Whenever my French friends visit New York, they ask me whether to go to the Empire State Building or Times Square first. It takes some explaining to convince them to skip both and to instead head to my home neighborhood, here in the West Village.
“Don’t you just go there to buy shoes?” they ask.
For some reason, our neighborhood has a reputation for being a shoe mecca, and not much else.
As all of us West Villagers know, there is so much more to do here than to merely discover the latest in shoes. For starters there are some great scarf and sweater boutiques.
However, beyond the shopping, the West Village offers some of the best historic sightseeing in all of New York – a fact I try to impress upon my fellow French citizens.
I flew 800 miles to see Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks in Chicago a few years ago. Reading the caption, I realized that I have spent the last 40 years living a mere five blocks from its setting. (The famous scene is said to be inspired by a restaurant at the intersection where West 11th Street runs into Greenwich and 7th Avenues.) Yes, the painting was stunning, but the West Village is the real thing.
Furthermore,how many times have you walked past tourists ogling the Dakota building on Central Park West? “This is where John Lennon was shot,” they whisper in a myriad of languages. As I remind my French friends visiting the city, they’d do just as well to stroll around the West Village and see where John Lennon lived. On October 16, 1971, a mere five days after the song Imagine hit the charts, the couple moved to their home on Bank Street, where they would spend the next several years. Imagine that.
A few blocks away, on Bedford Street, lived the prolific author William Burroughs. It was here in the West Village that Burroughs befriended Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac. The three primary figures of the Beat Generation, they rank among the most influential writers in 20th century America. Walk the streets of the West Village and you are stepping on hallowed ground that inspired them to write such seminal works as Junkie, Howl, and On The Road.
“That’s nice,” my friends say, “but where will we eat?” (Any visitor to New York wants to take in the city’s gastronomic delights, but French visitors are particularly eager to enjoy the culinary scene.) This is my real chance to lure my French friends from Uptown.
I’m convinced that the West Village is the best foodie neighborhood in the city. We’ve got it all. There’s the best fish at Mary’s and the freshest octopus at Frankies Spuntino. There’s the juiciest hamburger at the Spotted Pig and the coziest atmosphere at Bobo. There’s the creamiest polenta at Tremont, and Italian food to rival anything in Florence at Sant Ambroeus and Morandi (the latter’s ricotta fritters really should make it onto every New York visitor’s must-taste list). For the caffeine lovers, there’s Jack’s Coffee for the finest local brew and that’s not to mention Waverly Inn – the legendary Bank Street restaurant that may or may not be haunted.
Of course, the best evenings end with music, and once again I must convince my French visitors to stay in the West Village and enjoy its melodic offerings. Jazz fans are happy to hear that the Vanguard Jazz club is here, along with the Café Bohemia and the Blue Note. Some of the greatest names in jazz history have played at these clubs, and while I know that Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk won’t be playing when I walk in, I can’t help but feel their presence as I sit and enjoy the improvised solos.
After all this, if my French friends still won’t consider the trek south from their Midtown hotels to our West Village streets – cobbled and quaint – I have to resign myself to enjoying the neighborhood as it is. A little quieter, a little less frequented, and a little better for it.
Now do excuse me, as I need to go buy some shoes.
Dear Mr. Levy:
As someone who spent a great part in Paris and still has family and friends in France, I am not quite sure that they only come to the Village for shoes. True, there used to be in the eighties a number of shoe stores on West 8th but it is no longer the case.
Anyway, and by no means do I want to critique, there are some lacunes in your tale: why not talk about Jefferson Market Library (yes, they carry some of your books in French there), our beloved landmark and a former courthouse, the beautiful garden on the right was once a women’s jail (detention center we say today). What about the charming Gay Street, once the first black ghetto? The stately town houses, or those still standing on Washington Square North where the ghosts of Henry James and Edward Hopper’s still linger. The ugly buildings the Brevoort and the Lafayette bear the names of the fancy French hotels they replaced where it is said that John Reed used their lobbies and their letterheads to do his correspondence. And Washington Square, the parade ground built over the the area where the bodies of criminals -or so the legend says- hung from a tree at the southeastern corner of the square, and the victims of the yellow fever are buried, that had to be abandoned and replaced by a garden because the soil was too soft. The shadow of a young and hopeful composer-musician calling himself Bob Dylan dreamed and played his guitar on the Square and lived for a time on McDougal street. McDougal Street ain’t what it used to be, helas.
There is more history of course, that of jazz, rebellion, literary salons and parties all perhaps long gone -well jazz is still here, except at Cafe Bohemia now replaced by a beer pub; the 5 Spot Cafe was a little further east on Cooper Square- and all the avant-garde theaters and the pub, now a pocket garden, where O’Neil used to drink, and the speakeasies, Chumley’s was one if it ever opens again.
OK, my rant is over, and I thank you for loving the Village and saying so.