Washington Square
I tried to persuade a couple of people to come with me to put up my new tent, but everyone was busy or out of town. So I went to Washington Square by myself to practice with my tent.
But “by myself” doesn't really work in Washington Square. I surveyed the territory when I got there, and there was:
+ a full theatrical production
+ a large crowd watching (and imitating) a dancer
+ an amazing bass player
plus, of course, the chess players, the bench-sitters, the hot dog people, the playing fountain, and all kinds of other things going on. I was not by myself.
I found a patch of lawn and started to take the tent parts out of their bag. I found the directions–good news! I was moving pretty slowly. I had figured out which was the bottom part of the tent (the part with the tent floor) and which was the top part of the tent, and I had started trying to figure out the poles, when a friendly woman in a hiking shirt (”Women Trek the Himalayas”) came bounding up to me.
“Going camping?” she said.
Well, thank goodness she showed up. She showed me how to clip the poles into the clippy-things and manage the moment when the tent transforms from a heap into A TENT.
A couple of other people stood around with their hands on their hips, watching. One guy said, “I thought you were a hippy.” No, I was just practicing. With the help of my new Himalayan-trek friend, I figured out the tent-fly-thingie and admired my creation.
Then I began to take the tent down. The I-thought-you-were-a-hippy guy told me about a book he had just read by a venture capitalist who retired and traveled around the world for three years with a tent. He told me about some rich people he had known who seemed to camp out all the time. He told me he was from Florida. Meanwhile, I just kept taking the tent apart. When I was done, he said, “Have a good time. It's good to camp.”
We said goodbye and I walked back across the park.
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