Coming from Claremont almost directly to New York City made for some serious culture shock. In contrast to the peaceful and spacious isles of Trader Joes on Foothill Boulevard, the Whole Foods in Union square where I do most of my grocery shopping is nothing short of a traumatic experience. The first time I entered the store I stood in the corner wide-eyed for a good five minutes trying to figure out how I was going to physically maneuver myself throughout the aggressive crowd of health food shoppers without accidentally impaling someone with my basket. But despite my frightening grocery experience, this city has treated me wonderfully. As a first time New Yorker, I wasn’t sure of how easily I would adjust. But after only a couple of weeks I can confidently say, “There’s one on the corner of 15th and Third” if someone asks me where the nearest Starbucks is. I can assertively step off the curb and hail a cab at a busy intersection, and I’ve even learned to navigate the subway system.
I quickly found that a good cup of coffee in the morning is a necessity for making it through eight hours of dancing. Though it’s taken a toll on my spending money, my espresso addiction has led me to some amazing cafés in the city. My friend and I get our daily caffeine boosts before class at Maison Keyser, a French café right across from the studio. I get an iced Americano and sip it with breakfast that I pack myself, but their luscious array of pastries never fails to challenge my powers of restraint. This weekend I came across a gem called OCafé on the chic, restaurant-lined streets of Greenwich Village. I stopped in because I was suffering from caffeine withdrawal and it was the first coffee shop I passed, but to my delight the latté I received was fantastic. Their products are also all fair trade and sustainably produced. Needless to say I went back the very next day to try a bahia, espresso infused with their organic chocolate blend. If possible, it was even better than the plain latté.
One of the most incredible parts of experiencing New York as an American Ballet Theatre student is being able to see the company perform from orchestra seats at the Metropolitan Opera House for a tiny fraction of what the seats normally cost. Last weekend I went to see ABT’s Manon, a dramatic ballet adapted from Jules Massenet’s famous opera. Xiomara Reyes played the lead beautifully. She playfully seduced her true love with articulate footwork and flirtatious port de bras. In the heartbreaking final pas de deux Manon dies of a tragic illness while her partner begs with fate to keep her alive; the audience wept over her luxurious extensions and the authenticity of her emotion.
As the curtain closed for the end of the first act, I noticed two long-legged women sneak into seats a few rows behind me. I could tell by her bright red hair that one of them was Gillian Murphy. The other was Paloma Herrera. They are both principal dancers with ABT who I have admired throughout my entire dance career. I discretely watched them speak in hushed tones to each other during intermission. They kept their heads slightly lowered, perhaps to avoid being recognized. But even to the untrained eye, their lanky bodies, perfectly arranged hair, and impossible poise are dead giveaways. They could be nothing but ballerinas.
The ephemeral career of a dancer is celebrated in its purest form at the theatre where audiences can come and enjoy the beyond-human skills of the men and women of the world’s most prestigious dance companies. I feel privileged to be able to experience that first hand.