All around her in the plane, Peggy saw the rest of the passengers, including obviously experienced travelers, pressed against the windows, enchanted by the fairy-tale sight below. They were all talking, pointing, comparing notes on the beauty of this or that.
The plane swept lower now, and the skyline seemed to rise and grow even more mighty. Over the East River, the bridges were spider-webs and pearls; small boats like water bugs skimmed under them and out again. Then, abruptly, a new and closer brilliance of searchlights and whirling red and green signals—and the plane settled smoothly into the bustle and roar of LaGuardia Airport.
Peggy was glad that she had been there before with her parents, or she might never have found her way out. Crowds of people swarmed about the place, sweeping past in every direction. Piles of luggage and groups of waiting travelers seemed to block her way no matter where she turned. Ignoring the crowds as best she could, and following her sense of direction and her memory of where she had gone the previous week, Peggy worked her way to the front of the terminal where the taxi stand was. A bank of phone booths reminded her to call home before going on. Then she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the Gramercy Arms.
She had planned to take the airport bus to the terminal in Manhattan and a cab from there, but she had changed her mind. This one extravagance, Peggy felt, would be worth the price. Settling back in comfort, she opened the window to a cool rush of air and became absorbed in the passing sights of parkways, streets, bridges and, finally, the entrance over the giant Triborough Bridge into the enchanted isle of Manhattan.
“Your first trip to New York?” the taxi driver asked, noticing her fascination with the sights.
“No,” Peggy answered, feeling herself quite the experienced traveler. “I was here last week. But that was the first time,” she confessed.
“Staying long?”
“Forever, I hope!” Peggy replied. “I’m going to live here.”
The East River Drive went into a sort of tunnel, supported on one side by pillars, through which Peggy could see a string of barges slowly forging upstream.
“You know what’s above us?” the driver asked. “No? It’s a park! That’s right. This road is built under a park!”