Touring with the Americans

Photograph: David Rosenweig

Their tour:
Kathy, Renea, Lisa and Heather all teach tenth-grade English at a high school in Gilbert, Arizona. But they’ve flown to New York City—for the first time—to attend the National Council of Teachers of English conference at the Javits Center and the Marriott Marquis hotel.

That’s officially why they’re here.

Unofficially, they’re here to shop: “We want Coach purses!” they say, lighting up like Christmas trees. “At Target prices!”

By the time I catch up with them, they’ve already dropped their bags at the hotel and hit Rockefeller Center. Next up, before the purses: Ground Zero.

On a tip from the info booth, we move to the southernmost pedestrian bridge for a better view. The womens’ reaction to the site—disbelief, sadness, and distinct memories of where they were when the planes hit (Kathy was teaching a class of tenth graders at 7 am in Gilbert)—reminds me of the obvious: 9/11 wasn’t solely a NYC experience, and these tourists—who you’d glance at and think were overeager, suburban Sex and the City watchers here to gawk—still feel it, too.

That’s not to say these women aren’t, uhh, overeager Sex and the City watchers. Later, at the intersection of Canal and Greene Streets, a.k.a. Knockoff Mecca, a diminutive woman rushes up to the ladies, motioning east and speaking in Chinese. Heather, the quietest of the bunch, pipes up: “Coach! She said Coach!”

With that, we’re ushered across the street and inside an unmarked shop, where we enter a room the size of a walk-in closet and accessible only via a secret door. Miraculously, this den of retail iniquity fits nine people. Ten minutes later, three of the women emerge from the store laden with purses. “My Christmas shopping is done!” Lisa declares triumphantly, elated that she haggled down the price.

TONY’s tour:
Right before she left Gilbert, Lisa started her students on a unit about the Harlem Renaissance. Fittingly, I kick off our tour in Sugar Hill, specifically the apartment complex at 555 Edgecombe Avenue (at 160th St). Jazz greats Duke Ellington and Count Basie both lived here during the artistic boom, and the women sense this: They walk around the ornate lobby slack-jawed and cooing.

Around the corner, we head through the gates of New York’s oldest house, the Morris-Jumel Mansion (65 Jumel Terr between 160th and 162nd Sts, 212-923-8008), which served as George Washington’s headquarters in 1776. We take a tour of the museum-home, and marvel at the octagonal drawing room and antebellum decor. “Look at those shoes! They’re so tiny!” exclaims Kathy, pointing at a pair of boots in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Just beyond the one-acre property, we walk down one of New York’s most impressive streets: Sylvan Terrace. The wooden row homes, built for the working class on what used to be the Jumel carriage drive, remind the ladies of a movie set.

After nearly five hours in rainy Harlem, the troupers feel the chill. We need soul food. At Amy Ruth’s (113 W 116th St at Malcolm X Blvd [Lenox Ave], 212-280-8779), they drool over the menu before the cornbread comes. Kathy looks up from reading the restaurant’s history on the back to say, “Amy Ruth had ten children! She had to be a good cook!”

Renea suggests that we all order different dishes and share them, but three of us opt for the Terry Rivers, a heaping portion of honey-dipped fried chicken. Kathy says the table’s two orders of Belgian waffles are by far “the best” waffles she has ever had. “I think we’ve definitely gotten more New York flavor than anyone else at this conference.”

—Nicole Tourtelot

Factoid: 36 Million Americans will visit NYC this year