The NYC trip is seen as something of a rite of passage at Waterloo Architecture. It is the subject of much first-year fantasizing and starry-eyed chatter, beginning with an email from Donna and finally blooming to life during that first groggy step off the coach bus. First-timer in the Big Apple or not, every student returns from the five-day affair with stories – on tour and off tour; during the day; in the sleepless hours after dark.
Here is a collection of student-produced photographs, sketches, and five-sentence passages that offers a vivid and multidimensional look at the 1A New York City experience:
Photo: Mitchell Martyn
My appetite grew. Hunger for lights, breaking rules, sex. I’m a tourist, a native New Yorker with a horrible accent. I belong here when I don’t. Often times I’m apologizing to them. Smiles are not reciprocated because they barely sleep. I don’t love but I love New York.
– Hagop Terzian
Photo: Ien Boodan (http://flickr.com/photos/j4k0d15)
What is this quintessence of dust, I thought. I stood on the shore and let the tide wash my shoes, though I could feel nothing but the wind. The sound of crashing waves replaced the indistinct chatter of some eight million blurry faces. I wrote a poem in the sand that, by morning, like me, would be gone. No proof of having been; invisible; forgiving.
– Ien Boodan
New Yorkers are impolite, loud, dirty and obnoxious. The city is too. All attractions are rip offs. I like New York. I think I’d fit in.
– Kelsey Malott
Photo: Ien Boodan (http://flickr.com/photos/j4k0d15)
We ordered gnocchi and roasted eggplant for takeout. It was a cool evening but the brick oven warmed the crowded, tiny restaurant to an excess. She was the only waitress working that shift. After exchanging thanks when the food arrived, I wished her a good evening. Her face broke into a brief smile.
– Jeff So
Photo: Joshua MacDonald
The tour group must be far ahead by now. We weave between gleaming columns and tweed suits, searching every corner. We search until we find it. The golden walls cast a glow on all the facets of my face. I smile and I sigh as I take a dump in the Waldorf-Astoria.
– Bianca Weeko Martin
Photo: Jeff So
I can smell the sweat of the people around me. In fact, I see beads forming on the forehead of the man next to me. It’s a strange type of humid down here. I felt the warmth the moment I took the stairs down to the subway platform. The moment I reach the stairs at my destination, the cool air of New York will fill my lungs, relieving me from the staleness of the subway.
– Elizabeth Lenny
Sketch: Justin Ng
Metropolitan city boiled down into a melting pot. Subway stations were sweltering hot. Ate dollar slice pizzas and chicken over rice for six bucks. I used my tongue to tear the skin hanging from the roof of my mouth. Each block was a maze and the streets were filled with villains and freaks.
– James Liu
Open my throat. Force the coffee down, slow. Listen to lies. Breathe illusions.
New York is a mirage.
– Mayuri Paranthahan
Hot dog stands, busy traffic, suits and skyscrapers. All of this disappeared the moment I was 70 stories up in the air at the top of the Rockefeller. I was a tourist like no other with a camera hung around my neck trying to capture the best shot, viewing New York through a camera lens. For the first time I put away my camera, letting the cold crisp air touch every inch of my body.
– Jasdeep Multani
Photo: Angus Emery Dunn
Hungover and swaying in the autumn chill, thoughts were washing over me at a slow delicious pace. As we splayed on the steps of the Lincoln building for Rick’s talk, I could hear snippets of someone playing ‘Meditation’ from Thais. The sound lead me to the corner of the square to a man in a suit with a violin. When I got near to him the city, the wind, and my hunger stopped. The sun stroked my shoulders, a tide moved within me and the melody hit my spine.
– Martha Trivett
Sitting at night in Lincoln Square, a quiet spot in a noisy city, I wind down from all the tension of the day. The glowing amber lights from the Performing Arts Center are reflected on a pool at the center of the square. While a contrasting cool light from the moon casts unusually harsh shadows. Looking towards where the moon should be; I stop. It was but a row of powerful spotlights shining down.
– Vincent Min
Photo: Vincent Min
As we approached the bus stop, he leered. She was younger by eleven years, older than me by one, and she looked up at him like he knew every important thing. On the bus, he amused himself with her petty dramas, egging her on without ever really listening. Seeing him eyeing us, she faltered in her story. We wondered when the age spread crosses over into perversion.
– Kelsey Dawson
Photo: Ron Adriano
The saying describing New York as ”The city that never sleeps” is evidently true because no one ever wants to sleep there. With each day this metropolis bursting at its seams with opportunity brings hope, a future, amazement, a laugh, and inspiration to many. I wake up early eager to see what lies ahead in the day and night to come. A feast for all senses as my friends and I cross the city from one neighbourhood to the next. The charm of carefully curated shops in Soho make my heart melt, later the cheese on my artichoke pizza makes my heart nearly stop. The experiences one has in New York are among some of the best there can be and is why I can barely sleep when I’m there.
– Michelle Sprackman
Photo: Elizabeth Lenny
When we arrived, all the lights for all the rides were off. Only one beacon of light remained in front of a pier. We passed by a 60’s-esque diner with three employees serving chili cheese dogs to no one in particular. The empty pier drew us in overtop the blackness below. We turned around to see Coney Island, only a shell of its daytime glory.
– Angus Emery Dunn
The twin black marble waterfalls are truly breathtaking. Tour groups and kids on field trips amble around, snapping photos, some leaning absent-mindedly on the name of the deceased. Beyond the incessant buzz there is a powerful serenity in the sound of the cascading water, flowing serenely into the heart of a place marked by such loss and devastation. A man sits on a nearby bench, eyes closed, so completely still. One name had recently been scrubbed clear of dust and debris: Jennifer L. Howley and Her Unborn Child.
– Genna Kalvaitis
Photo: Saadman Ahmed
$300. Times Square is bright; I forget what stars look like, my arms are heavy with bags. $160. I bite into my eel, for once I actually hear Japanese in the Japanese restaurant. $120. The streets in lower east side manhattan are tiny compared to downtown, hidden like the thrift shops and surplus stores it offers. They say traveling is a priceless experience but New York would disagree.
– Eric Oh
