The Great Saunter
We didn’t properly prepare for the Great Saunter. We (me, Adey, the Midge) agreed it would be a good thing to do but didn’t properly decide to do it until the night before. In a cosy bar with the rain pouring down outside in a decidedly noirish fashion (and after a few glasses of sangria) this seemed like a really good idea. It is called the ‘saunter’ because the suggested walking speed is 3 mph. And ‘great’ because it involves a trek around the whole of the Manhattan coast, 32 miles. People drop in and out of the walk, although the hardcore do the full stretch. The walk is organised by a group called the Shorewalkers , a New York based walking/environmental group.
We were never under any illusions that we would complete the whole thing. Starting at 42nd Street West our stated aim was to make it to the northern tip at Inwood Park (but my secret aim was to walk all the way home, some 22 miles). On registration we received a number and a booklet, including a song by Pete Seeger who is, apparently, a Shorewalker himself. The song advises against taking the subway or a taxi and advocates having a beer at the end. I didn’t hear anyone singing it.
The first stretch on the Hudson is fairly (post)industrial but cleaned up. There is a melted metal pier and also chairs. I like it, it reminds me of Sunderland or Woolwich. There are a lot of cyclists and runners, including a woman running really fast while pushing a buggy. ‘That’s going too far.’ says the Midge. It starts to rain.
The Upper West Side turns into West Harlem where we get lost. Part of the riverside is closed and so we are routed through a park but not told how to get out. The park is elevated above the riverside and is full of children playing various sports, mainly baseball. We eventually find some steps, descend and walk back along the river. The riverside gets greener and hillier and soon (not that soon, the Midge swears the George Washington Bridge is getting further away) we are in Washington Heights. The section from Washington Heights to Inwood is quite lovely. It’s the only section where the path isn’t fenced off from the river. The sun comes out.
. 
From Inwood we can see the Bronx across the water. We made it to the top. According to a sign the Dutch swindled the Native Americans out of Manhattan in this very park. We get hungry. We wander out of the park in search of food and find a deli, John’s Doo-Wop Deli to be more precise. Above shelves of cleaning products and food are records on the wall and a shrine to Elvis. I am happy. Two white haired men behind a counter sing along to a stars-on-45 style rock n roll compilation while a young woman makes the sandwiches. Two big cops with guns on their belts come in, one resembles Herc from the Wire and orders baloney on rye. Outside a construction worker asks me about the walk. I explain. ‘You from England?’ he asks.
‘Yes’
‘How’s the queen doin?’
‘She’s doing alright, last time I checked.’
‘Good, you tell her I said hello.’
‘Will do.’
And off we go again past the man trying, unsuccessfully, to give away free bibles, shops selling dresses, shops selling live poultry. Back to the river. There’s a long stretch where we are sandwiched between FDR (I don’t know the right American terminology but it’s like a dual carriage way that goes up the east side of Manhattan) and the river until the path closes and we are rerouted through East Harlem. According to my guide book ‘West Harlem is the Harlem of the popular imagination’. On this route we don’t see the hustle and bustle of the centre of Harlem. The east side near the river is largely made up of housing projects. Weaving in and out of them, between more baseball games, old men playing chess and broken glass you get the impression that whoever is responsible for the infrastructure of New York doesn’t really give a shit about the people who live in this neighbourhood. There are no pedestrian crossings, holes in the road and no access to the riverside. When we eventually cross the pedestrian bridge at 120th (to be sandwiched between FDR and the river again) the projects continue on the other side of the road, but there is a disjuncture between them and the river. This riverside doesn’t feel like it belongs to Harlem. It feels more like an extension of the Carl Schultz park where middle class looking white people walk their dogs. It’s far easier to get to this stretch from the Yorkville section than from above 120th.
By this point my co-walkers, who opted for stylish shoes, are suffering. I am physically fine but feeling a little … delirious. We are distracted by the dogs in the park and then before long we are crossing over to First Avenue. And home.
