Whereas the surrounding buildings have all but risen again to their former glory the original Twin Towers themselves have been replaced by two massive holes in the ground converted into dark, ominous waterfalls. The names of all those who died are etched into the metal barrier around the edge. Sobering stuff.
Beneath the WTC plaza itself is a cavernous museum space packed with much original debris, powerful personal testimony and heart wrenching mementos of that fateful day. Audio recordings of fire crew inside the towers shortly before they collapsed, voicemails from office staff to loved ones trapped on the floors above where the two aircraft hit and messages left by passengers on the planes as they were about to fly into the buildings were almost too much to take. Our tears flowed as the exhibition lead us through the time line of the day and the tragedy of the disaster unfolded before our eyes. Upsetting, haunting and powerful. An unforgettable exhibition.
To be honest it was a tough couple of hours but so pleased we went.
Afterwards we were in much need of something to cheer us up. So we opted for retail therapy in Century 21 across the street. Nothing takes your mind off things like discounted designer pants and socks.
Later on we headed back home, got some food together and welcomed the W Hotel boys over for a meal on our roof terrace. Vince provided a lovely sugary cake for Darren and by 10pm our mood had recovered sufficiently that we headed out on the town. Our big yellow taxi sped us down the East Highway to the East Village to The Boiler Room for jukebox heaven, free pool and then on to The Cock for go-go boys and a loud trashiest that only Monday night gay bars seem to provide. We rolled in late. Very late. But with a head buzzing from the day.
It was a day that took us from the sublime to the ridiculous as only New York City seems to do so effortlessly.