EMPTY AMERICA: New York

New York officially ranks in my top 3 of must eerie places to visit. I was dreading going in and thought “Ok, I’ll pop in, mostly stay in my car, and just zip in and out.” I was scared to hit one of my favorite cities in the whole world. This was at the zenith of its woes (at least as of this writing).


Driving into it from Jersey the city did look beautiful. The skyline was lit up, every building aglow. It made sense. Everyday was in their homes just as it had gotten dark. The self-quarantine was real.


The city was, and pardon the expression, dead. I knew this going in because the Lincoln Tunnel was 100% traffic free. I could’ve sped or gone at a snail’s pace without fear of retribution from other drivers. It’s a stunning tunnel to speed through.


When I got into the city I was gobsmacked at the lack of traffic, the missing taxis and Ubers. The only cars out, for the most part, were police and emergency response vehicles, either cruising around or parked throughout the city. I felt wrong being there.


I parked in Hell’s Kitchen on the border of Times Square. I had to see Times Square.


This is where I paused, scared. For the first time on this trip I didn’t want to get out of my car. I don’t know if it was the news that had scared me or maybe because I felt disrespectful being there, but I had to psych myself up to get out of my car. I had imagined that the virus was like the mist from the Stephen King novel. As if, as soon as I got out of my car and took a breath, the air would be thick with coronavirus. I truly felt like I was in the belly of the beast, in the thick of the outbreak.


I sat there for while and marveled at the lack of people. New York is crowded, even on the latest of nights in the middle of the week. There was nobody. Not a soul around me.


There were cars though. Tons of cars. All parked on the streets. I don’t know if parking fines had been lifted (as was the case in Los Angeles) but there was nowhere for anybody to go so the curbsides were packed with vehicles. It’s almost as if the normal populace had been turned into cars and placed there. Tons of cars, not a person to be seen.


I got ready, bundled up as it was cold, put on my face mask, doused exposed areas in hand sanitizer and made my way a few blocks over to Times Square.


By this point, we have all seen the pictures. It’s empty. Shut down. All stores were closed but yet all lights still on. There was some security presence and the regular handful of homeless people, but nothing else. Gates were up, chains were placed around anything that could be moved. No need to wait for traffic signals (which is usual in New York, but now you didn’t even have to look for cars).


Times Square, this beacon of energy and centerpiece of the most crowded city in the world was quiet. You could hear someone talking from a few blocks away. The lights were bright and happy, but it rang hollow.


I was able to get a picture of the north and south (east and west?) of Times Square from the center of the street without even looking over my shoulder for a car. It felt heavy, sad, poignant. Governor Cuomo’s message had obviously gotten through.


This is a city where you don’t want to stay in your tiny apartment, where you’re just out, all the time, where the buzz and hustle is real and tangible and constant.


To see it quiet rattled me.


I hurriedly got back into my car and drove around the streets for a while. I didn’t get out of my car again but rather shot pictures and video through my window. I didn’t want to get out. It felt wrong being there.


To be the only car on the streets in a city the size of fullness of New York should have been fun to be able to zip around. It was the opposite of that. I just wanted to leave.


I headed over to Brooklyn, which took me a whole 20 minutes from the center of Chelsea and it was much of the same.


I’m glad I went. Going to New York was the goal, the Far East end-point, but I could not get out of there fast enough.


I headed north to Boston, shook and saddened by the experience...