Greenwich Village

I was persuaded that night by an Australian girl to join her, another Aussie, a South African, and an Irish lad on an excursion to Greenwich Village. Boy am I glad I went. This Irish chap Stevie was hilarious, with a baby-face which I'm sure drew crowds of women, and the spirit of Shane MacGowan, which I'm sure drew crowds in general. I choose the word 'spirit' carefully. He took the Lord's name in vain in such a lyrical way, saying "Jesus H. Christ" with a charm only achieved by the Irish.

We took the 1 train south, changed at Union St; Stevie pacing ahead confidently, rambunctiously. Soon up the stairs and into the crowded night of the Village. First stop, a blues bar, a lot of people, a not bad band, a door charge... I was happy to be out there with people; the young Australian guy knew about NZ beer, laughing at himself every time he tried to pronounce 'Tui'. I kept laughing at the South African when he imitated Tony Greig. At least I think he was..

Next stop, Cafe Wha'. About 45 years ago Bob Dylan sat in here reading his newspapers. Today, this place is a disappointment. Filled to the brim with what could only be tourists, who one could tell were ignorant of Dylan simply by their uncultured appearance (I am an utterly sanctimonious). And on top of that, a $12 door charge! And the band! Oh the band, doing abonimable 'funky' covers of top 40 songs.. I was grateful they didn't attempt any Dylan.