As the morning of 4 December dawned, the weather had thawed considerably and I made the decision – to visit New York City’s infamous murder capital, a neighbourhood named Brownsville in the heart of Brooklyn.

The decision was not made lightly, but at the time, crime had decreased significantly in many parts of NYC, including Brooklyn. The New York Times even wrote an article on how East New York, the only other neighbourhood that rivals Brownsville’s crime reputation (East New York has the distinction of being known as ‘The Killing Fields’), had no murders up until April 2018, when the article was written.

Even so, shooting incidents do occur sporadically and it is easy to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time and be caught in the crossfire. Therefore, I decided to stick to the outskirts, and away from the main housing projects which dominate the landscape in Brownsville, which are known to be hot-spots for possible crime.

As mentioned in previous posts, Brownsville has the highest density of pubic housing projects within its one square-mile boundaries (East Harlem is the runner-up) in the entire United States. Although there are tons of housing projects around New York City, the ones here are known to be the most notorious in all the boroughs, along with the Pink Houses in East New York.

For the past few years, I started gaining an interest in sociology after doing research on the hikikomori phenomenon in Japan, and how social factors can shape individual lives on a massive scale. Brownsville is pretty unique as it has managed to stave off the blight of gentrification (read: hipster-fied) that has taken hold in nearby Crown Heights and Bedford-Stuyvesant and its streets have remained virtually unchanged for many decades.

I was piqued by how the denizens of Brownsville felt in the face of gentrification almost knocking on its doors and get a feel of what daily life was like there (another article I read stated that a substantial proportion of Brownsville residents do not travel outside its boundaries).

Additionally, the neighbourhood does have its interesting history tidbits – Brownsville was once home to Murder Inc., which was behind hundreds of hits and assassinations in the 1930s and 40s and run by the Italian mobs.

Known as the Midnight Rose Candy Store, it was run by a petite old lady in her sixties known as Rosie Gold. However, there was nothing innocuous in this little shop – there was a row of telephones that lined one side of the store. Whenever a phone rang, a member of the death squad would be given details of the hit. In total, it was estimated that 400 – 1,000 murders were carried out by Murder Inc., making them the single-most deadly organisation behind the most number of murders in the entire US (Atlas Obscura).

Despite Brownsville being known as a food desert by most, I found that there were two neighbourhood cafes that were recently opened by Brownsville natives. I decided to stick to the one that was on the outskirts of the neighbourhood on the border of Crown Heights and Brownsville to get a feel of the area first.

Getting on the 3 train at Atlantic Ave Barclays Center station, the train lumbered through Crown Heights and the train became increasingly empty. I felt a sense of trepidation as the train left the last stop of Crown Heights, at Utica Avenue Station and made its way into the boundaries of Brownsville.

Halfway there, the 3 train emerged into the crisp, mid-morning air as the Sutter Avenue-Rutland Road station was an above-ground subway station (something that I did not realise at the time). As the train rumbled to a stop on the platform, I alighted and took a moment to soak in my surroundings. The subway did not look considerably more run-down than other areas I had visited in Queens, and my friend who had accidentally taken the subway to East New York reported that it was much more sketchier.

After climbing down a flight of stairs, there was a big, burly MTA officer stationed at the ticket gantry – mostly likely to clamp down on fare evasion. The station was not very crowded, although there was still a buzz of people coming and going. I had checked the direction to the cafe beforehand, so I made my way towards the correct exit and soon spotted my destination – Blendzville Cafe.

I had initially seen photos of the cafe on Yelp and thought it looked warm and welcoming. However, the stark reality when I entered was a steep contrast, with white walls and a dimly lit interior. I paused for a moment at the threshold to make sure I was at the right place before entering and greeting the person manning the counter. He flashed a warm smile and asked what I would like to have.

As the name of the cafe alludes to, they had a variety of shakes and burgers. The shakes were creatively named with alliterations of the surrounding areas, such as Sutter Sunshine, Livonia Liver Tonic Juice and Parkway Potion.

I ordered a salmon burger with sweet potato fries, along with the Parkway Potion (it consists of strawberry, banana, passion fruit and mango). There were only a few other patrons in the small store and I saw a few curious looks from the corner of my eye.

I sat on a table near the exit while waiting for my order and looked around the little eatery. There was a large sign of the Sutter Avenue-Rutland Road station lining the wall and a television that was switched off at the time.

The Parkway Potion smoothie arrived first and I took a quick sip. It was lusciously frothy and full of the strawberry flavour with hints of banana and mango.

The salmon burger soon arrived and I was pleasantly surprised by its size. I took a massive bite of the burger and the taste was pretty decent, with the decadent taste of salmon and no hint of fishiness at all.

While I was tucking into my food, the lady who had been eyeing me curiously could no longer contain her curiosity and struck up a conversation. She said she was from Jamaica (the country) and stayed in the area ever since she arrived. One of the first questions I recall her asking if I was staying around the neighbourhood or planning to move there. I hastily reassured her that I was just visiting and avoided the question of whether I would actually want to move there. We talked a little about gentrification and how there were small signs of it happening, even in Brownsville (to my knowledge, I only read about how houses on the outskirts of Brownsville were starting to increase in price). I also did not want her to think that I might be a symptom of the gentrification problem and that the end times (of low rent) are coming.

After I finished, I thanked the owner, Pascal, and bid goodbye to him and the lady. I decided it seemed safe enough to explore the immediate surroundings and walked around for a bit.

The disparity between Brownsville and Lower Manhattan which was barely 40 minutes away was surreal – how can two such vastly different places exist within such a short distance from each other? Manhattan continues to be one of the major hubs of the world and attracts the “yuppiest” of yuppies, while Brownsville has not known peaceful times for almost a century, as it is consistently plagued by gangs and drug violence. It almost feels somewhat like a death sentence to be born into this neighbourhood and very few success stories ever occur (Mike Tyson being one of the most famous examples).

I did not linger around for too long as it was approaching dusk and made my way back to the station and took a final quick video of the area.

I would return to Brownsville at a later date, in my final week of New York, after going to the nearby Weeksville Heritage House, to see the street art murals that very few outsiders have ever seen.

On an overcast October Saturday, I decided to head into another Brooklyn neighbourhood, in search of a Haitian exhibition titled Potoprens (Haiti’s capital is Port-au-prince) at an artist space called Pioneer Works. I had to take the F train to a subway station in Carroll Gardens before it was about a 20 minutes walk.

As I reached the Smith-9 St. station, it was drizzling but I decided to brave the weather in search of Red Hook’s famous street food. However, as I walked through the deserted streets, I realised why no one was outside – the wind was incredibly strong, that I decided to go without my umbrella, in fear that it would get spoilt. As I walked under the Gowanus expressway, which loomed over the streets below, I could discern a palpable difference in the atmosphere, as the shops were replaced by run-down warehouses.

Thankfully, they soon gave way and I emerged at the Red Hook Park, with no one out and about due to the stormy weather.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted the food truck which I was aiming to try for lunch that day – the Red Hook Food Vendors. I believe over the summer months, there may be even more food trucks. I made a beeline for a food truck that specialises in El Salvadorian pupusas.

Admittedly, I have never had pupusas before but I did have something similar elsewhere near Gowanus, Brooklyn, which was called arepas at a place called White Maize (and loved it). Therefore, I was pretty enthusiastic to give pupusas a try.

After ordering, I made some small talk with the abuelas manning the store and another customer with whatever little Spanish I knew (variations of muy delicioso). The purple coleslaw was a good counterbalance in terms of its acidity and sourness to the crispy, savoury pupusa, which was filled with meat. There was also a mildly sweet white sauce that went well with the whole consortium of flavours.

I wolfed up every last bit of the pupusa and thanked the abuelas and continued deeper into Red Hook along Bay St. There was an IKEA up ahead, which was probably the reason most people ever do visit Red Hook and I was contemplating getting some meatballs. However, I decided to save the calories for something more unique to the neighbourhood for dinner later on and soldiered on despite the wind growing steadily stronger.

I turned the corner of Bay St into Columbus St and the entire area was devoid of people and appeared to be pretty run-down industrial buildings. I wondered if it was always this empty or it was because of the weather that made people opt to stay in for the day. The industrial buildings soon gave way to the large swathes of housing projects in the area, known as the Red Hook Houses.

When the Red Hook Houses were first unveiled in 1938, rent was only $6 a month and were hailed as a major milestone in the area of public housing. In 1940, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt visited the Red Hook Houses and had positive remarks despite noting that the closets did not have doors.

This prosperity did not last, and along with most of New York City, was in dire straits in the 1980s and beyond. In the 1990s, Life Magazine called Red Hook the “crack capital of the USA”. I found another photo dating back to 1988, with one man carrying an Uzi sub-machine gun, which was apparently their go-to weapon at the time.

In recent years, the area does seem to have turned a corner in terms of crime, so I was okay with walking through these projects to get around.

I walked through most of the projects along Columbus St. uneventfully and wanted to cut across Coffrey Park to get to Van Brunt street on the other side. At this point, I spotted three guys on the other end of the park, heading in my direction. I decided to err on the side of caution and made a detour around the perimeter of the park instead since there was no one else in the vicinity and I was still in the heart of the housing projects.

The rain was starting to pelt down and I was eager to get to my destination. To my relief, I spotted the sign stating ‘Pioneer Works’ and proceeded to head in.

At the time I visited, Pioneer Works had an exhibit titled PÒTOPRENS, featuring Haitian artists and the capital of Haiti, Port-au-Prince. I was surprised that the space spanned three floors and was pretty colossal too.

With my limited understanding and memory of the exhibit, a lot of the Haitian artists used whatever materials were lying around to make these elaborate sculptures, with an assortment of metal parts, stone and wood carvings and Voodoo flags.

Also, what was intriguing to me was that it was Haitian tradition to keep loved ones close by – even after death. Therefore, some of the sculptures used skulls of the artists’ relatives or family members.

The second floor featured a lot of photos featuring daily life of Port-au-Prince, including the LGBTQ nightlife. Some of these photos took me by surprise, as mental images of Haiti that outsiders often conjure up do not give justice to the vibrancy in these photos.

Also on the third floor, was the most random standalone information board – feauturing mollusks. There was also a mini theater featuring various videos and documentaries of life in Haiti which were interesting to watch.

I stayed behind to listen to a talk by some distinguished members of the Pioneer Works community and some invited artists but fatigue was already getting to me and sadly, I don’t remember much about the talk, other than an African American artist who would punctuate parts of her speech with Haitian songs and verses – her voice was really good.

Subsequently, it was time to grab dinner in the area and I knew just the place that would satiate my hunger. I emerged into the cold of the night and to my dismay, it was still raining. I turned the corner of Van Brunt Street and saw my dinner spot – Red Hook Lobster Pound.

The interior was similar to that of a sports bar, with Red Hook paraphernalia lining the walls. I was pretty ravenous so I ordered one of their signature lobster rolls along with a key lime pie.

I think they hit the mark on balancing the mayo-to-lobster ratio, although I wish the butter on the toast was more pronounced. The dash of green onions on top was also refreshing to bite into.

I haven’t had many key lime pies since I’m usually not a fan of sour food in general, but found this to be all right in terms of its sourness, although the overall taste to me was nothing to write home about. Again, I am no connoisseur of key lime pies, might be worth a shot if you’re ever in the area.

Red Hook is one of the least accessible neighbourhoods in Brooklyn as there is no subway stop nearby. As I exited Red Hook Lobster Pound, the bus to the nearest subway stop raced to the bus stop just in front of me. Faced with the prospect of waiting in the rain for more than half an hour for the next bus (with no shelter), I decided to walk it out, even though it meant having to cross the Red Hook Houses again.

The streets were rather dimly lit, with hardly a soul in sight. As I reached Columbus Street again, the winds picked up and ruined one guy’s umbrella. Angrily, he tossed it on the ground and stomped away. I made sure to keep some distance between him and me.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the subway station and snapped one final photo of the area (and it was still raining).

That ends my day in Red Hook – the next post will likely be about the (in)famous Brownsville neighbourhood, which has the reputation of being the murder capital of NYC.

Following the previous post, we took a fairly clean elevator and after the WHEDco staff unlocked a door, we emerged to see one of the most spectacular views of New York City, one that is likely that very few tourists have ever seen.

We were pretty awestruck by the view, but started musing how the area would be like at night. I jokingly said that the likelihood of hearing gunshots if we stayed overnight would be fairly high, although on hindsight, this area of South Bronx is definitely not the worst (maybe Soundview?).

Soon, the WHEDco staff was ushering us indoors and we reluctantly bade farewell to the view. However, the tour was far from over.

We headed back downstairs to another part of WHEDco, which is the kitchen area.

What WHEDco does is that they help small food business owners get started by providing them large-scale kitchen amenities at a nominal monthly fee in the low hundreds. I recall one of the vendors was making hundreds of tamales here before delivering them to restaurants around New York City.

In a serendipitous turn of events, during my first trip to the Bronx to the Bronx Night Market at Fordham, I bought some delicious white and dark chocolate coated popcorn from a booth called Kernelicious, and later on, I found out that he was actually preparing his popcorn from the kitchen here at WHEDco. He was extremely nice and I told him I was from Singapore, where Garrett Popcorn is fairly popular, and he said he’ll be coming to take their market share soon and we both shared a laugh. His popcorn is really good (I got the premium white and dark chocolate flavour for $7 but there are many other flavours – you can’t stop eating once you start).

The last part of the tour was showing a pre-school/nursery area within the WHEDco premises.

I also asked the WHEDco staff what was the student to teacher ratio here, I believe it was 1:10, which seems like a good ratio. I stayed behind a little to chat with one of the teachers and she said that after-school programs were especially important here to make sure that kids are brought up with the right values and they do not fall into bad company easily from a young age. I complimented the premises and that they were even better than those I have seen in Singapore and said the kids seem to be in very good hands, which made her beam and she clasped my hand tightly and thanked me.

With that, the tour of the WHEDco building came to an end and we soon exited. As much as I wanted to explore the area more after seeing this hidden gem, I had a prior appointment with another friend to meet at the Queens Night Market, which was around 1.5 hours in the Corona neighbourhood of Queens. Arby and Gregor were going to head downtown to grab a burger from a place in the Upper East Side and as much as I wanted to join them, I wanted to make sure I had enough ‘space’ for the food at the Queens Night Market.

We made our way back to the 167 St. subway station, only to find that there were no downtown trains! Instead, we had to take the 4 train uptown to Burnside Avenue (between 179th and 180th street) in the Morris Heights neighbourhood or walk down to 149 Street Grand Concourse, which was in the Melrose neighbourhood. Even though I was keen on walking to explore the area more, my companions did not share my enthusiasm and we decided it would be safer to stick to the subway.

Again, the subway was packed with people and when we got off at Burnside Avenue, the platform was pretty packed with people. I made the call for us to walk to the end of the platform where there it was less crowded (something I usually do in Singapore too).

Most of the strap-hangers waiting at the platform were Latin Americans and African Americans, and I wondered which part of the city they were all headed to, since I did not anticipate that it would be this crowded in the Bronx. We stood out like a sore thumb but again, no one really paid us much attention.

I believe we waited for almost an hour here, which was excruciating long just for a subway but the subway finally came. The duo got off somewhere in the Upper East Side and I made my way to 42 St. to transfer to the 7 train to get to Corona. The Queens Night Market was okay but not impressionable enough for me to feature in a post, but I will feature Corona and one particularly memorable dish I had there during my final weeks in New York.

This concludes my post for just ONE half-day of my New York travels, and there are tons more adventures that I need to get around to writing, including the real Little Italy in the Bronx. I stayed in Chinatown/Manhattan’s Little Italy while I was there, but I only ate at a somewhat authentic Italian restaurant there once, as I always walked by many tourist traps masquerading as restaurants, with touts outside. However, for the next post, I may feature a Brooklyn neighbourhood instead, so stay tuned!

If you’ve read up till this point, thank you for reading till the end! I was thinking of doing some good with this blog since I visited many blighted areas in New York, and decided to see how a Patreon would work out, where donors can make a one-time donation and I will consolidate the donations and send them to a nonprofit based in New York.

Read more about it at: https://www.patreon.com/nytravelswinston

Following our departure from East Harlem’s 110th St. station on the 6 train, we got off at the 125th St. station and transferred to the 4 train. It was my first time taking the subway to the Bronx (I had taken the Metro-North train to Fordham station the very first time) and it was surprisingly crowded for an uptown train.

We quietly made jokes in a corner of the train about having to run to our destination as soon as we reached our stop at 167 St. station. The train emerged from the underground depths as it reached Mott Haven, a neighbourhood that once had a reputation that can only be rivalled by the likes of Brownsville, although I read that South Bronx is starting to gentrify with busloads of tourists visiting the birthplace of hip-hop.

The Bronx, especially South Bronx, used to look like a war zone in the late 20th century. Primarily, this was due to aggressive rent control policies that made it impossible for landlords to make any money from renting out their apartments to current tenants. As a result, the only feasible way out for them was arson, to claim insurance for their apartments and to ensure new tenants move in, so that they can charge current rates.

Back to the present, there were people attempting to enter the subway while others were trying to alight from the tightly packed subway, resulting in one guy declaring that he’s going to punch the next person who gets in before letting people alight first (something that I silently supported), and I recall he almost was ready to fight another person who wanted to pick a fight with him. At this point, I was beginning to doubt whether it was a good idea to take the subway in the end.

Luckily, we reached our stop without any issue at 167 St. station, located in the Morrisania neighbourhood. It was an outdoors station, so we made our way downstairs to the station exit area. There was an MTA staff member standing guard by the emergency exit, possibly to deter fare evaders which I guess might be a more pervasive problem there.

As we exited the station, there was a Baskin Robbins ice cream parlour downstairs, and Gregor grabbed a quick coffee while Arby and I surveyed the area outside. Despite Morrisania being known as a pretty ghetto neighbourhood, the area around us seemed fine enough with everyone going about their own business. Even so, I decided to limit my photo-taking out in the open, just in case.

I recall we walked around a bit but the area we were walking in seemed pretty sketchy, so we did not linger around and decided to head back towards the destination.

As we reached the destination, there was a member of the Open House New York waiting there, and told us the next tour would be in a bit. Apart from the three of us, no one else arrived after us and I took the opportunity to finish up the remainder of my take-away lunch from A Taste of Seafood (which still tasted good albeit slightly cold) on the steps of the building.

Soon, the OHNY staff called out to us and said they were going to start, and I hastily gulped the remainder of the lunch down, vowing to go back to A Taste of Seafood if I was ever in the area again. We made our way to the basement entrance and saw there were a few others already waiting there, although it seems like most people had not bothered venturing into the Bronx for this weekend (Most other OHNY places in Brooklyn and Manhattan were fully booked with snaking queues).

The tour began soon after, and we were soon introduced to the history of the building. It is currently known as the Women’s Housing and Economic Development Corporation (WHEDco), but it was known as the Morrisania Hospital, which operated from 1926 – 1976, before it was abandoned for two decades and subsequently awarded to WHEDco.

After a brief introduction of the history of the building, we were about to take the elevator to the ninth floor to take in the breath-taking view of New York City. To my knowledge, there are no rooftop bars (at least in South Bronx) in the area, so this would be a rare sight, to be able to see the Yankee Stadium and other skyscrapers that are part of the Manhattan skyline from this angle (the photo of the blog’s cover page is one of the photos I took from here).

I will share short videos and more photos of the view in the next post!

In this part, I will wrap up the first destination of the day. As previously written in the first two parts, Molina takes the time to curate his collection, dividing them into different aisles and sections. The cover photo for this part above shows different memorabilia and photos, they seem to be taken at the turn of the 20th century or so.

There were a few other sections that were pretty interesting, spread around the space.

One of the main highlights of the Museum of Trash is a Star of David that was made from the remnants of the melted steel from one of the two towers from the tragedy of 9/11. It was in remembrance of a victim, and Molina found it almost a decade ago.

I did some digging to find more information about this piece in particular and apparently the original owner said it was accidentally disposed and will soon be placed in the 9/11 Memorial Museum in Lower Manhattan instead.

The Museum of Trash was one of the most memorable places I visited in New York, in a section of East Harlem that most New Yorkers have likely not ventured into. Sadly, this collection is set to move in the next couple of years from this current location, and continuing to rent a building to store this collection is highly expensive (no thanks to growing gentrification in East Harlem).

I lingered on for as long as I could, exploring every inch of the space as much as I could. But I had to keep to a tight schedule as I had to get my own lunch in the area before meeting up with two other friends to head even further northwards.

I reluctantly headed downstairs again and snapped one last photo of the stairway before emerging out into the crisp, autumn air once again.

The streets were still fairly quiet even though it was just past 1.00pm in the afternoon. A quick check on how to get to my lunch venue showed that I had to walk through the George Washington Housing Projects to get there quickly. They looked safe enough to walk through on my way here so I decided to briskly walk through the area while keeping a close eye on my surroundings

Despite being close to one of Manhattan’s richest neighbourhoods (Upper East Side), East Harlem or El Barrio is known to many as a no-go zone, with shootings still being a fairly common occurrence, especially at night. Moreover, East Harlem has one of the highest densities of public housing projects (usually synonymous with high crime, drugs and shootings) in the whole of America, second only to Brownsville, Brooklyn, which has the nickname of the murder capital of New York (I will feature Brownsville in a later post).

On another note, I was curious why there was so much stigma surrounding this neighbourhood, as I was usually met with raised eyebrows when someone asked me if I had a favourite Manhattan neighbourhood and I would reply nonchalantly, “East Harlem”. I just finished reading a book called In Search of Respect by an anthropologist, Philippe Bourgois, who spent several years befriending the locals in East Harlem in the 1990s when it was a haven for crack cocaine, and he explored many sociological factors that kept the denizens of East Harlem in a cycle of violence, drugs and poverty.

As I walked through the Carver Houses (another name for the George Washington Housing Projects – not exactly a name that evokes warmth and friendliness), the area was surprisingly quiet and well-maintained. I took a quick video of the surrounding area in the middle of the projects.

I made my way through to the end of the projects without any problems and finally got to my lunch venue, a place called A Taste of Seafood, along 3rd avenue. The aroma of freshly battered and fried seafood wafted into my nostrils as I opened the doors of the eatery. There were a few tables strewn around, and were already mostly occupied by African and Latin American families.

Initially, there was an African American woman in her fifties at the cashier and I stepped up to greet her a good afternoon. She held up the palm of her hand, signalling me to wait, and got the Asian guy in the left side of the room to get my order instead. Maybe some previous Asian customers pissed her off in some way…

In any case, I was famished and decided to get a double portion of the 2 piece flounder and fries, which amounted to just $12.00! In the meantime, I was discreetly doing some people watching as the other patrons dug into their food, with one boy eyeing me curiously. I took a photo of the side of the eatery as well.

After 15 minutes, another African American lady called out my number and she kindly told me that I could put some sauce first at the side of the takeaway box before she helped to pack it up. Thanking her, I squeezed in some tartar sauce at the corner and she professionally helped to pack it up to ensure that nothing would leak out. Although apparently it is not customary to tip for take-outs, I usually like to give at least 10% and since the food was already so cheap, I was more than happy to pass her a few extra dollars for her help, which seemed to make her day too.

Armed with my lunch, I proceeded to walk to the next block to head to the 110th street 6 train station. Along the way, I noticed that a few teenagers were lined up against a fence, with two individuals facing them. I crossed the street to the other side to observe from a distance, and it seemed to be two plainclothes officers interrogating some teenagers, although they were not handcuffed.

I proceeded to turn the corner and quickly saw the uptown 110th street station entrance beside a deli. There was also a towering housing project beside the downtown entrance and I mused about how the area would be like at night.

The 110th street station was featured numerous times in the book above, and the ground used to be littered with broken crack vials and drug dealers on every corner, guarding their turf fiercely. However, I saw nothing like that, although the area did seem a little grittier than the 103rd street station.

I eagerly made my way down to the subway so that I could start feasting on my lunch. Although New York’s subways are known to be rat-infested and filthy, I was just thankful to find a fairly clean spot on a bench to start eating while waiting for my two friends to arrive from downtown.

As I started wolfing down my meal, three African American grannies walked by to take up the remaining seats on the bench while eyeing what I was eating, and one of them remarked, “That smells good!”.

For some inexplicable reason, I instantly offered her and her friends to try some, saying it is flounder and be sure to get some sauce on it too. They each grabbed a small piece and dipped it into the sauce and agreed in unison that it tasted great. One of them asked me where did I get it from, and after telling her, she thought for a bit and recalled that she had been there before.

The uptown train soon arrived and we all mutually wished one another a good day; I was still waiting for my two friends to arrive and I was taking my time to savour my lunch.

Reflecting back on that experience now, I cannot imagine doing the same thing in Singapore. Maybe Asians are more guarded and offering a stranger some food from your plate/tray would likely result in a polite decline, which defeats the purpose of offering in the first place. Something to ponder on I guess…

After a few more uptown trains, both friends finally arrived. Arby is a Swiss-Albanian and my closest pal for many of my New York adventures, while Gregor is a towering Austrian dude who has an insatiable appetite and joined us sometimes on our adventures.

We exchanged greetings and waited for the next uptown train that would take us deep into the Bronx, which is New York’s least explored borough due to its reputation for being a rough place. Moreover, the area (Morrisania) we were heading to was in South Bronx, which is probably the most dangerous section of the Bronx.

Despite the area’s fearsome reputation, I convinced the two of them that it would be worth it to head there together after some persuasion; I was definitely glad for the company this time too, as I had only been to the Bronx once before (Fordham) and had no idea how dangerous other sections were.

What exactly was worth the journey all the way to one of the most dangerous sections of New York City? All will be revealed in the next post!

As the subway doors of the 6 train closed at the 96th street station, the final station on the edge of the Upper East Side where the likes of Ivanka Trump reside in, I quickly noted the remaining strap-hangers were either of Latin American or African American descent.

Even so, no one seemed to pay me much attention and it was only a few minutes before I got off at 103rd street station.Not wanting to linger and find my bearings while underground, I hastily picked an exit and soon had my first taste of East Harlem.

I was headed to a hidden museum in East Harlem, informally known as the Museum of Trash, located in a Department of Sanitation garage on 99th street. This was part of the Open House New York (OHNY) weekend sites, and I was really lucky to secure a reservation, which sold out in mere seconds.

After checking my Google Maps, I quickly made my way over, walking by the George Washington Housing Projects on the way. The morning sun shone brightly, illuminating the dark brick red walls of the nearby dreary-looking project buildings.

Along the way, everyone else seemed to know one another as they were exchanging morning greetings, something of a rarer sight in other parts of Manhattan. Along the way, I stopped to marvel at some murals. After some digging, I managed to find the artist who created these murals and the underlying meanings.

“The second conquest” (east Harlem, NYC) is a piece that reflects reality, future and progress. The three characters describe the American reality, their new skin, new protagonists. Based on photos taken by @marthacoopergram in the 90s of immigrants in East Harlem, the past meets the present on the construction of the neighborhood.

The red flag is the symbolic representation of the fight of Puerto Rican Young Lords during the 60s to improve the living conditions of Puerto Ricans in East Harlem. They also demanded the evacuation of the island of Vieques occupied by the US Army, but above all, demanded the independence of Puerto Rico.

Source: Buenos Aires-artist EVER aka Nicolas Romero
https://eversiempre.com/the-second-conquest-east-harlem-nyc-2015/

The Young Lords New York were a revolutionary group of Puerto Rican activists inspired by the Black Panthers, who organized for social justice in El Barrio in the late 1960s to the early 1970s. They organized around issues of political liberation and core community concerns such as health, food, education and housing. The image above is entitled March to Free the Panther 21 taken by Hiram Maristany in 1969. It has been installed on the side of PS 109 (215 East 99th Street), an abandoned school transformed into an affordable housing complex of live/work space for local artists.

Source: https://latinx.wordpress.com/category/photography/

As I neared the destination, the exterior was a dilapidated garage with no exterior signs indicating where to enter.

Luckily, an OHNY representative soon stepped out and told me to head upstairs. I walked in to find the first floor full of Department of Sanitation New York vehicles, with a dimly lit stairwell leading upwards. There were already some signs of what was to come, but I was unprepared for the extent of trinkets that were being stored upstairs.

To be continued with more photos in the next part!