Brief story of an Italian amazed by New York

The JFK airport in New York is a city. It has its rules and time flows differently. When you land you know you’ll have to queue. You do not know well what it is but you know it will be like that. There are many people who show you the way. “Go this way! Go this way!”. There is nothing religious, they only tell you where you will have to line up. If you are a US citizen, or a Canadian citizen. If it’s your first time in America or you’ve already been there.

From 2008 onwards. There are devices that take your fingerprints and take a picture of you. The photo of one who has traveled hours and hours in a seat too narrow to eat food that he would never choose to eat for his free choice. But this does not matter. It matters that they put an O or an X. The X happened to me. A beautiful cross where there was the data of my passport. I immediately thought, ” as the Latins say. The police officer, after checking the passports and taking my fingerprints again, also took me another picture. But I’m so vain and there are no problems. He asked me if I spoke English and I said “A little bit!”, So he asked me if I could speak Spanish.

My swinging, weary head moved up and down made him realize that the answer was yes. “Bienvenidos en New York!” and he put the stamp on the passport which meant I was really welcome. as the Latins say. The police officer, after checking the passports and taking my fingerprints again, also took me another picture. But I’m so vain and there are no problems. He asked me if I spoke English and I said “A little bit!”, So he asked me if I could speak Spanish. My swinging, weary head moved up and down made him realize that the answer was yes. “Bienvenidos en New York!” and he put the stamp on the passport which meant I was really welcome. then he asked me if I spoke Spanish. My swinging, weary head moved up and down made him realize that the answer was yes. “Bienvenidos en New York!” and he put the stamp on the passport which meant I was really welcome. then he asked me if I spoke Spanish. My swinging, weary head moved up and down made him realize that the answer was yes. “Bienvenidos en New York!” and he put the stamp on the passport which meant I was really welcome.

Coming out of the airport an endless crowd of people tells you “Taxi”, but they are not real taxis. They are what we could call abusive. For taxis, the official ones, there’s a sort of huge cabin where you line up and a girl sort you out to your taxi. She was very beautiful, with lacquered nails and a set of long braids that adorned her head. Every so often he hid his cell phone to write to someone. And every time he did, he smiled. I did not ask her with the same words but that, yes, we needed to get to Times Square. “Wait a second!” and he says something to the walkie talkie that I do not understand. Here comes a yellow taxi that looks like a sort of small bus.

There was a window that divided the passengers from the taxi driver. He did not really want to talk. At the guide there is not it was Robert De Niro, but an obnoxious gentleman with the NY hat. But there was a television with news, Google maps to see the route in real time and the rate. From the airport to Times Square there is a flat rate of $ 52, plus tolls and a click after about an hour for a few dollars and a tip (which is practically mandatory here). The guy who drove me passed what appeared to be a cell phone and told me to enter the address. He left and with a very sporty driving he got into New York traffic passing through the underpass, which is one of the possibilities to cross the Hudson River. Traffic is something incredible. Horns, sirens, acceleration, braking and some “Fuck!”