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April 29, 2006
New York, New York
On August 31st last year, we arrived here on Platina. We sailed under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, past the Statue of Liberty, past Battery Park and Wall Street, and up the Hudson River. We spent 6 weeks here. At that time, we never imagined that we would be LIVING here!
And so here we are. As Chis' parents put it, simply, yesterday in an email:
"Welcome home".
Immigration was easier than expected. The lawyers had prepared a sheer 5 pounds of material to present with Chis’ L1 visa application. My application was about 4 pages, most of which was stuff that proved our “domestic partner” status in the US, which is not legally recognized. The lawyers wound us up by suggesting that it would depend on the mood of the Immigration officer whether they would let me in. We were told to get to Pearson 4 hours before our flight (flying through Pearson airport, you clear US Customs & Immigration before getting on the plane). We were through in less than an hour. Chis got his L1 visa for 3 years, and I got my B2 visa for 1 year. Chis can work (and pay tax). I cannot work.
Our living plans seem simple. Hotel first. Find a furnished short-term rental quickly. Then shop for a long-term place to buy or rent.
The Hilton Midtown has been a comic experience. The taxi from Laguardia barfed us onto the curb at the hotel, with our overstuffed oversized duffle bags and backpacks. I walked into the lobby in search of some assistance. The bellman told me in true New Yorker style “doorman”. Thinking I had heard “do it yourself”, I asked politely, in my best Canadian “please, we have a lot of bags”. He had no idea that we were carrying our worldly possessions with us, having just moved off a boat in the Bahamas and lugged this crap through Mexico and Canada before arriving on his doorstep. He wouldn’t have believed the story if I had told him. Not in New York. “Two doorman” is what I got back.
No doorman. We dragged the bags through the door and into the lobby. We tried the automatic check-in, but the machine spat our credit card out and said “card declined”. Step into the twilight zone. We went to the desk. They checked us in (the credit card was fine), and finally a bellman helped with the bags. I think that when he saw Chis heave the heaviest duffle up onto his shoulders, teetered a bit, near the enormous flower vase behind him, they finally figured it was time to earn a tip. Of course, we were feeling less than generous at this point.
Off we went to the 31st floor to find our room. Chis opened the door to discover the room in tatters. Towels all over the place, lights on, clearly not cleaned yet. We went back to the lobby. Room #2, 7th floor. I walked in and was completely overwhelmed by the stink of cigarettes. Oh, no, this is not good. We marched back down to the front desk, becoming increasingly less Canadian and a little more New Yorker.
“The hotel is full”. Pardon, did you say “kiss my ass?”.
Yesterday, after a phone call to Franklin Templeton’s travel guru to complain (we never complain), and my temper tantrum in the lobby (it wasn’t really that bad), they gave us another room. Smaller than the others, but clean and no smell of cigarettes. So small that you almost break the window when you put the key in the door. The biggest of our duffle bags barely fit through the door.
On our arrival Thursday night, we were craving comfort food, like a big Ruth’s Chris steak. That’s exactly what we did. After we had looked at a few apartment rentals. Chis abstained from too much wine with dinner, saving himself for his drug test. A very quick procedure of peeing into a Dixie cup, it was over in a flash. No worries about passing or failing because I think even with Chis’ last cold he refused to take a thing. Pure as the driven snow.
I spent the middle part of Friday with an agent from Grenoble, France. She tested my French and we talked about places in France. I reminisced. She pined. She showed me a few apartments. I saw one that I really liked. Until she told me about the commission. We pay the commission, not the owner. A full month’s rent. Yeah, but we only want the place for a couple of months while we look for more permanent digs. She was not sympathetic. After all of our story-telling and French-speaking? Being “nice” in New York does not make you instant friends. Then, we stumbled on a wonderful French bistro. It was wonderful. Unbelievable food, great wine, and a wonderful French atmosphere. We felt like we had returned to La Rochelle.
Following drug tests, applications for Social Security and apartment hunting, Chis and I rendezvoused back in our teensy weensy hotel room. It was time to review and prioritize. What’s next, and then, and then…
A bank account. This seems easy. We picked Chase out of the myriad of logos plastered all over Manhattan. It was there, in the basement of Rockefeller Center, that we met Andrea, our new banker. She was great, and we had some laughs. We opened an account, got rigged for online banking, and left, feeling good about the $100 we deposited in our new bank account.
It was a day of accomplishments – a run in Central Park, a scour of half a dozen apartments, dry-cleaning, drug test, social security applications, new banking relationship, and a fabulous dinner. After dinner, we slipped through Starbucks for a chamomile tea, and wandered until we were tired (about a block).
Today is Saturday. A run in Central Park. Then a late breakfast at Astro Diner. We have one apartment to see before making a final decision (we think it may be a wee place on west 55th). Then, off to wander in search of our new home. Perhaps we will buy a big screen TV and live inside the box. It will cost us just as much as about half a month’s rent.
Posted by dave at April 29, 2006 08:36 PM