retired, downsized(小型化する) and decluttered(片付ける), I got off an Amtrak train at Penn Station and caught a cab for my new home in the West Village, fulfilling a dream 50 years deferred(延期する).
It was a damp evening in March 1966 when the charter bus I was on pulled into Midtown Manhattan. The rain had stopped, and the air was heavy.
I was 15 and part of a group of teenagers on a visit to New York City from central North Carolina, accompanied by several chaperones.
The trip was to include visits to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, an Easter show at Radio City Music Hall and a day at the U.N.
Tired after a 12-hour ride, we hurried off the bus and into the hotel lobby.
Remarkably, after we had unloaded our bags, we were allowed to go out for an hour to explore the area, bound only by the admonition to stay with a tour mate.
It was an hour of sheer magic. As I walked outside through the hotel’s revolving door, my senses were deluged by the sounds, the smells, the lights.
The sidewalks were crowded. People hurrying by spoke in melodious foreign languages. Cars and taxis sped past, sounding their horns. Street vendors hawked goods displayed on blankets spread on the sidewalk and sold steaming hot chestnuts from carts.
The traffic lights and pedestrian crossing signals were reflected in the wet pavement. Neon signs blinked from storefronts.
Window displays teemed with jewelry, garish clothes and souvenirs. Restaurants and diners beckoned with the aroma of freshly made food.
Mesmerized, I vowed that someday I would live in New York City.
Time passed; life happened. Occasional visits to the city reinforced its charms.
Finally, on March 1, 2016, retired, downsized and decluttered, I got off an Amtrak train at Penn Station and caught a cab for my new home in the West Village, fulfilling a dream 50 years deferred.