Walking Around: Riding The Global Local

The former Speaker of the House, Tip O'Neill, used to say that "All politics are local." At Thirdgarage, we would add, "and all local politics are now global." Fortunately for us, the best way to find out about these things is by eating as many local meals as possible.

Last week I rode the mostly elevated Number 7 train from GCT (Grand Central Terminal for you bumpkins) into Queens. This is not your grandmother's #7 IRT line. Queens Plaza is beginning to look like Shanghai's Pudong area. The Rawson and Lowery stations have been spruced up with stained glass!

But, nobody can change the slow curving path the #7 takes on the early part of its journey through Queens. The wheels still screech and the train leans into numerous curves, almost touching the buildings as it meanders generally eastward like a steel boat tacking in the wind.

I hopped off at 74th & Roosevelt to walk to the next station, 82nd St. My grandfather took me to a shop somewhere near there to buy my first bicycle ( a 24"Bauer German racer). Today, it would be easier for us to buy a bici, find a notario, or obtain a divorcio.


I consider this to be an excellent development, although I strongly suspect that my grandfather, who as Tax Commissioner knew every inch of this area, would not agree.

I continued my journey on the #7 to Main St. Flushing, as eager as any tourist aboard the Paris metro or London underground. The Latino faces turned quickly into faces that could draw a map of Asia, particularly China. Arriving at Main St. & Roosevelt, I could have been in Hong Kong or Seoul, instead of Bogata' or Caracas. If Columbus had taken the #7, he could have discovered the Americas and reached the "Indies."

Suggestion: grab your fork & chopsticks and go sample Main St.'s delicious kiosk and street-cart charcoaled lamb on a stick, large pork dumplings, thinny-thin noodles with hot sauce, and scallion pancakes, all for about a $1 each. Also, try a curious looking orange fruit (above left), which has the consistency of an apple and tastes like a sweet melon, 7 for a $1. Not to mention "purple" corn, also a buck.

If you're in the mood for a massage, don't worry; you will receive many invitations to have one, and, who knows,  some of them may even really turn out to be a regular massage.

Riding the #7 and walking the streets of Jackson Heights and Flushing, I had to ask myself once more: despite our current deep national funk, why do millions of immigrants still board boats/trains/trucks, make stunning sacrifices by leaving their native lands & families to get here? Why are they still willing to work hard at jobs which would cause many of us to faint at the thought of doing them?

Why do people still flock to the land of deficits, dummies and dough-boys & girls?

Happily, it's going to take many more train rides and strolls, not to mention dumplings and lamb sticks,  to find some reasonable answers to that question.

Ed Note: As part of our Walking Around series, we recommend reading Matsuo Basho's Narrow Road To The Interior, Shambala Centaur Editions, translated by Sam Hamill. Basho, Japan's greatest haiku poet, wandered 17th Century Japan and left us one of the world's great travel books.