I decided, I go there. All I have not recommended that everyone, both Italians and New Yorkers, both those who do not know anything about New York and who was born and raised there, but I'm a stubborn, if I put myself in the head there is one thing to make me change my mind. I'm leaving home soon, about two and a half, from 76th Street to Bedford-Stuyvesant, perhaps the most dangerous area of \u200b\u200bNew York, located in the exact center of Brooklyn, the scene of numerous crimes over time and is still super-degraded area. A Bedford-Stuyvesant is set and entirely filmed by Spike Lee "Do The Right Thing," emblematic photograph of Brooklyn destabilized end of the millennium, and still does not seem to be changed. Even my friends from Utica Avenue, not the shins of holy-minded hip-hop to the core, I have strongly discouraged to go there, they themselves do not dream any way to cross the imaginary border of Bed-Stuy, or Fulton Street. They told me the usual spiel that they can not anything happen without their approval, but that over Fulton Street can no longer do anything. If I have to tell the truth I never believed these things, on the border, the gangs, the fact that in some places it is better not to go, and so on. Anything can happen anywhere, you can be robbed in your home while you sleep, with the reinforced door and grates on the windows, and no one can say "I told you so", therefore, more confident than ever, I take the subway green number 6 in the direction of downtown, with a spirit of disillusioned and fatalistic frivolous. My goal is in the legendary Soul the Hole, one of the most famous and infamous playground of New York, second only to Rucker Park in terms of charm and fame. Great champions have walked the cement of the Soul in the Hole, real legends like Fly Williams and especially Edward "Booger" Smith (whose life is told in their own movie called "Soul in the Hole") were the undisputed masters of this playground for years, fueling the myth out of all proportion to the field in the middle of Bed-Stuy, and always popular with Broccolini (mythical and sometimes bloody the challenges of the Summer Tournament, with teams from the Bronx or Harlem). Arrival at Broadway-Nassau, in Lower Manhattan, where I take the blue line C towards Brooklyn. Arriva, jump up there. A half hour of travel and arrival at my stop, Kingston-Throop Avenue. Esco, I climb the stairs, and on Fulton Street, the infamous border. If I go south, toward Utica Avenue, are safe, are protected, nothing can happen if I go north, toward Bed-Stuy are exposed, no one can come to my rescue if I am attacked, absolutely nobody can help me. Trying to take it easy and self-irony, I start walking west on Fulton Street, looking around furtively, trying not to see that they are new in the area. The first impact is horrific, in spite of my optimism. Apart from the fact that from then on until I return to Manhattan will not see more a person with white skin, red or yellow, the scene of Bed-Stuy is nothing short of depressing. A few stores open in the middle of the most complete and utter desolation of decay. On the corner of Fulton Street and Marcus Garvey Boulevard, just the way that I take, there is a machine for half inside a gate (locked of course) and half on the sidewalk with the hood back from the impact, with all broken glass, and even the remnants of lunch on the seats, a sign that the car has been there for quite some time and that has been used as a place for a nice feast of old fashioned burger Wendy's. Trying to do as all the passersby, or not consider this thing a little strange, I go further, and walked to the Marcus Garvey Boulevard. The Boulevard is very residential in that they seem to be thousands of people who live here, that everyone from children to the elderly of eighty three years, seem to be sitting outside by the stairs at home or on plastic chairs on the sidewalk, and that all seem to look at me. My mind can not go back to images of "Do The Right Thing," where everybody is beautiful outside on the stairs or sitting on chairs in the shade of a ombellone. So it's true! In the film were all choreographed and entertaining, but in reality, especially if you're in the most dangerous in New York and are the only white within ten miles, more than fun are at least threatening, big, fat, and apparently extremely dangerous. I try not to meet anyone's eye, I always keep my head up high to make it clear to everyone that I know where I'm going and I feel no fear against anyone, thank God, the yahoo-map of the area is perfectly stored in my mind, and I know that to meet Soul in the Hole I have to walk eight blocks to Marcus Garvey Boulevard to Madison Avenue. Near a castle with two faux-medieval towers, which in reality is a mess and a hospital social services, I see, unfortunately, and falling into ruin, and almost entirely covered by weeds nearly two meters high, the historical Bedford-Stuyvesant murals depicting the reality of the neighborhood, with children, shops, green spaces and trees, where he heads the word "Magic Garden Bed-Stuy." How sad. But there are now, I see the next one is Madison Avenue, I just get the corner for an appointment with history. I'm on the corner, I finally arrived, and I do not believe my eyes, I'm dreaming. The playground is not there. In its place only bulldozers, concrete mixers, excavators and cranes, in the midst of tons of gravel and cement powder. I approached the net where there is a cartel. The work will last for months, they're redoing all the playground, in anticipation of even a children's playground and a large garden. Bewildered by delusion, I try to get me thinking about the courage eight blocks of Marcus Garvey Boulevard, which separates me from Fulton Street, the "boundary". Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York
0 comments:
Post a Comment