I had tickets to see a rather odd show in Jersey City and a friend of mine was willing to take part. I was already prepared to make the trek, and this made it easier to pull the trigger on.
So I made my usual jaunt from the Metro North Train to Grand Central Station, and settled into my unusual accommodations at the quirky Jane Hotel in the West Village.
Formerly accommodations for merchant marines: The Jane has since become something of an antiquated party place for bohemians and singles, as well as European travelers and folks on a budget. I managed to tie a pretty good one on exploring the West Village and the Literary haunts of the likes of Dylan Thomas, Jack Kerouac, Jim Morrison and others at the historic White Horse Tavern.
After the crazy party that followed back at the hotel: I woke up alone in my very tiny room, not quite sure where I was. By the sound of the city outside... I quickly realized I was in Manhattan.
I stumble down the back stairs, half-awake, looking for coffee... and discovered this opulant, elegant room with nobody in it.
(These walls do actually talk)
The rest of my
adventure was more of the same: exploring
and sampling the sights, sounds, and tastes of Greenwich Village. Despite all of the walking and reveling I did, I barely scratch the surface. That did nothing to take care of the itch that persists, and Summer has not even arrived yet... so I anticipate I will be back before my next Summer trek to Greensboro, Vermont.