Central Park is probably the most famous park in the world. I knew it would be big. Very big. I had even been told that you could walk around the park all day without ever getting out. However, I wasn’t prepared for asphalted streets and traffic lights for pedestrians and cyclists!

An oasis of calm
I tried to look like a real New Yorker, but miserably failed after two minutes. That is, when I saw a squirrel. I guess everyone is used to them running around. Well, everyone soon found out I was not. In fact, I was running after them trying to take pictures and squealing with delight. Very discrete. Although Central Park is surely a touristic spot, it is mainly frequented by locals (or possibly tourists who fit in better than me and are better at hiding their fascination). It is very easy to understand why New Yorkers love it: it is a vast and majestic park that almost makes you forget about the chaos of the surrounding streets. Walking around the park is a pleasant – and needed! – break from the hustle and bustle of the enormous city you almost can’t believe is so close to you. Even the sound of the distant police sirens seems comforting and calming in this peaceful space, and it is a friendly and gentle reminder of the fact that you are still in the city and shouldn’t relax too much. Time flies while in the park, and you just know you will eventually have to go back to reality. Simply, Central Park is a wonderful oasis of calm in the middle of a chaotic and crazy city, a unique place to relax soul and mind. People do so in the most various ways: enjoying a picnic with family and friends, playing baseball or soccer, reading, sleeping, walking their dog, running or cycling.

Disconnected
Central Park is known as «the green lung of New York», and I think this term has two meanings. A green lung is an area of parkland within a city, supposed to replenish the air with oxygen. There is more than the literal meaning, though. Central Park is one of the few (or maybe even the only) places in New York where you can breathe. Breathe, and stop to think. Your mind starts wandering. Time flies in Central Park, and you wish it didn’t. The cars and crowds seem so far away, and you just focus on yourself and your wellbeing. Hundreds of people, of any age, run. Some listen to music, some listen to the park. Some want to establish their personal time record, some simply run to relieve stress. When running, you are only competing against yourself. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself. Running isn’t about being better than someone else. It’s about being better than who you used to be, it’s about pushing your limits to see how far you can get. Central Park motivates you to be healthy and to be the best version of yourself and I know that if I lived in New York (maybe in a couple of years, who knows where life will take me!), I would be one of those runners. And if I, a rather lazy girl that would only run to go get a hamburger or a pizza, say that, then that means Central Park really is a special place.

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• Photos: Domitilla Cerclé

On our last full day in New York City, we visited the Tenement Museum in the Lower East Side, America’s iconic immigrant neighborhood. 97 Orchard Street, built in 1863, was a tenement apartment building home to many immigrants. Our tour, called «Hard Times», consisted of a visit of the restored apartments of the German-Jewish Gumpertz family, and the Italian-Catholic Baldizzi family.

Five years of rent
Natalie Gumpertz arrived to New York from Prussia in 1858, aged 22. At the time, the United States applied an open door policy, in order to catch up with industrialized Europe. Everyone was welcome. Natalie soon met her fellow citizen Julius, they got married and had four children. He was a shoemaker and only made $10 a week. Poverty was seen as a moral failure, and a cause of shame. Only those who raised their children with the «right» values were considered worthy of financial aid. One day in 1873, Natalie’s husband and father to four children didn’t come home. This phenomenon was sadly not rare. Natalie’s opportunity to improve her life arrived three years later, with the death of Julius’ father in Prussia. She managed to inherit the money ($600 – sufficient to pay five years of rent!), by claiming Julius was dead. Natalie and her three children (one died at the age of four) moved to the Upper East Side, where a large German community resided.

Italian Americans
The Italian Baldizzi family lived in the building in the 1930s. A lot had changed: there was finally electricity, and a bathroom in the hallway (instead of the toilets in the backyard). Adolfo Baldizzi moved to New York City from Palermo, as there were no economic opportunities in Italy as a carpenter (he knew he could earn ten times as much in the United States). He arrived in 1923, after his marriage, but his wife Rosaria was unable to go with him. The Immigration Act of 1924 limited the number of immigrants, especially from Eastern and Southern Europe. The theory of eugenics played an important role: only the «superior race», and the genetically fit, were welcome to the United States. Rosaria was no longer fit to become Americans, and had two options: wait for years, or travel illegally. She chose the latter, and we know she lived in the building between 1928 and 1935. Adolfo and Rosaria had two children, Johnny and Josephine. A recording of Josephine talking about the family life depicts a joyous and serene picture (we must, however, remember that she was about 8 years old when she moved out, so her memories are those of a naïve girl): the radio was always playing Italian music, life was busy, Adolfo would play with the kids, and Rosaria would cry because she missed her home country and family. The house was always clean and the children were raised to be «Americans». The Great Depression in 1929 caused Adolfo to have troubles finding a stable job, and Rosaria worked seasonally in a coat factory. As they were not citizens, they feared deportation. Roosevelt’s «Home Relief» program helped them survive, and pictures of him were on the walls near those of saints. In the 1930s, immigration was not as important, and only seven apartments of the building were inhabited. When the tenant decided to evict the remaining families, the Baldizzis moved to Brooklyn, where Adolfo got a job building ships. They managed to visit Italy after the Second World War, and were shocked to see that the country they remembered and loved had changed, devastated after the war. They now felt American, and were proud of their new identity.

No big changes
The inhabitants of 97 Orchard Street faced challenges that are still current today: they struggled to make a new life, worked for a better future and started a family with limited means. Thousands of people still do so. New York is known as the city of dreams – if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere; that’s what they say. You can only count on yourself, and «do something every day to remind this city why the hell you’re here», as a graffiti says.

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• Photos: Domitilla Cerclé

Titled «Reflecting Absence», the memorial consists of two massive pools with the largest manmade waterfalls in the United States, located exactly where the iconic Twin Towers of the World Trade Center stood until the sunny morning of September 11, 2001. As the name suggests, these symbolize the emptiness left after what is considered to be the most horrific tragedy in the history of the United States. The waterfalls and reflecting pools are hypnotic, inducing the calm necessary for contemplation and spirituality. The memorial is located in the middle of New York, yet the atmosphere is very peaceful and calm: the sound of water falling muffles the noise of the city, and the hundreds of trees surrounding the pools are a symbol of growth and renewal. The most important of these trees is the so-called Survivor Tree: a majestic pear tree that was found burned and barely alive after the collapse of the Twin Towers. It has quickly become a symbol of hope, strength, and rebirth.

Trapped
The names of the victims (both of the 9/11 attacks and the 1993 bombing) are inscribed on sober and minimalistic bronze plates along the perimeter of the pools. Even though there are 2’983 names on the plates, I recognized a couple of them. I have always been extremely interested in the 9/11 attacks, and I’ve seen a lot of documentaries about the topic. A documentary I find very well made is called «Phone calls from the Towers». Trapped in the Twin Towers, thousands of people tried to call their loved ones and make contact with the outside world. The documentary collects some recorded messages and private calls, which are the only thing the families of the victims have left, as only 300 bodies were recovered after the collapse of the towers. These messages are undeniably difficult to listen to, as many of the callers knew that time was ticking away. The recordings shed light on what really happened inside the towers, but they also reveal something more profound, about the choices people make in their final moments: who to turn to, and what to say. Some sounded desperate, but most tried to sound calm and positive, so as not to scare their relatives even more. Whereas some of the family members in the documentary said they still have the recorded message but don’t listen to it, others said this is a great source of comfort: at least, they will never forget the sound of the voice of their beloved son, daughter, brother, sister, father or mother.

A strong connection
I was very surprised when I read Melissa Harrington Hughes’ name, on a plate located by the south pool. I knew her name would be there, somewhere among hundreds of others, but I didn’t think I would actually find it. She is without a doubt the person from the documentary that I remember the best, and instantly felt connected to her as we share the same love for travelling. As her father recalls, she was so enthusiastic about travelling that she did not want to come home after spending her junior year of college in Italy: she took a job as an au pair in France, and «when I called in May to wish her a happy birthday, they told me she had taken off to Africa. Riding camels in Morocco».

Melissa was in New York for just one day. Aged 31, she was a business executive and had to attend a meeting on the 101st floor of the North Tower on September 11. She would have flown back to California once the meeting was over. After her tower was hit, she managed to talk to her father, but could only leave a message for her husband Sean. Crying, she said «I just wanted to let you know I love you and I’m stuck in this building in New York. There’s lots of smoke and I just wanted you to know that I love you always».

Never forgotten
In the documentary, Melissa’s father seems to have found peace. In his garden, there is a tall and majestic tree. He planted it the week after Melissa was born. The tree grew up, Melissa grew up. The tree grew up to be the biggest tree in the street, and Melissa grew up to be a beautiful, strong woman. The tree is still growing, and Melissa would love it. A person like her, so full of life and passion, will never be forgotten. «I say a little prayer every day, I talk to Melissa. I know she’s there, I know she’s listening», says her father.

The 9/11 Memorial has become a comforting place for the relatives of the victims. It’s a peaceful place where they can talk to their loved one, and leave flowers and flags. As most victims’ remains were never found, it must be comforting to have a place to go to. The memorial fully does justice to the event it is commemorating: the deadliest and most gruesome tragedy in the American history is represented by the most impressive monument in the country.

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• Photos: Domitilla Cerclé

Being from a small village, and never having been to the United States, I didn’t really know what to expect from this trip. I have always loved travelling and planning activities while on vacation. For this reason, I thought I was prepared for New York City, as I had bought three guides two months prior to the trip. I had read about the best restaurants (…which we definitely didn’t find), the neighborhoods, the skyscrapers, and even had a subway map. Well, none of this was enough. I can’t say that New York is totally different from what I expected, but I can’t say that it is as I imagined it to be either. What I can say for sure is that this trip changed me.

Who cares?
I have lived my whole life in a small valley village of 650 people, most of whom are old and pretty conservative. If something happens (he cheated! She’s pregnant! And oh my God have you seen that awful house?), everyone finds out in less than a week. This is something I definitely don’t miss in New York, where everyone seems to live their life without caring too much about other people. I deeply enjoy this sense of freedom, and find it comforting.

Inspired and a little scared
As I make my way down the city street, I feel overwhelmed by people walking and talking in unknown languages. People with looks that I have never seen before, totally different from what I am used to. People that look bizarre to me, to say the least. Everyone looks strong, and confident about their appearance. They seem to say, «this is me, this is the way I live, and I am not going to change to please you». I feel inspired by these New Yorkers, or foreigners who have perfectly adapted to this lifestyle, so full of life and passion. They feel comfortable dressing and acting anyway that they care to, and I envy them. I soon find out that New Yorkers can either give you no attention, or too much attention. As a small town girl, I quickly have to get used to some «damn girl!», «hey beautiful how are you doing?», «how old are you girls?» and a shop owner saying «muy carina! Sexy looking! Very sexy looking!», which is something to laugh about with friends, but it would have been totally different had I been on my own.

The not so bright side
Of course, not everyone in New York is so unfiltered. Quiet, discrete – almost invisible, I dare say – people can be found sitting at every corner, with a cardboard and a paper cup. «I need money for weed – hey, why should I lie?», «My wife needs a transplant», «Anything helps – God bless you!», «Give me $1 or I’m voting for Trump» (very clever, I must admit) are just some of the sentences I read on cardboards. But there is one I will never forget: «So many people walk by me, I feel like a ghost». New York is a city of contrasts: people stop to buy coffee or ice cream but are too busy to throw a couple of coins inside a paper cup, and they can afford to spend the night in a luxury hotel but suddenly don’t have anything on them when it comes to helping someone else. Having rarely seen any homeless people in Switzerland, seeing dozens every day in New York is undeniably shocking. After a couple of days, though, I am already used to it, and this is the sad thing about big cities: you get used to anything, and unconsciously accept everything you see, as it has become normal. Turning a blind eye to someone desperately in need simply becomes a part of the daily routine. I clearly didn’t change New York City, and the people I gave money to are still living – or rather, surviving – on the same street. But at least I can say I made an effort. I don’t know anything about them and will never know if they are telling the truth (in fact, it seems like everyone needs a transplant or is a military veteran). To be honest, I don’t really care. Will this person use my money in a decent way? And, actually, what is a decent way? Truthfully, it doesn’t matter to me what they are going to use my money for – for once in my life, I try not to be so judgmental. If a homeless person wants to buy a drink with my dollar (especially in expensive New York City, where one dollar is not enough for anything), let them buy a drink with it. I find myself in a particular situation one evening: while at a grocery store, I see a man quietly asking everyone to pay for his two items, and I see the shame on his face. I decide to help him, and spend $10 on his ice cream and cookies. At first I am annoyed – I don’t say anything, but think: «Seriously? Ice cream and cookies? He should have bought bread, or anything else». After the trip, I kept thinking about this. I have come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t care about what this man wanted me to buy for him – if I made his life a little easier with some vanilla ice cream and chocolate chip cookies, I’m all for it.

Life changing
My visit to New York City was a life changing experience. For the first time in my life, I was exposed to a little taste of what the real world is like. A far from perfect world, very different from what I am used to in Switzerland. And, in my opinion, a way more interesting world.

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• Photos: Domitilla Cerclé