Feature story by Sarah Rayne
The Big Apple, Gotham, The City That Never Sleeps. New York City, a bustling hub of blended cultures and rich history, accommodates 8.5 million residents and 65 million tourists per year.
I have lived relatively out of the way for most of my life, sequestered in the humble town of Port Angeles, Washington, which hosts a population of around 30,000 people. Originally hailing from Seattle, I thought I knew what to expect from a big city; crowded sidewalks, impatient traffic, overpriced coffee, and the constant hum of hurried people traveling somewhere more important. However, the moment I stepped off the plane, the culture shock set in. If Seattle has crowded sidewalks, NYC has a full-contact pedestrian sport. If Seattle has impatient traffic, NYC has adopted honking as its citywide second language. If Seattle has overpriced coffee, NYC has overpriced everything, sold with enough confidence that you feel lucky to be buying it in the first place. And if Seattle is full of hurried people, NYC is the national capital of running five minutes late on purpose.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt claustrophobic and small. But Seattle did prepare me with one thing, perhaps out of place in Port Angeles, but a necessity in New York: a sense of overstimulated irritability that manifests in a resolve to keep moving.
Be patient, but not too patient. Be flexible. Do not lock yourself into your itinerary because it will change. Do not get discouraged because of a delayed subway, wrong stop or Apple Maps refusing to orient your path in the correct direction. It will all work out in the end if you just keep moving.
Consider the following reviews as a guide to surviving the beautiful sensory overload that is New York City. Learn from my victories, mistakes and overcritical opinions and maybe you will survive with less frustration than I did.
Part I: A Review of Hotel Edison
My first full day in New York, after a restless night in a very firm hotel bed, began with brown water.
I turned on my sink at approximately 6 in the morning to wash my face, and what came out was a dirty stream of murky nastiness. I was too tired to care and assumed this was merely the result of my room being long vacant prior to my arrival. If you have lived remotely before, or in a house that estate agents might refer to unctuously as having “old bones,” this might be a familiar issue. Pipes corrode sometimes, big deal. As my step-father might have said with a harsh pat on the shoulder, “It’s just iron! Your blood is made of that stuff, how could it hurt you?” I simply waited for the water to run clear and proceeded with my morning routine. If this happens to you, I would recommend calling downstairs and requesting a different room. I did not do this. Luckily, that was my first and last encounter with brown water at Hotel Edison. It’s up to you if the hygienic gamble is worth it.
Despite this, every day, as I did my makeup in front of the vanity mirror, and sang the same sentence over and over to the tune of Daft Punk’s Around the World, I relished these moments of calmness. It was easy to get hyped up in the mornings, because the bathroom was my favorite room. The only time I had to sit with my thoughts and reflect was at 6 AM, dancing on the heated floor and trying not to burn myself with my curling wand. I could even forgive the discolored sink water. It was cozy, bright and warm in there. It had a better view than the rest of the room, which faced the drab brick wall of the opposite wing of the hotel. In the bathroom, I could stare a beautiful woman in the face and remind her, “You’re in New York City. You’re here to make the most of each day. Go out and do it.”
Hotel Edison was built in 1931 and opened by Thomas Edison himself, a history I was mildly aware of, but only really thought about in retrospect after arriving home. I wonder how Mr. Edison would feel if he knew about the brown water. Would he care that my TV didn’t work or that I had to pay $10 (including automatic gratuity) for the hotel breakfast every morning? If he stayed there, he might invent three new devices before checkout: a water filter, a working television, and a way to avoid paying $22 for an extra order of hotel eggs.
If your personal luxuries are important to you, I would recommend staying at The Marriott. But if you care about efficiency and simply need somewhere to stay that faces Times Square, Hotel Edison will do just fine. But make sure you request a room that has been used recently, unless you prefer water that builds character.
Part II: A Review of Times Square
Times Square is like a glowing canyon of billboards and advertisements, the Capitalist Capitol of the United States. It feels like the sun has been replaced with LED screens and the stars with corporate logos. You’ll want to stop and observe, but this is when it’s important to keep moving. Most canyons have gone long dry, but this one is overflowing with people.
I didn’t realize how particular Washingtonians are about their personal bubble before venturing into Times Square on my own. People dart in front of you, right up next you, bumping and brushing you without even realizing it. You will learn quickly that people do not slow down for you. They flow around you like water around a rock, and if you linger too long, you simply become part of the obstacle course. Everyone made it seem so normal that I felt like the rude one for being bothered by it, and maybe I was. In order to avoid as many uncomfortable bumps as possible, it’s important to move with the flow, or to create your own. I constantly felt like a salmon swimming upstream. I didn’t always know where I was going, and sometimes I just looped around the Square so I could take it all in.
The pungent smell of marijuana permeated almost everywhere in the Square, and oddly, made me feel more at home. It was like a little piece of Washington I always had with me. I never enjoyed it until now. Sometimes, when you grow up with parents who smoke cigarettes, the smoke can tug at your nostalgia later in life, and almost trick you into finding it sweet or pleasant. Similarly, the marijuana smell brought me back to my home state, and long drives past tangy groweries.
It was a truly unique and beautiful experience. The glimmers of the billboards shine down on you, attracting every street vendor like moths to a spotlight. You feel important for simply existing in the heart of it all, empowered and independent. I got really good at saying no to people, merchants and the like, a skill that I developed quickly there, but never possessed at home. Maybe staring at Doechii’s perfect face on the Levi’s ad two hundred times bigger than me made it easy to realize how small everyone really is.
Part III: A Review of the Local Asian Food
Being biracial has always been central to who I am. On my mom’s side, I’m Korean, which means that growing up, my home lunches were practically performance art, judged by classmates for their aromatic smells or specific textures. Now, Korean culture is everywhere. I can’t help obsessing over the newfound presence of Kpop, Korean dramas, and Korean street food that I didn’t see anywhere as a child. I had a white friend tell me once that Korean barbecue was “spiritual” for them, and I had to nod and think, “Yeah… You’re telling me. Welcome to the club. We’ve been here since forever.” But this isn’t just a trend or novelty to me, it’s my tradition, and I hold it close. I’m fiercely protective of the memories, flavors, and rituals that shaped me. Even though it brings me joy to see more and more Americans embracing aspects of my culture I used to be made fun of for participating in, there is some level of dissonance in being mainstreamed.
All of which is why discovering a hole-in-the-wall Asian food spot feels like finding a diamond in plain sight. Not polished for instagram or branded for tourists, Yama Ramen Shop was technically a Japanese restaurant, but to my surprise, had many Korean fusion dishes I was excited to try. Off 47th Street, adjacent to Times Square, the only clue that this place existed was a small sign propped on the street, pointing to a doorway with a skinny staircase leading up two floors. I was with two fellow Buc reporters, Lovis and Gavin, after a four-hour stint walking around The Natural History Museum. Fatigued and deeply in need of sustenance, we still managed to be the most indecisive people in the world. “What kind of food are you in the mood for?” “I have no preference.” “I’m okay with anything.” We couldn’t even muster up an opinion. That’s how you know we were tired.
I basically ran into the sign on the walk home from the subway, and our decision was made for us.
After being seated, I was quickly disappointed when the waiter brought our water. Room temp. Ice in New York? Never. I started to wonder, is it a West Coast thing? A white person thing? Or just a cruel prank played on tourists who are too far removed from local culture to call them on it? Either way, the water was undrinkable. That was a red flag in my book, but I kept quiet.
When the food came, after a short wait, I was pleasantly surprised. I ordered a bulgogi donburi, which is a Japanese rice bowl, but with Korean marinated beef and kimchi. Gavin ordered chicken katsu with curry and Lovis ordered a bento box. They were all plated very neatly.
I’m not sure if they minded, but I didn’t care. My mantra was simple, “The camera eats first,” and everyone had to wait while I got the perfect shot.
The smell was life changing. I don’t know if it was the lack of food I’d had all day, or the lack of good Asian cuisine back in Port Angeles, but I could have feasted on the smell alone. The scent of Korean meat is always savory, but a little sweet. I felt at home.
The bulgogi was tender, caramelized at the edges with a perfect mixture of soy, sugar, and garlic. Each bite of kimchi added a punch of sour heat, and the rice soaked up the marinade like a sponge. I’m a texture girl and I need multiples in each bite; chewy beef, crisp kimchi, fluffy rice. It was satisfying. The portion was so large that I couldn’t finish it, and before I knew it, I had finished my glass of room temp water and then some, without even noticing. It was a very fragrant and filling meal.
The next day, I had a privilege even more meaningful; introducing my fellow reporters to KBBQ.
Jongro Korean Barbecue restaurant is a stone’s throw away from the Empire State Building. In fact, that’s why I had selected it, planning this meal weeks in advance out of excitement to share my traditions the right way.
The first time you go to KBBQ, you need a Korean person with you. Being biracial gives me specific insight, kind of like a mundane superpower. I know exactly what to order for the table, a precarious balance of complex Korean flavors that aren’t too spicy or sour, so as not to overwhelm a more, shall I say, Western palette. I introduced the table to bulgogi, which is marinated marble ribeye, samgyeopsal, which is marinated pork belly, and kalbi, a marinated short rib (and my personal favorite). It was fun explaining all the banchan, which are side dishes meant to compliment the grilled meat, served in small communal plates for people to share. They typically include kimchi, seasoned greens and various pickled vegetables. These dishes are a tradition that originated from Buddhist influences during the Three Kingdoms period, around 57 BCE–668 CE, when meat consumption was prohibited in religious circles. It spurred a vegetable-focused cultural cuisine. My mom used to stroke my hair while my sister and I were sitting crosslegged at our short table, and tell me that a long time ago, this is what kings would eat. And sometimes when I share banchan with my friends, I kind of feel like a multicultural princess introducing my coveted ancestral traditions to travelers from faraway lands.
If you have never been to a KBBQ restaurant, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the process:
- First, a waiter will come to your table and turn the grill on for it to heat up. This is when you place your first order. The traditional route is “all you can eat,” which typically includes rounds of meat and additional sides you have to finish entirely before ordering more. KBBQ restaurants do not let you take home leftovers, so it is important that you mind your eyes and stomach.
- You order 3-5 meats and 3-5 sides to start. I recommend the meats mentioned above, as well as corn cheese (trust me), tteokbokki (marinated rice cake, a popular Korean street food and my absolute favorite dish of all time), and Korean pancakes, which come in many variations, sweet or savory.
- Your meal is usually timed for 90 minutes so be sure to grill while you talk! Once you have finished your food, a waiter will come and take your next order, and this repeats, until you are finished. If you haven’t cooked or eaten all the remaining meat you ordered, you will be charged for what’s left at the end of your meal.
I ordered and grilled for the table, which included Buc reporters Gavin and Chris, the latter of which is vegetarian. Initially, I was worried that he wouldn’t be able to eat much at this restaurant, but he insisted on coming, and I was happy to point out which vegetables weren’t prepared with meat products. In the end, he enjoyed a glass noodle dish, a giant Korean scallion pancake and a couple sides of corn cheese. There may have been a bottle of green apple soju, given to us by mistake, that mysteriously emptied itself at the table. We shared many laughs and I got incredibly sentimental about the entire experience, which definitely wasn’t the result of the provided beverage.
The standout dishes of the night for Gavin and I were definitely the kalbi and bulgogi. Kalbi cooks slowly, developing a smoky char that compliments the tangy marinade, while bulgogi sizzles quickly, cooking into small savory bites of tender goodness. It feels a bit weird to review something I technically grilled myself, but what can I say? My compliments to the chef.
The aromatic smells danced around us, combining with the smoke, creating a scent that was both foreign and recognizable at the same time. That seemed to be the theme, marrying the old and new. How grateful I was to be me in that moment, in the heart of the city, reveling in a piece of familiarity that I got to share with new friends.
Jongro Korean Barbecue is the best restaurant I have ever been to. The vibes are immaculate and the food is even better (if you’re a grillmaster like myself). It was a perfect night.
Part III: A Review of the Attractions
Central Park is one of those landmarks that previously existed to me only through film. Therefore I was inevitably determined to see Bow Bridge in real life, you know, from Spider-Man 3.
But seeing it in person was a little different than I thought it would be. In movies, the bridge is the centerpiece of an intense emotional revelation. There are always two characters standing there (Peter Parker and Mary Jane), wind in their hair, making life-altering confessions (breaking up), but in reality, it’s a bit more… Democratic. Couples, tourists, joggers, a man enthusiastically photographing pigeons on the pond (Gavin), it’s all happening at once. In real life, romance has to share the space with selfie sticks and stroller traffic.
Still, it was cool to see. Bethesda Terrace was more beautiful in my opinion, with its carved archways and sculpted figures lining the walls. There always seems to be a somber musician playing something slow and forlorn there, adding to the atmosphere. In our case, it was an instrumental version of some song I recognized from Twilight, yet another piece of home that followed me all the way from Washington.
Central Park might be the one place in New York where the vendors outshine the landmark itself. I highly encourage you to take your time meandering throughout it and observing all the little stalls and goods people have to offer. I was scared to approach them at first, because I’m the type of person who feels guilty window shopping when I don’t have the intention of buying anything, but that’s how they get you! Confidence is important, simply as a means of survival. There is great power and reverence in saying no. It’s not illegal to just perceive. My favorite product I saw for sale was a stack of manuals labeled in large letters, “How to Roll a Joint for Dummies.” I can only assume countless tourists have purchased this and brought it back to Times Square.
Another attraction I was excited to see was the Natural History Museum, and spoiler alert, it was the highlight of my entire trip. Oh, where can I begin? The museum is overwhelming in the best way. It’s hard to know where to start, and we certainly didn’t. Be sure to allow yourself at least one entire day if you’d like to peruse every exhibit. Gavin, Lovis and I were there from 1:00 PM until they closed, and still missed out on several areas we were hoping to explore. I think we walked through it backwards, starting from the fourth floor and working our way down, but we had our priorities straight; the dinosaurs.
Everywhere in New York City made me feel small. This couldn’t be truer in the carnosaur fossil exhibit. Maybe you’ve seen those skeletons before, in pictures or in movies, but nothing prepares you for the sheer scale of them, or what it feels like to stand beneath them. And it’s daunting. They don’t just look big, they feel big, occupying the room with a sense of devout stillness. Blink too hard and you’ll swear they’ve shifted. And they’re not replicas or models, they’re real. They ruled the world for millions of years, long, long before any person you’ve ever known or read about was even a thought, and their bones are still here, perfectly preserved in ways I don’t fully understand.
I immediately bought a shirt with a dinosaur on it (a tri-sarah-tops, if you will) to remember the feeling. The feeling of being small and easily forgotten, of knowing all my years of emotions and choices and history are not even a single drop in the ocean of time. The feeling of knowing there are great things in this world that I may never fully grasp, because they do not exist to be understood by me. And yet my existence is in part due to theirs.
Working in healthcare, you get familiar with the concept of death pretty quickly, but not like this. I work an administrative position at my job, so I typically only see patients in the form of data. Even still, when I see a new grey “EXPIRED” tab on someone’s medical chart, I take a pause. I usually don’t know them, so I don’t think it’s fair to either of us for me to take on that grief, but I still have a moment of reverence. And I say, quietly, “Thank you for your life. Thank you for living. Thank you for existing and leaving your fingerprints on the lives around you. Rest in peace.”
I had a lot of those moments that day in the museum. Obviously, dinosaurs are not people, but my sentiment was still similar. Did you know the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs hit Earth with the force of 10 billion atomic bombs? And that, for a moment, our planet was hotter than the surface of the sun? Most of them didn’t die from the impact alone, but from suffocation or starvation caused by the resulting pollution. What a terrible way to die. For a time, this planet was nothing but their mass graveyard.
Rest in peace dinosaurs, and thank you for existing.
The last attraction I want to talk about is the Empire State Building. I’m afraid of heights, so this was a challenge for me, but I persevered and it was definitely worth it. As we rose above each floor in the elevator, so too did my anxiety. I had a moment of irrational fear where I almost thought we might crash out of the top of the roof like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. This did not happen.
Instead, that persistent feeling continued to gnaw at me. I gazed at the mesmerizing skyline, the sunset melting into the horizon, peaking at me between skyscrapers, and I felt so incredibly… Small.
From the top, the chaos of the city seemed almost organized. The streets were uniform. The everpresent sound of honking from impatient drivers couldn’t reach us. Everyone below was out of sight, and functionally, no longer existed to me. Looking at skylines always makes me feel anxious and pained, because if everyone else seems like nothingness to me, then I must be nothingness to them.
But the beauty helped. It took my breath away. I looped around several times, taking pictures and staring for over two hours. I got to see evening spill into dusk and then nightfall. The lights glittered like stars, but seemed to pulse with something human, like breath. No photo will ever be able to quite capture it, but I still tried, and took so many that I got a low storage notification.
It’s the kind of view that makes you feel reflective, grateful, and a little scared, but briefly convinced you understand the city… Right up until you get back down to street level and immediately have to dodge someone walking directly into you.
New York City shrinks you before it builds you back up. In its shadows and skylines, I learned that feeling small isn’t something to fear, but to grow into. It strips away the illusion that you need to be seen to matter, replacing it with something more grounded: the knowledge that you can move through the world on your own terms.
I learned so much I ran out of room to write about it. The conference, the hotel, the Square, the museums, food and beautiful scenery, helped me find independence. And when I left, I wasn’t any bigger, but I understood myself better.
For those new to New York City, my advice is this: don’t fight the feeling. Embrace the anonymity of the city. Celebrate the fact that your size doesn’t matter, only your choices do.
