I love tourists. Just everything about them. In this season of the annual tourismo invasion of Manhattan, they never fail to lift my spirits - or ask directions. I don't mind at all trying to get by that family of six walking, well, six abreast through Grand Central, looking up at the fantasmic ceiling as I rush for a train. I always stop to give those directions (it's amazing how often I'm asked) to Radio City, to Rockefeller Center, to Ground Zero, which has joined the pantheon. Over the years, I've walked people several blocks to see them to their destination. One time during my @NY days, I took two elderly sisters from Minnesota on the 4 train and dropped them in front of the Stock Exchange on my way to Broad Street.
This is not merely good spirit in action; there is self-interest at work and certainly, self-validation. These people have spent untold amounts of money to visit New York from around the country, and from around the world. Their inchoate love of the city mirrors my more mature devotion; they reaffirm my own choice to spend my life here. I love the shorts, the fanny packs, the cameras. Indeed, I take pride in that attire myself during trips to great places elsewhere.
'Tis my strong belief that New Yorkers protest too much on the tourism front. Sure, New York's the world capital and as such, really requires no validation. And yeah, Times Square may as well be a no-go pedestrian mall. And sure, the sidewalks of midtown are not meant for strolling helter skelter whilst looking skyward. But God love 'em, these folks spend money to come here, to stay here, and to experience here. And man, they're great - yup, even the Republicans.
