Here I am back. In the large village that Quebec. After New York, my city of Quebec, and even Montreal, seem so small. Not uninteresting, however. But there is in these small towns a different charm than the Big Apple, less exuberant, more calm and composed. I am extremely tired. My legs, especially my left foot, make me an evil dog. The weather was so beautiful that I preferred to use the sidewalks of Grand Avenue subway, so complicated incidentally. I left my Converse, which have not held up. My eyes are still full of light, movement, color. Alternately, I was Alex Beaupain the Brooklyn Bridge, Carrie Bradshaw walking down a street in Greenwich Village, Liza and Robert singing in Manhattan, Maria, who marvels at America ... I live in the characters around me, which involve me, and I feel myself a film hero, discovering the Great City, the real city, one that makes us dream, the center of a world in itself.
Tourist plot, I'm walking in neighborhoods, to the blind. Harlem. This cathedral impresses me. The third-largest Catholic place of worship is in Harlem. The cathedral is the image of the city disproportionately. Simple, sparsely decorated, just enough to impress the visitor or the believer. Unholy recollection which I book more admiration for the place of devotion to God. Can I leave the building. Still in shock, I advance in Morningside, then arrived on Malcolm X Avenue. Strolling among the population, almost Afro-American. I am often the only white, and I have a feeling that watching me. It is surprising to see a European to walk alone, camera in hand. Sometimes, very nicely, I was wondering if I'm lost. And always smiling. In the streets, I smell fish fried chicken, spices. Besides a church, I hear a gospel group, within which repeats. I can not enter, and continue my path, taking the first left, then right, losing myself happy in this neighborhood who feel the sunny South, full nose. At lunch, I stop before Sylvia's, a restaurant known for its African American cuisine. Meatballs in sauce and lemonade on the terrace, enjoying the sun and heat of the day. We all share a memory: what did it, September 11 2001? It was nine years ago. I remember it was beautiful, Trevoux that day. It was 17h in the car that brought me back from college. I was in 5th. And I heard on Fun Radio, Arthur comment something about the twin towers that collapsed. Once back home, Charlotte, Chantal and I turn on your television, passing loop images. Shocked, like everyone else. Funny, this is the first image I had in New York in my life. Before, the Statue of Liberty was a myth, which we know very little about. On this day of September, however, I learned what actually New York, through the more morbid. I think about all this, while walking near Ground Zero. You only see the cranes, the site is protected by barriers. It all started here, our world today, I can not help but repeat that sentence. Further, Wall Street. The New York Stock Exchange, the center of any business, professional or personal. The focal point of Western liberalism.
I always told myself this: when I'll be in New York I would go see a musical on Broadw has y. dream come true. For once, I did not skimp on resources. I wanted to see a comedy that I loved. There was a choice! Mamma mia! I was trying, obviously, and Chicago, but the fear of being disappointed by rapporteurs t films caught me. Wicked. Obviously, I'm a fan. I probably took place, if I had not seen this funny mask on Times Square. I understood what it was, it can be that! I make this surprise, going on the Internet. is one of these performances on Broadway very long time. The Phantom of the Opera. course, I know the films, the last, which reproduces the musical. Apart from some nice pieces and a terrific start, not a masterpiece. But the songs are so beautiful. I hesitate. Hop! Booking on the web for as much as $ 75. It is a gift that I offer. And I'm not disappointed. 2:30 of breathtaking show, starting with this introduction to the organ. I am so excited that when the chandelier rises into the air, chills run through my arm. Several times, I smile, saying "I am". The Music of the Night makes me shudder and the lair of the Phantom is particularly distressing. This musical has everything to please me: the Gothic, eccentricity and madness of a beautiful ghost. I know the songs by heart coe , but they resonate in me in another way. Just The Point of No Return, my favorite. It vibrates with desire, it seethes in me, much as in the hearts of the performers who give themselves body and soul, like the text of the song. And the end. It's over now of the music of the night. And I cry. A bitterly. Because it's fucking beautiful, and that's it. I get out of Majestic Theatre, just moved. The heat is stifling. Dry half of what I s tears.
I have so much to tell yet. My visit to MoMA, my incessant walking in Greenwich Village and Chelsea, so nice, my comings and goings along the 8th, the 6th, or on the seafront, opposite the Statue in the distance, my little judgments in Starbucks, what I write on this trip, or while talking about the excellent eating cheesecake in Times Square, and M & M's, which gave me a terrible stomachache ("one day this child will have seizures liver, "say my grandparents). Hundreds of times, transcribed in the same book in Montreal. But selfishly, I keep it all. I leave here that the most telling moments. Some things can not be expressed so simply. And then, it will keep a few things to tell, once back in France.
I will return to New York. I know now. Some days, still reliving the history of madness in the gigantic city. In the end, I'm not very far, and I can still see off the Empire State. I ended my stay in Times Square. At night, nothing to see. The vitamin cure turns into shock. Lights flashing cameras as much as the Japanese side of me, but nothing takes away the magic of the place, time. It's still sweet, and a few hours I will be back in Montreal, in the cold winter ahead. So, white shirt and red scarf around his neck, I take the view, tired, aching, dirty but happy.