raffertyesque

It seems like every time I go somewhere new in Brooklyn that I’ve already been there. Which is weird, because I never go to Brooklyn. But when I do, apparently it’s always to the same neighborhood. Which is weird, because it isn’t.

On those rare occasions when there is a Brooklyn trip on the agenda, I’ll look at the destination on the subway map and say to myself: “this should be interesting, I’ve never been there before.” Then I’ll pack a lunch and some overnight gear, make sure my affairs are in order, say goodbye to my loved ones, and get on the subway (you can never be too careful when Brooklyn is involved).

Invariably when I get off the train, I’ll walk out of the subway station and say to myself “I’ve totally been here before, what the fuck, Brooklyn?” This happens every time.

Okay, maybe not every time. Once in a while, I’ll actually wind up some place new and be like “All right, great job Brooklyn, I haven’t seen this part of you before.” But then I will walk two blocks in one direction or another and I’ll recognize where I am and we’ll be back at “WTF, Brooklyn?”

Queens is the largest borough of New York, but since most of Queens is uninhabitable due to a termite infestation, Brooklyn is effectively the largest borough, so you’d think it would take the most time to explore. As it turns out, though, apparently that is not the case. I’ve got Brooklyn all figured out. Hipsters, rollercoasters, coffee roasters. Done.

My uncanny sense of direction no doubt plays a role in Brooklyn’s doneness. A while back, I was actually walking around in an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn. At least I thought it was unfamiliar, but then my Spidey-sense kicked in and I immediately knew where I was. “There’s a bar where I saw the oldest Hanson brother perform with James Iha and the drummer from Cheap Trick on the next block,” I said. And sure enough, that bar was on the next block. I hadn’t been there in years, but I immediately knew where I was. Taylor Hanson will do that to you.

I keep talking about Brooklyn, but Brooklyn is really a stand-in for any city. Like Fargo in Fargo, or Metropolis in Metropolis, or, uh, Manhattan in, umm, Manhattan, each city is a unique snowflake, just like you and me. Cities are alive. Sometimes with termites.

I said I’ve got Brooklyn figured out, but nobody has Brooklyn figured out. Even the 114 year-old Jewish dude who’s been living in the same rent-controlled apartment in Crown Heights his whole life. He sees something new every day. Every day that he leaves his apartment, anyway. (That six floor walkup hasn’t been fun for him since the 1970s.)

He sees neighborhoods shift from the wrong side of the tracks to the right. From boring businesses into hip hangouts. From places you wouldn’t be caught dead to places where you’d probably be found dead if you weren’t careful. And again, we’re not just talking about Brooklyn here, any city will suffice.

During my brief tenure as ein Berliner in college, I learned a lot about cities. I had never lived in a city before. There was a cornfield across the street from my house growing up. At first, Berlin seemed impossibly large. I’d have no idea where I was, then I’d hop on the subway, pop back up above ground elsewhere and still have no idea where I was. The fact that everything was in some weird moon man language wasn’t helping.

One day though, I decided to start taking buses instead of the subway, and that’s when everything came together. Previously disparate locations started melding together as I watched them pass by. Oh, that’s where das Kaufhaus is. Oh, that’s where the Brandenburger Tor is. Oh, that’s where my apartment is. I’ve been looking for that. Suddenly, Berlin seemed much smaller, no bigger than the cornfield across the street… which, admittedly, is a gigantic cornfield. Berlin-sized, apparently.

It was a similar experience when I moved to New York City. At first, the City seemed enormous. Rightfully so. But once you take all of those superfluous “boroughs” out of the equation, it’s just Manhattan. And Manhattan is tiny. Throw a rock and you’ll hit a Starbucks. Turn around, throw another rock, and you’ll hit New Jersey.

It all comes back to cities being alive. (With termites.)

Cities are like people, and moving to a city is like getting to know someone new. At first, you know nothing about them. Slowly, you learn more about them, though. First you learn its different neighborhoods. You get to know downtown, you find out what neighborhoods are cool and which ones to stay away from. Then you get to know individual streets within neighborhoods. The lines of demarcation. Then you get to know individual blocks. Eventually you get to know each individual building, you start to notice even when little things change. When a store opens or closes, when scaffolding is put up or taken down, when the homeless guy who hangs out at your subway station gets new sneakers.

I “know” Brooklyn in the same way I “know” my neighbors. As in, I know their names and where they live. That’s it. I “know” Brooklyn in that every time I get off the subway I whine that “I’ve already seeeeeen this beforrrrrrre.” But I’m just recognizing streets. Quiz me on blocks and buildings and I’m lost. Brooklyn could easily sass me back: “You don’ know me, you ain’ from here, son” (apparently Brooklyn is latino in my mind).

Point is, as much as you think you know someone— or somewhere— there’s still more to learn. And the more you find out, the more you’ll appreciate them. Or it.

Unless it is Queens. Watch out for Queens.