From NY to NJ

Apparently New York City isn't big enough for me, so tonight I took off to Newark, New Jersey for a few hours.

Firstly, can I say how stupid it is to name a city "Newark", especially one that's within a ten minute drive of New York? I know that they didn't have cars back in 1693, but what were those slurring alcoholic settlers thinking?

"Where are we, gents?"
"S'Newark, methinks."
"New York, you mean?"
"Close enough."
"But where are the people?"
"Stop asking questions and keep drinking."
"Ok."

Moving along... so today I remembered that a show I wanted to see was closing this weekend at NJPAC (New Jersey Performing Arts Center). Since it was so last minute, I had to brave the weird shoals of NJ alone. Tickets were only $30, but the round-trip cab rides would have worked out to about $100. Not optimal. So I did what any good twenty year old male with no parents around to solve my problems would do -- I complained. Loudly. My roommates, much more skilled at New York travel than I, heard the cries for help and answered with the following solution:

NJ Transit.

Up until this point, I had considered cabs, subways, buses, and feet the only affordable modes of transportation in NY. I'd been completely oblivious of the Amtrak and train systems. Living only two blocks away from Penn Station (not to mention working inside of it), I can't believe the railway never came to mind. So I Googled Penn Station; and what, you may wonder, was the price of a one-way adult fare?

$5.00

That settled it. I didn't know where to line up, what trains to use, which stops to stop at, or who to pay, but I was getting to NJ for $5.00 and that was that. I slithered through the first queue I saw and bought a one way ticket to Rahway.

Did I know where Rahway was? Nope. Did I ask? Nope. I made an educated guess, took my ticket, and wandered down to find the gates.

Cut to one hour later: I'm on a train talking to a lovely family of loud East Indians. We're rocketing towards Rahway (I still have no clue where that is), but for some reason I'm not too worried.

The train traveled through pitch black tunnels most of the way, so I couldn't really see where we were going. My ears popped at least three or four times, though. Was Rahway 20,000 leagues under the sea? Or on top of some mountain? If it was, I'd never know until I got there...

But turns out my hunch was right. Rahway is a platform at Penn Station in Newark, and fifteen minutes after leaving New York our car arrived safe and sound. I shook hands with the loud East Indians and took off a separate way. I knew the theater was only five or six blocks from the train station, so I asked a cabby for directions and just started walking.

Ten minutes later, I was at one of the most beautiful theaters I've ever been in. My seat was maybe the best seat I've ever had (center of front orchestra), and the show was hilarious. Similar to my first class flight experience, however, I experienced something quite different from sitting somewhere that I wasn't used to. See, the people around me were "old money" (mostly tux'ed up men escorting botox'ed wives). They only cracked small smiles at the funniest jokes and rarely clapped at the end of a song. No cheering, no standing ovations. Meanwhile, I happen to think the show is shat-my-pants funny, so there I am in the middle of the hob-nobbs screaming with laughter while they're all politely patting their ivory gloves.

Regardless, the two hours flew by. And as the final curtain fell, audience clapping, I was just starting to think about the fact that I was in NJ with no train ticket home.

Could I have called a cab? Yes.

Was I about to spend $50 when there was a possibility of going back to the station to scrounge up another $5 ticket? No.

So I started walking back to Rahway in hopes that I'd catch an 11:00 train home. Needless to say, I did. So I'm pretty proud of myself.

When I got back to the apartment to write this blog, I Wikipedia'ed Newark to get the 1693 date I referenced at the start of this post. And after delving into Wiki's highly reliable well of information, I also discovered that Newark is consistently rated in the top twenty of the United States' most violent cities, with a crime rate of 553.5 per 100,000 people. Should I have been wandering around by myself at night, even if it was just four blocks? In retrospect, probably not. I mean, it's way more dangerous than tiny little Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, right?

...right?

Actually, no. According to Canada's 2007 census, Saskatoon's violent crime rate is 1606 per 100,000 people. Almost three times worse than Newark.

I think bigger cities carry a certain stigma about them. The bigger the wolf, the badder it is. But in all honesty, bad things happen everywhere -- you just have to be smart with what choices you make and try not to stray off the bright path to grandma's house.