Sightseeing from the heart

We followed these African ladies just to hear them chat.

Summer memories are the sweetest. For my mom, though, memories about the people she met on vacation are the best. She is a curious person, and an observant one too. She takes lessons from cities' laws and customs, from restaurant menus and decoration, but mostly, from people's actions and behavior. 

For a few years, she has wanted to go to the east coast. Even though she could have gone on her own, she waited until an opportunity opened up so we could go together.

This was a busy summer for both of us. She spent over a month visiting her children and grandchildren; I had a memorable trip with my husband overseas. A week before starting school, though, she offered me an airplane ticket and convinced me to visit Washington D.C. and New York with her.

As we sat at the airport's waiting room, I chuckled to notice that a kindle, a cellphone or a magazine were of no use to her. She wanted to spend her time looking at the by passers: parents going on vacation with their children, couples quarreling over little things, and businessmen ignoring everything that goes around them. When I suggested to stop looking because she may appear nosy, she clarified that she was just witnessing what happened in front of her.

We bookedrental properties instead of hotel rooms, so we stayed in residential neighborhoods and took public transportation to see the sights. After all, sights are secondary to her. She wants to see how the locals live; to feel the city's heartbeat, to hear its rhythm. The commute, then, is part of the sightseeing.

Visitors at Arlington Cemetery

In DC, we were 45 minutes away from the Washington Mall. Every morning, as our bus filled up with students and office workers, she noticed their interaction with the bus driver and other passengers. From her window seat, she spotted popular breakfast places and pointed out possible dinner choices. She also identified additional bus routes to navigate the neighborhoods. 

While visiting the monuments around the mall, my mom's ears were tuned to people's accents and languages. We found ourselves following groups of African women and Chinese teens in order to hear their chatting. 

A tourist filled Lincoln Memorial

In two places, however, she closed her eyes and listened inside. At the Lincoln Memorial, memories of her father, a studious fan of Lincoln's life, came to mind. As we walked around Arlington’s Cemetery she grieved, not only for all the lives lost during the wars, but also for the many loved ones she has lost.

The Spanish speaking Lebanese 

Her favorite memory of DC, however, came from Union Station’s parking lot. As we waited for our New York bound bus, a Lebanese man in a green and orange vest shared with us, in fluent Spanish, the highlights of his life. As he checked the passenger’s tickets, he talked to us about the rise and fall of his businesses, his journey to America, and even the loss of his precious son. We waved goodbye after singing along a few songs from the Mexican singer Emmanuel.

In the heart of the Big Apple

We knew that our rental inNew York City was not precisely convenient for sightseeing. We were ready for our daily 45 minute subway ride to Manhattan. We chose it, though, because this particular place has excellent reviews form previous visitors, and because the neighborhood seemed safe and convenient. What we did not know was that we were in for the greatest treat of our trip: without expecting it, we found our home away from home.

Our home away from home

Visiting the Statue of Liberty was inspiring; walking through Central Park, relaxing; strolling in Broadway, dazzling. Getting home each night, however, was the best part of our visit to New York.

Reading time

The hosts, Miriam and her son Alex, were usually home. Despite her long days at work, Miriam prepared a drink for us every evening, and even bought pastries to share. We sat in their kitchen table and talked about our families, our country, and our lives in the States. For a 19 year old, Alex was an excellent host. He shared his street smart tips, quietly listened to our conversation, and graciously took our advice for improving his bilingual skills. We missed Gildardo, the household head. He works night shifts, but is the one who makes sure the rental is as clean as any room at the Four Seasons hotel.

This time I followed suit. Instead of planning our next day’s itinerary, I leaned on the locals’ advice; my book stayed closed, and my cellphone was turned off. I also started sightseeing from the heart: enjoying conversations with strangers, learning from the behavior of the commuters, and looking for the rhythm of a city that emanates life.

Summer sunset at Coney Island.