Magic Forest: Part One

It's been hard for me to even wrap my head around our recent trip to Lake George, and more importantly our day spent exploring the Magic Forest. Before we even stepped foot into the Magic Forest, I declared it the best day of my life—eating at a vintage diner, with an entire year's anticipation at its peak. That might seem like an over-exaggerated sentiment for a day spent at an amusement park (a week after I turned 30), but I assure you it isn't. It will be hard to explain exactly why I love the Magic Forest so much, but if you know me and my aesthetic, it might make sense.

I found out about the Magic Forest a little over a year ago, when we temporarily became the Griswolds, and drove two hours out of our way just to find that it had closed for the season. I briefly considered walking through the large gaps in the fence, but ultimately my law-abiding nature won out and we left—but I vowed to return as soon as I could, praying that they would reopen the following season.

The Magic Forest opened in 1963 off of Route 9 in Lake George, which is located in the Adirondacks region of upstate New York. It's about a 4.5 hr drive from the city, and there are some lovely diners along the way if you're into that. The park has nineteen children's and four adult rides, plus a magic show, train ride, safari and the only remaining diving horse attraction in the country. The wonderful woman at the ticket counter actually tried to dissuade us from coming in by warning us that the park was most suitable for children 9 and under, but she had no way of knowing that I had dreamed of visiting for the entire past year.

Half of the reviews I read said the Magic Forest was outdated, rundown, creepy and felt unsafe. The other half declared it a classic time-warp—what it lacked in safety procedures and modern-day thrill-rides, it more than made up for in vintage charm. I obviously think the latter, although once I was inside it somehow managed to exceed all of my expectations.

The park feels as if it hasn't changed in almost any way since it opened in the 60s. It's definitely the furthest I've ever felt to actually going back in time. All of the employees seemed as if they had been there for many years, and none of the rides felt at all influenced by modern technology. The four rides that we could ride were a rickety ferris wheel that felt as if it was built from an Erector set, a rollercoaster that I was sure was going to disintegrate with us on it, a train ride through the forest operated by a conductor older than any of my grandparents, and a safari ride that was pulled by a very slow-moving tractor continuously emitting noxious diesel fumes.

We spent more than 4 hours walking around the small park, going inside every building and riding every ride we could. There are tons of fiberglass figures stashed in every corner of the park, including four muffler men, a storybook forest, two Santa Claus's, the world's tallest Uncle Sam and a Snow White attraction with a questionable pedigree. I took approximately 700 photos (I know), all of which I obviously won't share, but there are so many figures to see that I'll be devoting a few posts to all of our spiderweb-covered, glassy-eyed new friends that creeped us out along the way.

We saw Lightning the Diving Horse perform both of his shows—1pm and 4pm—and while I'm aware that the ethics are a bit shaky, I promise you that Lightning didn't appear to be suffering in any way. Diving horse attractions began in the 1880s but declined in popularity after World War II due to animal welfare concerns. Lightning is the son of Rex, the Magic Forest's original diving horse who started diving at the park in 1977. The emcee clearly states that "there is no rider, no prods, no electrical jolts, and no trap doors" and that Lightning dives completely of his own free will.

The ladies at the snack bar were putting together a puzzle in between filling orders; I put a quarter in a prize machine in the arcade, and received no prize and we tried to play ski ball but the machines were too jammed with quarters to accept ours; the gift shop closed before the park did, but they let us come back the next day to pick up some souvenirs; the magician doubles as the emcee for the diving horse, and makes balloon animals in between shows to give to the children—for $2 a piece. I love, love, loved the Magic Forest—a theme park that has remained untouched by time, become abandoned while it's still in business and is completely unaware of how cool and marketable it actually is—and I hope it continues to forget that it should have closed years ago and remains in Lake George forever.

Upstate NY Diners

I mentioned that we passed three diners just off of the Taconic Parkway, on our way to Lake George—we ate at the West Taghkanic Diner but we just stopped to creep on the Chief Martindale Diner and O's Eatery. I'm sure the Taconic used to be lousy with roadside diners in the 60s, but diners are dying at an alarming rate. They seem to be less threatened upstate than they are in the city, but faster interstates and more direct routes have left scenic roadways like the Taconic feeling forgotten.

All three of these diners are very close to each other—it took about 8 minutes to drive from one to the other. I almost fainted with excitement when we arrived at the Chief Martindale Diner. They have not one, but two amazing signs, and it's impossible to pick which one I like more. The neon DINER letters are HUGE (presumably to function as a billboard to passing motorists) and just perfect in every way. The Chief Martindale sign is a total classic as well, although I guess I could say that it's lacking in colorful neon like the West Taghkanic sign, but it's just so great with its arrow and script that I can't fault it for much.

O's Eatery was slightly underwhelming, but only because the two before it were so very excellent. Taken alone, its double-sided diner sign is pretty perfect, but it's also not a classic rail car style like the other two. I can't speak to the interiors of either place, although I did look up the Chief Martindale and from what I saw, I think it might be even better inside than the West Taghkanic if that's possible (next time!).

Bonus diner!

On our first morning in Lake George, we ate at the Prospect Mountain Diner, and we liked it so much that we came back the next two days for breakfast. It's a classic rail car style, and although they have outdoor seating, we sat inside for ambiance-sake. The vinyl-glitter booths, black-and-white-checked floor and boomerang countertops were all so wonderful, but it was the tabletop jukeboxes that really set the scene (your song selection played throughout the whole diner). At one point during our first breakfast—with a delicious waffle in front of me and a whole day at the Magic Forest ahead of us—I looked up and said "I don't think I could be happier than I am now," and I definitely meant it.

Muffler Men: Magic Forest

In addition to the two Paul Bunyan muffler men that we saw on our recent trip to Lake George, we saw a few other less traditional figures. The Magic Forest contains four muffler men, including one Bunyan, a clown, an Amish-looking "happy halfwit" and Pecos Bill.

While the Bunyans are the most classic, the thing I love most about muffler men is the customization and variation between them. It's fascinating to me the amount of objects, themes and outfits that all sprung from essentially the same place, multiplied by changes made throughout the years.

The clown is the one I was most looking forward to seeing, simply because it varies the most from the standard model. I was disappointed slightly that he wasn't holding anything (a hot dog!?), but his "come here little children" gesture definitely ups the creep factor significantly.

While I certainly recognize their ability to creep, I've never really been scared of clowns. The Pecos Bill muffler man, however, definitely made me feel a bit uneasy. The lighting was such that his face was in shadow, which made him feel more sinister than I'm sure he was meant to be. I do love his airbrushed belt buckle, although that feels like a more modern addition.

The happy half wit is the most intriguing—I'm not exactly sure what possessed someone to style this half wit like an Amish lumberjack, but I'm into it. According to the muffler men-experts, American Giants, the half wit is a name coined by Roadside America for the Alfred E. Neuman-lookalike that International Fiberglass (maker of the muffler men) called the "mortimer snerd." The one at the Magic Forest sports and Amish-style beard, hat and shirt and carries what appears to be a rather new axe. We discovered a busted axe laying on the ground pretty close to the halfwit, although I guess it could have once belonged to Pecos Bill (now object-less) or my fantasy-husband-Bunyan near the entrance.

Magic Forest: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

I'm eternally fascinated by relics from past World's Fairs, particularly anything from the 1939/40 and 1964/65 fairs held in Queens. I had forgotten that the Magic Forest claims to have a Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs attraction from the 1939 World's Fair, so when the lady who sold us our tickets mentioned it, I think I actually squealed with recognition and delight.

I did some more research on the exhibit when I returned home, and it turns out that it's (probably) not actually from a World's Fair (or even made by Disney), but was created for a department store by a papier-mâché company in Ohio licensed to create window displays with Disney characters. I'll admit that I'm still a bit bummed that I have to take it off my list of World's Fair relics I've seen (Sinclair dinosaurs, muffler man, NY State Pavilion, Unisphere, Panorama), but it's still very old, historical and slightly weird so I'm glad we got a chance to see it.

The figures are original and made of papier-mâché, although they have been repainted and reclothed at various times since 1937. The figures move in limited ways, powered by wooden cams and rods. The animation is crude by today's standards, of course, but in a world of video screens and crazy technology it's really charming to see something so simple. The restoration work varies from hardly noticeable (or not-at-all-noticeable) to pretty obvious, although I'm sure it's difficult to maintain so many figures/scenes, especially when most pieces are constantly in motion. 

I spent longer than I thought I would in the exhibit—I'm not a huge Snow White fan, and it's a pretty small room, but the figures are full of personality and the sets are interestingly detailed. The exhibit has a very It's a Small World feel, complete with repeating stuck-in-your-head-for-days-soundtrack and figures that are obviously cartoonish, but just real enough to imagine them coming to life at night, when everyone goes home.

Project 365: Days 238-252

238/365: I saw my first (and probably last) outdoor movie of the season—Airplane! (one of my all-time favorites)—in Central Park.

239/265: My aunt and uncle were visiting New York for the first time so we took them out for the night.

240/365: We took a tour of the Brooklyn Brewery, and walked along the Brooklyn waterfront.

241/365: I had my 30th birthday picnic in Prospect Park, with plenty of snacks, excellent company and the sweetest homemade cupcakes.

242/365: I turned 30 and received some wonderful gifts, including Taco the chalkware chihuahua, and a photo book from the 1939 World's Fair that Mozart instantly claimed as her own.

243/365: I finally got around to arranging my picture shelves and hanging the rest of my art. I have so many wonderful things to look at and it makes me so happy.

244/365: I met Jim and Katie for our first-ever repeat weeknight dinner at the always-festive Panna Garden II in the East Village.

245/365: I added the custom keytag that Jim got me for my birthday to my keyring and I think it fits in nicely.

246/365: We headed upstate to spend the weekend in Lake George and took the scenic route past three amazing diners // We went around the US in 18 holes of mini-golf, met a muffler man from the World's Fair and I remembered how bad I am at mini-golf.

247/365: I had what might be the best day of my life exploring the weird and wonderful Magic Forest.

248/365: We drove/hiked to the top of Prospect Mountain // We played another round of mini-golf at the Goony Golf course in Lake George.

249/365: I took inventory of my souvenirs from the most perfect weekend.

250/365: My dude took me to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time as part of my birthday present, and it was wonderful.

251/365: We celebrated Katie's birthday at the Burger Joint // I went to a solo Cat Power show at Webster Hall (my fifth time seeing her) and she was incredible, as always.

252/365: Still so excited about this souvenir feather hat from the Magic Forest (it was only $2.99!).

Muffler Men: Bunyans

Muffler men—large, fiberglass sculptures mainly used for advertising in the 1960s—are quintessential roadside America. Although they're called "muffler" men, the first one was made as a Paul Bunyan character, holding an axe. There are many variations on this general theme—including women, clowns, astronauts, Indians, half-wits and at least one Chicken Boy—but the Paul Bunyan ones are my favorite. During our trip to Lake George we saw five muffler men, two of which are in the classic style.

The first one we saw is from the 1964/65 World's Fair, and currently resides at the Around The World mini golf course, right across from Lake George. He's on the "Around the World" course—not the "Around the U.S." course—which is a bit perplexing. He originally stood in front of the Oregon pavilion at the World's Fair, and is now (mis)representing the Canada hole. The sign next to him also wrongly uses the symbol for the '39 World's Fair, but confusion aside I'm so glad he's still around.

The second Bunyan is visible from the parking lot of the Magic Forest, off of Route 9 a few minutes south of the lake. He was technically the first muffler man I ever saw, back when I had my Wally World moment and arrived to find that the park had closed for the season. It was great to be able to see him almost exactly a year later, and get the 360-view since I actually got inside of the Magic Forest on this trip. There must be some reason why he isn't holding his axe horizontally, although I do appreciate the log set-up, and his plaid shirt makes him my favorite of all the muffler men I've seen so far.

West Taghkanic Diner

When I planned our epic Labor Day weekend roadtrip to Lake George, I knew that I wanted to take the scenic route on the way there. I've been wanting to explore a bit of the Taconic Parkway, the longest parkway in New York state and the second-longest contiguous road to be listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There were three diners in particular that I wanted to see, but I knew that I wanted to stop and eat at the West Taghkanic Diner, located just off the Taconic on NY-82 in Ancram, NY. I discovered it a year ago when I was planning for a different road trip, and it had been on my mind ever since.

Like most diners I love, the West Taghkanic has an epically amazing sign, although I was slightly disappointed to see a bit of what looked like scaffolding obscuring parts of it. I also realized that I would have preferred to see the neon lit up in all of its multi-colored glory, but now I'll just have to plan a return visit when it's dark outside.

The inside felt mostly original—to my delight—with wonderful counter stools, boomerang-print countertops, loads of aluminum and stainless and the best light-up signs for the fountain, restrooms and telephone. They even had branded cups, which I can't remember ever seeing at a diner—I always appreciate adherence to a brand, especially when it's based on a sign as good as the West Taghkanic's.

Florence: Signage

Even after having more than a year to reflect on my Italy trip, it's impossible to pick a favorite of the five cities my uncle took me to. However after five days in Rome, I do remember thinking upon arriving in Florence that I was going to like it even more than I did Rome. I was right, although it's unfair to compare two (or five) very different cities. Florence is smaller and felt intimate and carefully curated, which was a nice tonic to the overwhelming amount of very important things to see in Rome.

Florence probably had the best signage of the five, a category that saw a lot of robust competition during the course of our trip. Every hotel, gelateria, restaurant and store had a lovely sign, most of which comprised individual letters, stacked vertically and suspended perpendicular to the building.

No matter what they said—I could figure out most, but I don't speak Italian—or which way you saw them from, they were all wonderful. There were illuminated letters, neon scripts and such a lovely variety of colors, arrangements and typefaces that I was constantly stopping to photograph run-of-the-mill shop signs like the big, embarrassing tourist I was/am. I know everything sounds exotic and better in a language that's not your own, but it's very hard not to prefer "Coiffeurs Pour Dames" over Best Cuts.

Brooklyn Brewery

My uncle was in town this weekend, and Saturday was his birthday. To say he loves beer is an understatement, so we planned to take a tour of the Brooklyn Brewery. The brewery is located near the waterfront in Williamsburg, and was founded in 1988. The tours are free, but there was some initial drama involving tickets—we didn't know we needed them, or where to get them, and after waiting in two lines were told the tour was sold out until a kind employee took pity on us and let us join the one in progress.

The tour is short and a little uneventful—I can see why it's free—but the brewery has an interesting history and essentially brought brewing back to Brooklyn after the industry had all but disappeared from the borough. I've always been a fan of their Milton Glaser-designed logo (he still designs all of the labels) and the story of how it came to be is pretty great.

In addition to making/bottling a portion of the beer in Williamsburg (another portion is made upstate) there is a tasting room attached to the brewery where you can try out all the different varieties. It's actually pretty cheap, by New York standards (about $5/beer) and the ones we tried were all great. It was really crowded, but the line moved quickly—you can also take your beer with you on the tour, which I think should be standard for every tour I take from now on.

Thirty, Flirty and Thriving.

So I turn 30 today. I love birthdays (other people's as well as my own) so even if I like to joke about losing my desirability or being officially old, the big 3-0 isn't really that big of a deal to me. I do like celebrations, reflections, milestones and round numbers—and since my birthday falls on the last day of August, it's always felt like a goodbye to summer, which means fall is coming and who isn't happy about that?

I recently revisited this silly list I made when I was but child at the age of 27, and found that, as of today, I have accomplished 13 out of the 30-by-30 goals I had set for myself. Some of the accomplishments were big ones (moving to New York, going to Europe), others were easier but even more wonderful than I imagined (Newport, Sleepy Hollow, Cat Power), and others are things I can keep on chipping away at (trying new foods, paying off my student loan debt).

It's interesting to look back and see how much I've changed in just three short years—I no longer think marriage and kids are in the cards for me, and I'm totally ok with that. My life barely resembles the one I had three years ago, and that's ok too. I'm definitely getting more patient in my old age, and I know that whatever my life is like in the next three years—or even in the next thirty—it will be wonderful because I have that choice. There will be heartbreak and heartache, disappointments, failures, steps forward and steps backward. But I've learned in my 30 short years on this planet that I can take the high road. That my own life improves when I'm kind to others. That you can't avoid hurting people, but you can try your best to limit that hurt. That I just don't feel right with long hair. That I'll always hate cilantro, and people will always argue with me about it. That life is messy and annoying and complicated and hard, but then I bite into a perfectly ripe peach or Meryl Streep waves at me and I know that it's all so, so worth it.

As silly and at times misguided as that list was/is, it's still nice to be able to look back on how I felt at a particular moment in my life. I'm not going to make another list, but that doesn't mean I don't have goals—most of which involve travel of some sort. I want to go back to Europe, but there is so much to see in the States. I've planned some very epic road trips that hopefully become realities quite soon, but when I think of my current life, there's not much about it that I would change. Of course it will change—and so will I—but that's all part of the fun.

356 Project: Days 232-237

232/365:

I was so engrossed in writing

this diner piece

on the train that I missed my stop. The resulting walk home through Prospect Heights was definitely not a bad thing.

233/365: I crossed another bridge off my list by walking the George Washington Bridge and captured another beautiful sunset from my bedroom window.

234/365: Pretty much what I wake up to every morning.

235/365: Boyfriends who go on trips and bring back souvenirs (like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a Minion magnet and—most importantly of all—a squished penny) are the best kind of boyfriends.

236/365: Friends who go on trips and bring back souvenirs (like a Yellowstone coffee mug, piece of pyrite, prison postcard and—most importantly of all—squished pennies) are the best kind of friends.

237/365: Always happy to spend time in a photobooth // A chicken and her chicken.

New York Diner

When I was asked if I'd like to write a piece on diners for the Need Supply Co. blog, of course I said YES. There are few things I like more in life than a good, authentic diner and they're becoming distressingly harder to find in the city.

News of the imminent destruction of the Market Diner really bummed me out, and I made it an even higher priority in my life to find new (old) diners and visit the ones I love more frequently. Writing the blog post gave me another excuse to investigate some new spots, and I found a lot of gems. My best new find was definitely the New York Diner on Northern Blvd in Long Island City (Queens). I'm not sure how this delightful, rail car-style diner managed to stay under my radar for so long, and why it's not on any "Best Diners of New York" lists is baffling to me.

Rail car diners are nearly extinct in the city, with the Empire Diner being the last remaining one in operation in Manhattan. The New York diner is sandwiched between a gas station and a Best Buy parking lot, and is pretty easy to miss if you're not looking for it. The sign just says "diner," and when I got my check it had a third name (Mike's something) but the waitresses were wearing shirts that said New York Diner, and that's how it's known on Yelp.

The place is tiny—there might be seven(ish) booths and ten(ish) counter stools, but it's bursting with old school diner charm. The booths are upholstered in glittery vinyl and there is aluminum and stainless covering nearly every surface. I had already eaten at another diner that day, but I sat at the counter and had a chocolate milkshake, which was delicious (and cheap!). I will definitely be back to eat a proper diner breakfast, even though it's unfortunately a bit out of the way to make it into my regular rotation.

George Washington Bridge

Walking the George Washington Bridge has been on my to-do list since I first visited the Little Red Light House, which sits underneath the bridge in Fort Washington Park. I considered walking it one day in the winter, but decided against it because of the cold and wind. Walking bridges has become one of my favorite things to do and I'm always thrilled by a new view of the city.

Unlike the other city bridges I've walked (Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queensboro/59th Street, Williamsburg, Pulaski, Triborough/RFK), the GWB doesn't have any type of safety fence. I'm always grumbling about safety fences and how ugly they make structures so I was pleased to find my views unobstructed. Of course, I now realize why people are frequently throwing themselves off of the GWB, and there are numerous suicide helpline stations throughout the walk. The GWB also has the same gate-like structures on its approaches that the Brooklyn Bridge recently installed to prevent people from climbing the supports.

Of course I wish we lived in a world where people didn't throw themselves off of bridges—and especially one where idiots didn't climb support cables to take Instagram selfies. The first thing I noticed when I climbed to the top of the Duomo in Florence was the lack of a safety fence or supervision of any kind (I passed four cops on the GWB). They've been trusting people to act rationally for more than 700 years but in America we're coddled and caged and we still manage to throw ourselves off bridges when we want to. I'm not sure if I'm trying to make a point other than: the views from the GWB are very nice, and you should definitely not jump off of it so they can stay that way (and because being alive is pretty great).

The worst part about the GWB is that the walkway is shared between pedestrians and cyclists, and unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, there are no designated lanes. There are numerous signs urging cyclists to yield to pedestrians, but that was definitely not my experience. The path is quite narrow during both approaches and at a few points along the walk. The bridge was full of cyclists—I only passed a few other walkers/runners—and it was hard not to be a little on edge with bikes constantly whizzing past me.

The bridge was very busy, traffic-wise, and there were a few times when it shook pretty violently. The rusty fences and crumbling concrete weren't exactly comforting, and on the walk back I witnessed a minor three-car fender-bender. Judging by the amount of debris that litters the walkway—car mirrors, flattened traffic cones, broken glass—I'm assuming that's not such a rare occurrence.

I eventually did get somewhat used to all of the bikes and relaxed enough to really enjoy the walk. The views of the city and the Hudson River are wonderful. I walked right over the Little Red Lighthouse and the cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades are a nice contrast to the city views. The only real drawback to walking the GWB is that you end up in New Jersey—but unlike when my dad drove me back to Ohio more than two years ago, all I had to do was turn around and walk back to Manhattan.

365 Project: Days 218-231

218/365: We went to our last Celebrate Brooklyn concert, Third World, and it was great. I love all the seasons and I always get so excited for fall—when it will finally be appropriate to wear these socks—but I'll definitely miss this most excellent part of summer.

219/365: We ventured up north to visit Mother Cabrini and the grotesques at City College—the Hamilton Heights area of Manhattan is a real delight, especially Convent Avenue.

220/365: I did some diner research for a thing.

221/365: I vowed to cook more for myself, and these pizzas have become a regular staple.

222/365: Jim won the Shakespeare in the Park lottery, so we grabbed dinner from Shake Shack and watched Cymbeline at the Delacorte in Central Park.

223/365: This ham.

224/365: Slowly hung up some things, which always makes me happy.

225/365: There can never be too many pizzas in a week—this one was for lunch, and from San Matteo on the Upper East Side. It was delicious and the closest I've found to the pizzas I ate in Italy.

226/365: Did some more diner research for a thing. I found some really great ones that I can't wait to share.

227/365: Bought some frames, hung some more art. I'm really loving my new space.

228/365: Really into the sunsets outside of my window every night.

229/365: Re-reading one of my favorite books, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, for the I-don't-know-what'th time before Francesca and I go to Savannah in September (!).

230/365: I'm always thrilled when an ugly awning comes down and reveals a great sign (or clock!) underneath.

231/365:  I have to leave my door open so Mozart can get in/out of my room and I was so excited to receive this doorstop in the mail. I was bummed to discover that it's too thick to fit under my door, but I think I can shave some off to make it fit—totally worth the extra effort because look how cute this thing is.

Pesaro, Italy

Every morning one of the first things I do is check the Timehop app because I love to look back on things I've done. It's why I take so many photos and why I started blogging (and why pre-Internet, I was an obsessive journal-writer and scrapbook-maker). One year ago yesterday, I got back from my first-ever European trip (to Italy) and I realized I've never really written a lot about it. When I returned I was so overwhelmed by the volume of photos I had taken and the insane amount of things I had seen that it took some time to process it all.

We ended our three-week trip in Pesaro, a beach town on the coast of the Adriatic that was unlike any of the other cities we had seen (Rome, Florence, Venice and Ravenna). We were there for the Rossini opera festival, which was lovely, but the beaches were completely unreal. Somehow I had in my head a vision of candy-colored, striped-umbrella-laden Italian beaches and Pesaro turned out to be that, and so much more.

Every beach had a different, charming name and a unique, brightly colored umbrella. I immediately became obsessed with all of the stripes and bright colors—everything from walkways to chairs was color-coded. Beach Wanda won the imaginary title of "Miss Beach" that my uncle and I invented, but they were all so wonderful it was hard to pick a favorite. Taken as a whole, the beaches were total sensory overload—not to mention the Italian bathing suits, or lack thereof—and I was constantly overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Away from the beaches, Pesaro was also architecturally different from the other places we'd been. The buildings felt more modern, but still had a decaying 70s vintage vibe. Compared to the ancient ruins and centuries-old churches we had grown used to seeing, the slightly abandoned, urban feel of Pesaro was a nice change of pace. With beach towns as charming as Pesaro, I finally understood why all the Italians were noticeably absent from the cities we had visited.

City College: Revisited

After my first visit to City College in Hamilton Heights, I vowed to return once I got a better camera. The campus is lousy with grotesques and gargoyles, but most are above eye-level and I wasn't able to photograph as many as I would have liked to with my little point-and-shoot. When I found out that Francesca was obsessed with gargoyles, but had never been to City College, we made plans (along with Jim) to go on a self-guided tour of the beautiful campus.

My first visit was in February of last year, so there was snow on the ground and the campus was virtually deserted. It was nice to see City College in a different season, but since school hasn't started yet we still basically had the place to ourselves. It was also fun to be able to play tour guide—even though I've only been there once the campus is very small so it's not hard to see all of it in a short time.

I love the variety of poses, facial expressions and accessories—this time I was drawn to the acrobats, but my favorite was not a grotesque at all, but an incredible skull that Francesca pointed out, perched high atop one of the halls.

The gargoyles + grotesques have recently undergone a restoration so for the most part they're sparkling clean. I'm not used to seeing building ornaments like these so new-looking, but every rain-streaked, black gargoyle in the world started out clean and brand new. As much as I love patina and decay, it was a welcome change to see everything looking so fresh.

City College is a really beautiful, peaceful place to spend an afternoon forgetting that you're still in Manhattan. The stone buildings are gorgeous in their own right, but when you top them with dogs, lions, owls, griffins and all sorts of winged creatures holding scrolls, books and other scholarly materials the whole place couldn't be more COLLEGE.

Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini Shrine

Ever since I found out (via the Roadside America app) that the mummified remains of Mother Cabrini are on display in northern Manhattan, I've been planning to visit the shrine. I've never been a religious person, but I can totally get behind the Catholic tradition of piecing out the bodies of saints and putting the various parts on display.

When we were in Italy I became mildly obsessed with all the wax- and metal-dipped bodies we saw encased in glass and lit up like department store window displays.

The Cabrini shrine is located on Fort Washington Avenue in Washington Heights. It's very close to the 190th Street A stop—do make sure to take the elevator to exit the subway station (depositing you in Fort Tryon Park, near the Cloisters), otherwise you'll have to take a circuitous route that includes walking several blocks out of the way and an incredibly daunting set of stairs up the side of a hill that's steeper than anything you'll encounter elsewhere in Manhattan.

Mother Cabrini (née Francesca) was born in the Austrian Empire and in 1946 she became the first naturalized US citizen to be canonized by the Roman Catholic church. The shrine was built in 1957 and most of her body is in that glass case—her head is in Rome and an arm is at the National Shrine of Saint Frances Xavier in Chicago.

The chapel is a really beautiful space, with most of the wall covered in a recently-restored mosaic depicting Mother Cabrini's life. She is the patron saint of immigrants, which is represented by the Statue of Liberty, boats bound for America and one strapping young, pick-axe-wielding man, aka "The Glory of America."

Another facet of Catholicism that I can get behind is the inevitable gift shop—you enter the shrine through one, of course, where you can buy all manner of saintly ephemera. There are cards, statues, medallions and book marks and for a moment I felt like I was back in Vatican City. When I was told that the postcard I was buying would be "27 cents," it was even harder for me to believe that we were still in Manhattan.

New York Academy of Medicine Library

Three co-workers and I recently took a tour of the New York Academy of Medicine's rare book library, co-hosted by Atlas Obscura. The talk was focused on medical photography from the 18th and 19th centuries, and afterwards we were allowed to explore the library on our own.

The speaker was wonderfully knowledgeable and interesting, but the materials really spoke for themselves. The library has approximately 32,000 volumes in its collection, most of which date from the 15th to the 18th centuries. This also includes "85 to 90 percent of the medical books printed in what is now the United States between the late 17th and early 19th centuries." We only saw a few of the books, but they were incredible examples of medical photography from the collections of doctors as well as government agencies that documented injuries during the Civil War.

In addition to beautiful books, they also showed us their stereoscopic skin clinic, which was used as a teaching tool. We were able to peer into the stereoscopes and see 3D images of skin diseases—if there's a better way to spend a Thursday night on the Upper East Side, I don't know of it.

The library room itself is quite small, but everything you'd expect from a rare book room. There are wooden, rolling library ladders and antique card catalogs, tiny desk lamps and row after row of beautifully bound books with fascinating titles. This was my first time at the NYAM, as well as my first time taking an Atlas Obscura-led tour, and I highly recommend both. I have some peculiar interests, so its always great to spend an evening amongst like-minded people—getting to browse autopsy photos was just an added bonus.