Small But Sexy

ALBANY, N.Y. - Called "Smalbany" in the current Lonely Planet (a term I've never heard used by a local) Albany gets a bad rep. The truth about New York's capital is best summarized by a transplant I spoke with at a holiday party.

"People think Albany doesn't have anything. That's wrong. Albany has one of everything," she said.

I'm reminded of a statement Berlin Mayor Klaus Wowereit said a couple years ago, that his city was "arm, aber sexy," - poor but sexy. Here in Albany, we're small but sexy.

And my party friend's right about the number of things in Smalbany. There's one good tea store, one buffalo farm, one nice Hindu temple, one controversial Guayanese club and one place to buy stinky tofu.

It's not perfect; every year the local alt-weekly Metroland complains about the city's lack of an Ethiopian restaurant. But with that Horn of Africa power busy "liberating" Somalia, that might be a good thing. There is Yonder Farms, a market less than a mile from my house with a working water-wheel and greenhouse in front, that I go years without visiting. Eating food by using bread as a utensil might be a little much for a year that has already seen the opening of several upscale clubs, lounges and even a "contemporary pub" (aka a bar with fancy appetizers).

Albany's nicest venues, the Emperor's Place serving Cantonese seafood dishes, the politico hang-out Jack's Oyster Bar and the free display of modernist and cubist sculpture at the Concourse are fantastic, they rival their counterparts in New York. The only difference is that here in Albany we only have one of them.

SmAlbany, the blog, examined the differences between New York and Albany in a post called "The "intellectual" roots of Oh, SmAlbany!"

Sample:

New York - "high paying job in the 'financial district.'"
Albany - "cushy and comfortable job with the state."

New York - thinks the "in-town" newspapers are so lame. Reads LA TIMES.
Albany - thinks the "in-town" newspapers are so lame. Reads NY POST.

I've been back in Albany two months now, and think I'm beginning to get settled in here. The other day I even thought about buying a copy of the Post.

Lessons from the Home by the Airport

TROY, N.Y. - First day at a job. Awkwardness abounds.

For reasons I can't get into I was telling two younger workers a story about my travels in Iceland. Every night at the Reykjavik Youth Hostel, I would gather with six or seven other young backpackers in the living room. Every half an hour, we would put on our hats, scarves, mittens and coats and walk around to the back of the one-story building, where there was no outside light. Then we would look up.

About 15 seconds later someone would inevitably say, "It's still cloudy," and we would head back around front and back into the living. In six days, I saw no lights.

Just then, a woman of about 65, eating a cup of yogurt at the next table spoke up. "Excuse me," she said, her wrinkled lips softly speaking the words, "Did you just say you use to live in Iceland?"

"No, sorry," I said, "I just went there on a vacation."

She didn't look sad. "I used to teach there," she said.

"I worked in Keflavik," she said, pronouncing it with deep Scandinavian guttural sounds, not the warm grandmotherly voice she uses in English.

It was the early 1960's and she was right out of teaching school. An agency that provided English teachers in Europe said if she'd go to Iceland for a year, she could have her pick of assignments the year after.

"And that didn't sound like a bad idea," she said. "I thought, 'why not.'"

She lived in a tin-roofed apartment building. She spent half her time teaching blonde Icelandic children, the other half teaching American military children. Both spoke English at the same level. Icelandic is not a very useful language, so the natives spoke several other languages.

She found the Icelanders a proud but secretive people. Her window into the culture was a young university student she met, who would take her out to parties in Reykjavik on weekends. The city was small then, but the parties were legendary.

"They can outdrink anyone," she said.

There were other perks to the job. She flew free on military planes to England and Ireland during school breaks. She got to hang out on base, eating missed American foods and hearing a familiar accent. Soon enough her "hardship post" was over, and she flew to sunny Spain, where she taught for several more years.

"I'd love to go back," she said. "You don't hear too much about it. You're the first person I met that actually decided to go on a vacation there. That's very interesting."