Читать книгу The Seven Year-Old Pilot - Capt. Steven Archille - Страница 7

The streets and sights of Manhattan proved endlessly fascinating to me, and it turns out, our neighborhood had much more to offer than just that scary-looking metallic church. There were many Brownstone style homes around us, and the East River was nearby. In Times Square, Midtown, and Downtown, there were the most unbelievably tall buildings I had ever seen. Mom would often take Betty and me on walks around the neighborhood and the city to explore, to eat, and to visit friends and some relatives who had also emigrated from Haiti. One of my favorite things about my new city was all the new food I got to taste for the first time, like pizza and hotdogs served by street vendors. Like many Caribbean islands, the staple diet in Haiti had consisted primarily of rice and beans; rice and beans with chicken, rice and beans with beef, rice and beans with goat meat etc, all of which I still loved, but it was nice to have some new options.

Mom sometimes took us to the Burger King where she worked and bought Whoppers, or to McDonald’s for Big Macs. I was very familiar with both places having seen their commercials many times from my hours spent watching television. While we walked to McDonald’s, I would sing the jingles I had learned, which also helped me remember the menu: “Big Mac, fillet o’ fish, quarter pounder, french fries, icy coke, thick shakes, sundaes and apple pies, you deserve a break today, at McDonald’s!”. As I said, I watched a LOT of television).

The first time I ate spaghetti and meatballs, I couldn’t believe how much fun food could be. I loved the way the spaghetti twirled around my fork, and I slurped it, getting the sauce all over my clothes. Tasting and eating all these new foods was a way for me to adjust to my new surroundings. Looking back on it now, I think that my ease with and willingness to try all kinds of new food was me not only adjusting to my new city but, also to the idea that I would be traveling all over the world one day, tasting and eating different kinds of food. I have always found it funny when people travel to strange new places only to seek out food that they can find at home. I guess I have an adventurous stomach. To this day, I enjoy being a “gastronomic tourist” wherever I may roam, which over the years has led to me eat some rather interesting things, from cow’s tongue in Paris to mutton brains in India.

The sheer size of the city (along with the astounding number of people, cars, trucks, and buses) was mind-blowing. It made Port-au-Prince seem like a quaint little village. The city was vibrant, loud, and full of motion and activity. My first experiences on the subway were unforgettable. Having never gone underground before, the subway system was nothing short of a marvel. Dad left shortly after breakfast each morning to go drive the streets of the city in his taxi and would not return until late at night, which meant that it would usually be Mom, Betty, and I exploring the city together. I was astonished to find that there was a whole other city underground. How was this even possible, how did they build all this? I wondered.

As was the case above ground, the underground city offered a feast for my eyes and ears. I heard the metal subway car wheels screeching to a halt at the stations and musicians playing their instruments for spare change. I saw posters, advertisements, and graffiti on the walls. I heard the muffled voices of the conductors coming from the subway car speakers as we arrived at each station. It was endlessly fascinating. I wondered how Mom and everyone else knew where they were going down there. Studying the subway map inside the cars did little to answer that question, as it seemed there were too many subway lines to make sense of, yet somehow each time we left the underground city and ascended into the city above, we were exactly where we were supposed to be.