Our last visit two years ago was in later winter, traces of snow lingered on the ground and the air was bitingly crisp. This time around, blossoms and people competed for attention and a space which, as I have said before, is so insipid in a way that one seeks inspirational sights on the nearby shores of Manhattan and Queens.
Manhattan is saturated and only manages to grow upwards, a spiky architectural statement emerging from the foam of lower buildings now and then. I did not actually photograph one this time, and the UN doesn’t count – it is ancient. Green space is crammed into every available corner and the island seems to ooze vegetation through random spots, as though foliage was forced out by inner steel and concrete pressures.
Queen’s Long Island City, however, is still exploding, its landscape reshaped by gentrification on an annual basis. The very interesting Gantry Plaza Park has been steadily reconverting waterfront space but the Pepsi sign remains, testament to the old days and lost prestige.
The tram well, the tram is the tram. Red. Swiss-looking. Packed on weekends and probably weekdays too as a commute element. MTA metrocard as only payment method. If only it rose to l’Aiguille du Midi, above Chamonix, I would be in heaven.
Uninspired pictures of an uninspiring place. Or maybe it was just me. You win some and lose some.