A New Yorker back in the ‘Burg
- posted: 05 June 2007
- scrollopinion@byui.edu
Last semester I lived in New York City. I went determined to civilize myself. Away I went, ready to iron out these Idahoan wrinkles and gnaw through the ties that tether me to this culture-less sinkhole that I call home.
I went to shows on Broadway and to Knicks games at the Garden. I saw I Puritani in the Metropolitan Opera House, arguably the most opulent venue in the world. I stopped and watched street magicians, break-dancers, mimes, and transients as I walked the streets bustling with activity.
I went to work every day in the heart of Times Square, and I even had a cool magnetic key card to get into my building. I rode the 7-train to Queens every night, crossing in front of remarkable landmarks such as the Queens Bridge (where Spiderman nearly died) and Sesame Street (yes, the Elmo and Oscar playland).
I made a goal for myself to never eat from a chain restaurant while I was there. However difficult it seemed to kick Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers and curly fries, I soon fell in love with the myriad restaurants that didn’t seem to know the purpose of the FDA or IRS.
On one city block in Woodside (Queens), there were restaurants from nine different countries. Although the Greek, Indian, Thai, Mexican, Irish, Chinese, Ecuadorian and Italian cuisines were phenomenal, my favorite was the Colombian restaurant, Mangoes. I mean, how good does the food have to be when you are served by a dark-skinned, blue-eyed waitress with a thick Colombian accent?
So fast-forward three months and I am now back in Rexburg. There are no Broadway shows or buildings higher than I can throw a rock. The landmarks that I pass are grain elevators and church buildings. I watch basketball games on our undersized TV that has missing buttons and distorts colors in the lower right corner. I order Taco Time’s nachos grande from freshman girls who have big hair and distinct Utah accents.
As I lie in bed with memories of taxicabs and ethnic diversity pervading my dreams, do I regret being here in the ‘Burg? Well, it’s all relative. The first thing that I did when I got back from the city that so many people love—at least according to the $1.88 T-shirt that millions buy every year—was go to the Monster Truck Grand Nationals in Pocatello.
If I look deep into my heart, I cannot say that I had any more fun watching Anna Netrebko in I Puritani than I did losing my hearing as the 1,500 horsepower Monster Moose got stuck on top of a retired school bus.
And I can’t say that it was a more enlightening experience to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and see 500-year-old paintings of full-figured naked women as it was to go to Yellowstone and watch infant bison hobble awkwardly behind their mothers as they grazed the expansive prairie lands.
So yes, I am in Eastern Idaho, and yes, it is anything but bustling. But I can’t cheat myself out of life here. Eastern Idaho has experiences that can’t be found anywhere else—not even in a city nice enough to be named twice. 
