Arty in the USA

Five months in the US meant that the movie moments I craved were always right around the corner. New York came at the end of my journey, but was an incredible tribute to the movies.
I arrived at Penn Station on a December night, stepping out onto the street next to Madison Square Garden. People everywhere, yellow taxis, bright lights, and perfect, tiny snowflakes lightly falling and melting on my nose. I tried not to look like a tourist, but my eyes kept straying up to the skyscrapers in total awe, despite having seen it all on a tiny screen a million times before.
The next week was spent around Times Square; watching the ball drop on New Years Eve, seeing shows on Broadway, and midnight coffees in seedy diners. These were the kinds of things I’d dreamt about for most of my 21 years. And the craziest thing was that I was doing them. It was me who was walking to the Empire State building, waiting for a garbage truck to pass before I crossed the road. It was me who smiled at the garbage man, and got told ‘you got a real pretty smile’ in a heavy New York accent. It was me who strolled through a snow covered Central Park with friends--new and old--all of us marvelling at the natural beauty stuffed into the centre of a concrete giant.
These experiences widened the frame, and made it possible for me to create, not just memories, but a living, breathing map in my mind. Now, when people in movies go to the New York Public Library, I’ll picture the surrounding streets and see Bryant Park, sitting behind it. For someone who has devoted much of their life to worshipping film, this situation is almost too good to be true. But at the time it sometimes seemed too true to be good.
Seeing just how small the Statue of Liberty was, or feeling that it was almost too cold on top of the Empire State Building for the view to be worth it, made you question why these things were important. At the time they seemed like a chore: ‘I can’t leave without seeing…’ this or that tourist attraction. Sure, those things often look great in photos, or on film, but can be much less spectacular when viewed without the filter of a lens.
My experience was often made up of grimy snapshots of supposedly important things, interspersed throughout hours of sitting on a bus, or train, or plane. But now, even with only two or three months distance, the movie magic dust is settling on my memories, turning my experiences into a feature-length journey of self-discovery.