A Bronx Tale

Since arriving here in New York, I have had the dubious pleasure of experiencing the hottest summer on record. This is not generally conducive to enjoying oneself, especially during stressful things like apartment hunts. Here's how it's gone.

Thursday I arrived at La Guardia to find my host, Jess, waiting for me in baggage claim with a Welcome sign. We returned to her apartment in Astoria, and despite my rather incapacitated state, I requested that we check out the Bronx immediately. She planned our route on the subway.

I at a certain point along the way, suggested we improvise. This was a bad, but hilarious, idea. We found ourselves lost in the vastness of the Bronx, on the wrong side of the park, and for a while, walking along the expressway. After what seemed like hours, we made it to Little Italy, and even up to Fordham:

This is merely a residence hall, but it was exciting to 

find it nonetheless.

We successfully made it back to Queens using a more acceptable route, and developed a plan of attack for the following day.

Friday, we made it to Little Italy by around 10:30 am. The first step in our plan was to meet a man named Al at his shoe store, Steppin' Out. Al immediately offered us espresso, and then took us on a tour of his apartments and the neighborhood.  The apartment he most wanted me to see was $250 above the top of my price range, but looked like this:

Well, part of it looked like this. The rest was awful 

nice, too.

Chagrined by the expense, Jess and I wandered. I called every number on every building, and got almost no answers. The answers I got typically involved pricetags of $1500 or more.  Then, all of a sudden, one company wanted to talk to me. They put me in touch with the owner of a famous ravioli shop called Borgatti's, and I went to see the place.  A mere $950, the unit was on an upper floor above the shop, and was larger than my current apartment in Portland. A sense of the place:

Proximity to campus.

Living room area, from the kitchen.

Kitchen area, from the living room. Eventually, there will be a stove.

bedroom/front room mini-bay window.

I talked to all the right people with regard to the apartment, and set up an appointment for Monday to talk more. 

Then, Jess and I had fun. We went out for restaurant week and had a three course meal, got caught in a thunderstorm and ran/danced 20 blocks to the bar where we were meeting my friends, and stayed out late bar hopping.

Saturday and Sunday were fairly low-key, because of the heat. I spent a lot of time in air-conditioned spaces or eating.

This morning, I woke up to make my appointment in the Bronx, and would have been fine had the subway not cheated me out of a river-crossing. The B train stopped in Harlem and turned around (I had earphones in so didn't hear the announcement) despite my assurance that rush-hour trains went all the way up. I wound up getting off the B ten blocks south of its final destination, and running the ten blocks back north to catch the D. I then proceeded to disembark at 183rd street, because the location of my appointment was also on 183rd street. 

However: 183rd street did not go through from where I was to where I needed to be, and I was already 15 minutes late. Slightly panicked, I started running.  The fine residents of the Bronx were witness to a crazy little white girl running through their neighborhood in Chuck Taylors and a skirt,* and probably had some very strange ideas about my reasons for running.

I made it to the office, however, and the people were not in the least disturbed by my lateness. The apartment, after about an hour of paperwork, became mine. I have keys and everything.  I immediately celebrated by buying an iced coffee and an Italian pastry, and climbing the many flights of stairs to my new home:

On my very own linoleum floor.

Task: complete. On to the next one.

Notes:

* Well, some of them did. Because I am out of shape, I could only really run for about three blocks at a time. The rest of them saw a sweaty, wheezing crazy little white girl.