Hitchhiking Adventures – Part 14

At the Bus stop

We wanted to take the bus, but we didn't have any change, which you need if you want to take the bus in New York in 1994. I don't remember why. We were standing at the bus stop and I asked somebody if he could change money. "Yeah sure, hold on. Where are you guys from? From Germany, wow, here's my music tape, I'll give it to you, we're going on tour in Germany soon."

On the lawn in Central Park

Somehow we got to talking to each other, in the USA it's easier than here in Europe. He was probably in his early twenties, dark curly hair, sitting cross-legged on the lawn of the famous Central Park. He talked to me for minutes about his film project. It was about bubbles, colours and swirls. That was his plan.

The flat share

We lived with three young women in the flat share. Actually, there was also a young man who lived there, but we only met him briefly because he was a flautist on his way to Europe and could only say goodbye. One of our host was working for an eco-chacolate-company.

In the park

We sat in a small park on a small wall that went all the way round, with a diameter of maybe 20 metres, not quite round but rather oval. Inside there was sand ... a huge sandbox. There were a few people sitting on our side and also on the other side and in between. Suddenly someone from the other side started swearing at us, from our side the first ones started swearing back. More and more people joined in, and at some point everyone, probably about 40 people, was shouting and swearing at each other and having incredible fun doing it.

Black sleeping in the hotel

First I met a Native American, we went through the city together, then a Spanish artist joined us. While the Native American earned his living selling drugs, our spanish friend had just come from Mexico, where he had painted a church with children. We spent the day together and since both the Native and I didn't know where to sleep, the Spanish artist smuggled us into his hotel room for the night.

The social worker from Haarlem

A friend had given me her phone number and luckly, it worked out, we met for coffee in Manhattan. She was in her late 20s, working as a social worker in Haarlem. I don't know if I had ever met such an energetic person before. She was unbelievably positive and gushed when she talked. She explained the American peculiarities associated with the daily soaps on TV in an incredibly funny way, so that I still remember it 27 years later. Unfortunately, I had already the ideas to leave New York the next day, but she said: "You'll come back to New York in three months, before you leave home. Then you'll stay with me in Haarlem and I'll always walk a few metres behind you and amuse myself how the people on the street react to you as a white person." Unfortunately, when I arrived back in New York, she was on holiday.

Unfortunately I did not meet him

The year before I had met a New Yorker. He was about 30 years old and actually from the Caribbean and stunningly handsome. Of course he was also a kind of an artist. He had his own little agency and decorated parties for the super-rich in their mansions. And he told me that he would then also always go to the parties to see if everything was going well and to hand out his business cards. He said that when I came to New York, I could work for him and go to the parties with him. Unfortunately, when I actually came to New York the next year, he wasn't reachable.

The two artists from New York

They were on the road in their old van in the vastness of Canada. They drove around with their art installations, which they presented in different cities. The van was so incredibly old and broken, especially the brakes didn't work properly anymore. Luckily, we were driving on an eternally long and straight highway in Saskatchewan. Every now and then, however, we would come to an intersection and then both of them would feverishly think hundreds of metres beforehand whether they should brake and whether the traffic light would turn red. As often happens in the US and Canada, you get invited. When you're in New York, you can stay with us. When I actually got back to New York, neither of them could be reached. I had tried to call them several times. Finally I had my flight back to Germany. I had already checked in when I tried to call them again, at least to say goodbye. Now they were there and told me to stay with them for a few more days. I was torn, but then I got on the plane home.

The city Indian

For a long time we sat chatting with an old Indian on one of those typical New York front steps. Then, around two o'clock in the morning, he said he had something to show us. We walked through the city, we were on the road for ages. Then we were there. We had reached our destination. We were standing in front of an old people's home. He said, "Just a moment, we're about to start," and then it happened. In the two trees in front of the old people's home, loudspeakers went on with birdsong, at five o'clock sharp, or was it four? That´s what the old indian wanted to show us, and that why he walked with us at least for two hours through the night.

Finally normal people

I was on the bus from Chicago back to New York, coincidentally behind an exchange student from Germany who was on his way back to his host-family in New York. He invited me to stay with them for the night, which was great because we arrived in Big Apple at night and, as usual, I had no plan.

His host parents were very nice and yes finally, I met New Yorkers with a normal job. She was a nurse, he was a nurse. Then they showed me the last folk record they had recorded. Again artists. So, still no "normal" people after all.