Take the High Line

I discovered the coolest park on the edge of the meat packing district. It was my last few hours in the city and I had been everywhere -- I mean it, everywhere. My feet hurt, it was hot, there was no room in the bag for more stuff. I was looking to kill time.

Being hot, ragged, and tired, I decided to head to the meat packing district to look for celebrities and other famous folk. Somehow I thought a cold beverage at Pastis might help me whittle away the time. But when I arrived it was packed, filled with entirely normal looking people, and the raised eyebrow the suit-clad host gave me indicated I might be a bit to sad looking to linger at the bar.

So I moved on, and a few blocks closer to the Hudson I discovered this park. It is called the High Line. It's lovely, just opened, and it is a little oasis in the city. I hate that word -- oasis -- but that's pretty much what it is. There were wild flowers, quiet, a breeze off the river, and places to sit and relax. It is an oasis.

The New York Times just happened to write about the High Line this week. Read about it here.