Richmond Hill Flea Market (or How to Handle Prejudice and Mortal Fear and Still Have a Good Time)

February 23, 2016 Maxim Sorokopud

This weekend, my wife and I visited Richmond Hill Flea Market, way way out in Queens. Richmond Hill is also the name of one of the main streets of Bournemouth, the town in Britain that I abandoned. Britain also has a Queen! The coincidences didn’t end there. The place looked uncannily like Bournemouth.

My wife had heard about the market online; she told me it had cheap stuff and sketchy people. We needed to go. Both the stuff and people didn’t disappoint!

Overall, it was a fun day, and we only feared for our lives once.

Here’s what happened:

Getting There

Geographically the market isn’t that far away from where I live, but thanks to the inefficiencies of the New York transit system, it feels like an epic trip.

New York’s public transportation is mostly pointed to midtown Manhattan; this is great if that’s where you’re going, or if you’re not leaving Manhattan, but irritating for trips to any part of the city that wouldn’t naturally involve heading through, or starting off there.

The only way to get to Richmond Hill from where I live is to take multiple forms of transportation that takes an hour, if you’re lucky.

Here’s the trip on a map:

You may be thinking, why am I whining so much? Well, that above trip is 8 miles. 8 miles should be 20-30 minutes tops. The below trip, to Times Square is 13 miles, and takes less time, and involves no transfers:

Ok, transfers and a bit of time are a small price to pay for a cheap flea market, but would it kill the city to invest in bullet trains to anywhere I might want to go? The answer is, probably yes.

Being There:

From its exterior, the flea market looked suitably depressing, as a proper flea market should. It takes place in an old Bingo Hall, that doesn’t appear to have been revamped since I was born.

Here’s the picture that the Richmond Hill Flea Market’s website uses to promote their exterior (please note the poorly Photo-shopped sign and shopping girls, the centre right one appears to be channeling Edvard Munch’s The Scream:

Here’s a closer comparison:

This is my favorite thing of the entire week so far.

My wife also remarked how much this area of Queens looked like Bournemouth. Initially, I disagreed with her, but after a while, yes, I could see it, if you disregard the stuff like the American road signs and wooden building materials (that isn’t sarcasm, it’s literally like the place is Bournemouth with an American lick of paint.)

http://www.levity.com/brooklyn/Queens/richmond.jpg

This street looks particularly Bournemouthy

Inside the Market

Inside, the flea market was a mix of both the awful and incredible, sometimes at once. There were treasures and “treasures,” such as vintage jewelry and cans of bug spray with the lids missing.

Initially, I made my way through the whole thing very quickly. I was mostly looking for books; apart from clothes and food they’re one of the few things I don’t only use digitally. They had very few books on offer except for exercise guides from the 90s. I spotted an X-Files doll that looked incredibly ugly. Why do adults collect toys of TV shows that they like? Never seen the appeal. Especially when they look like this:

Later, I took a slower look at the things, and had much more fun. I spent some time looking at the jewelry. Initially I had written off the merchandise as all being plastic, but on closer inspection, and through talking to stall runners, found out that they actually had some good stuff.

However, by far the most abundant thing on offer was prejudiced views. Being British, a lot of the sellers were interested in talking to me; and several times the conversation was going along quite well, until they mentioned that the problem with Britain nowadays was that there were too many insert token race or religion. Most had either not been to Britain, or hadn’t been since the 70s, so the information they were working off was shaky, at best. Several times this happened, so I resorted to my usual non-confrontational but disagreeing reply of “Yes, well, there are lots of people in Britain, and it’s getting along fine.” That’s right; I’m a social justice warrior.

Going Home

After my wife bought some items, and I gained new insights into how people view my home country, we decided to head home.

We had another trip through the maze that was the transportation system. On the first subway, we made the mistake of sitting opposite a man that initially seemed alright, but then spent the next ten minutes spitting on the floor, and announcing how he would like to murder someone in a bush. First, it seemed as if he was talking to us, but through sneakily peeking up from my book, I saw that he was looking down to the entire cart, more of an open invitation than picking on one person in particular. This is the kind of inclusiveness that needs to be taught to the Flea Market vendors.

This was 2pm on a Sunday.

We switched train as soon as possible.

Then we got home.

For those interested in what can actually be picked up, my wife bought a really nice designer handbag for $20, that she can’t find for less than a couple hundred dollars online. So, if you can tolerate the odd inappropriate comment and death threat, you too should go to the Richmond Hill Flea Market!

The Blizzard

January 26, 2016 Maxim Sorokopud

Before this weekend, my only experience of bad weather had been the occasional lightning storm, which usually lasts for about two hours and sometimes knocks over some rickety sheds. On the south coast of Britain, about once a year an inch or less of snow will fall. This often induces mass panic, leads to the closure of schools, causes the temporary shutdown of businesses, and children desperately scrape at the ground in the futile hope of being able to make a snowball from the sludge.

This weekend, the second biggest blizzard on record hit New York City. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, although I had inkling that there would be lots of snow. How it would play out was entirely new to me. Luckily, it struck on a Saturday, meaning that neither my wife nor I had to be anywhere, so there were no public transportation woes to worry about, no risk of being stranded. Instead, we made the most of it. Here’s my experience.

The Calm Before:

To say that the Americans took the oncoming storm lightly is an understatement. I was surprised. This is probably the effect of me watching too many disaster movies, where people are running around, grabbing supplies and fighting over the last tin of beans in the middle of a crowded supermarket. Instead, on the Friday afternoon before the storm, I went to the supermarket to grab some water and food, and found the lines to be slightly longer than usual, with many people buying lots of water. There was no rushing, squabbling or unpleasantness.

As someone who once worked in a supermarket in Britain, I can say this is a marked difference to what I know. In my old supermarket, arguments happened all the time; if the store was to be closed for one day, for say Easter or Christmas, then hysteria would break out the day before, and security would often be called to disrupt fights.

The Storm:

It started snowing late on Friday night. I didn’t notice it for hours and then looked out of my window to see the floor covered in snow. I was up until 4am (nothing like a good X-Files marathon during extreme weather), so saw it grow through the night.

I woke early. Yet more snow had fallen, but the view from my window didn’t give the impression of anything too intense. I was wrong. The view from my window is into a very sheltered courtyard, so relatively little wind was blowing about. This occurred to me at the back of my mind, but I was still convinced that the big one was, actually, quite small.

Reassured by the scene from our window, my wife and I decided to go outside. Our first attempt lasted about three seconds. The snow wasn’t falling calmly like outside our window, but shooting diagonally, like thousands of little pellets a second. We walked out and walked back in again. I don’t own a hat, so was going to go without one. This turned out to be impossible, so my wife lent me one of hers.

Now that I was properly head dressed we set out. Our intention was to go to the park, which is usually a brisk half mile walk. After a few more seconds of walking, we revised our destination to the end of the block. However, after a minute or so we were able to acclimatize to the snow very easily. It was still hitting us hard, but once you’re used to it, it’s very bearable. I even felt quite warm, despite the fact the snow was sticking to my coat, making me look like a huge frozen sneeze.

We re-revised our plans again, and kept on heading to the park. On the way, we took note of which shops were still open. It was the same route we took at Christmas to get to the subway, so it was interesting to see which event caused more closures. I can say that blizzard easily beats Christmas; on Christmas it seemed like half the shops were running like usual; in the blizzard we saw that only the 7/11, Dunkin’ Donuts and Wendy’s was open. I also suspect that I saw someone in Pizza Hut, but that could have just been the snow making me hallucinate. On the way back we found some delis, grocery stores and a coffee shop letting people in. I must say, I’m profoundly sorry to the coffee shop for my ice jacket melting all over their floors.

Us arriving at the park:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVtdbNYplr8&feature=youtu.be

We arrived in Prospect Park. Usually, it’s packed. Today, we had it mostly to ourselves. Occasionally, there was a small group of hardy explorers or skiers, or in one instance a jogger who wouldn’t let the blizzard ruin his routine, but it was eerily quiet on the most part. We got some good pictures, walked around and when it was starting to get dark, decided to head home.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BA5buG3GFEk/?taken-by=whobalaya

The Storm Intensifies:

On the way back, the storm got worse. The snow, blowing in our faces, really started to sting. It was still really weird to see the city so deserted. My street is usually packed, but now there was just the occasional person shoveling snow, and maybe a police car.

It looked properly post-apocalyptic, and despite the now painful snow, got a couple of interesting shots of the city at night.

The hardest thing about the journey home was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the snow, which in the intervening hours had built up so much more. My wife opted to walk in the road, while I stuck to the path. As both had areas where the snow was incredibly difficult to drudge through, it’s hard to tell which the better option was.

Eventually, we reached our apartment building, pulled open the door with a struggle, and got home, soaked.

The Storm Dies Down:

Luckily, New York landlords legally have to keep their apartments warm at no expense to the tenant; so when we got home the heat was pumping out.

I made a roast chicken dinner, and we enjoyed the evening at home. The snow died down, and stopped entirely at some point in the evening.

Even now, two days later, snow is still thick in the courtyard and is stacked in huge piles all along the side of the roads; but life in the city has gone back to normal, and people are just dealing with it.

I don’t have a clue how long it will take for all the snow to melt, but it seems to be taking forever. I’m sure a heatwave will come along soon enough.

The First Month and a Half and a Bit

November 17, 2015 Maxim Sorokopud

I've been in America for just over a month and a half now. In that month and a half enough stuff has happened to fill probably one hundred blog posts and age me by about as many years. I wish I could have blogged about it sooner, however, I have been incredibly busy juggling my workload with finding a new life. In that case, this blog will have to be made up of written snapshots of all that I've done in this time.

So without further ado, here's everything I've done, in as few words as possible:

September 26th - Left Britain. Feels like an eternity ago now. Bid adieu to my family, cars being on the left, and not having a voice that is an instant conversation starter.

Later that day, I got on the plane and landed in America.

Just before I left, my family all had a final meal together. Everyone was happy, except my father, who sulked throughout because we went to Giraffe instead of Wetherspoons (or if you're American, a restaurant instead of a pub.) Here's a picture that sums up his mood:

Then I got on the flight and landed. Got through US customs and met my fiancee, Willa, for the first time in nearly 11 months. Emotions and joy and so on. I'm sure you can imagine how it feels to be reunited with someone after a very long time.

September 27th - The never ending and constantly terrifying subway ride

I have to hand it to the managers of JFK international airport; they certainly have an ingenious way of indoctrinating new arrivals to New York City. Instead of, say, organizing a regular coach that would go directly to Penn station every hour, they stick disorientated and jet lagged new arrivals on the subway for hours.

Yes, you could get a taxi or an Uber, but with the distance covered the bill will be in the hundreds of dollars compared to 2ish dollars for the subway.

So anyway, getting on the subway at some point past midnight was just about possibly the scariest and most startling way to introduce me to my new home. We encountered drug addicts shouting at transport workers, huge groups of policemen, and other things that I appear to have blocked out. I remember feeling like we were in one of those bizarrely popular immersive reality experiences; this one called, "Oh no, New York!"

However, in the end we arrived mostly in one piece, dazed, tired and amazed at being reunited.

The next morning, we decided to have one day of fun and relaxation before the business of house hunting took over. We went to a place called Governors Island. It's a small island just off Manhattan, filled with cool stuff.

Here's some pictures:

The Brooklyn skyline. We didn't realize at that point that we would end up living there.

September 28th - Met a real estate broker called Claudio. I already thought that estate agents were basically the devil but with less sympathy, but brokers are worse.

He fed me lots of misinformation about renting properties in New York, that probably set my house hunting back by at least a week. And he had a smug face. We didn't use a broker in the end, so there.

Here's some advice to anyone looking to rent in NYC. NEVER USE A BROKER!

September 29th - October 11th - Lots happened in this period that I will use in future blog posts, but the main activity can be summarized as looked at property, didn't get it, looked at property, didn't get it, looked at a property, didn't get it.

Left the friend's place we were staying in to flit between Airbnbs and hostels with increasing aimlessness.

October 12th - October 31st - Moved to New Jersey, hours away from New York City. Willa's Aunt and Uncle let us stay at their home that they weren't using.

If ever a place summed up suburban America it was South Plainfield, where the house was. It was sparse, safe, and most of the houses had gone overboard for Halloween. The only shop within a mile of the house was a little shop called Little Shop.

I quite liked living there, despite not having a car and the two hour bus commutes into the city. I was comfortable and at peace. It got even better when I found the perfect oldies station on the radio to listen to every day.

However, eventually New York came calling. An application we had put on a small apartment in Brooklyn was approved. We signed the papers and Willa's Aunt and Uncle were kind enough to drop us and our things off in the city.

November 1st - Now - This month has mostly been filled with getting nice stuff for our apartment. It's been significantly less stressful than October, which was filled with uncertainty about what we were going to do with living and commuting. We even have a TV now!

We also saw this:

https://www.instagram.com/p/-EXGVwGFI8/?taken-by=whobalaya