My internal compass never fails to guide me in the opposite direction of my intended destination. This is particularly true in New York. So, as usual, I spent a good 10 minutes walking down ice-covered sidewalks away from International Bar before looking up and realizing that everything around me was in Chinese. It does call itself International Bar, I thought. But I knew deep down that I had led myself astray. In some ways my perpetual disorientation has its benefits – I’m so damn cold and pissed off at the city by the time I arrive that it makes the warmth of the bar and the first sip of beer that much more satisfying.
And that first Genesee was good and made better by the fact that it was cheap.
I have to admit that my experience of International Bar was limited in that I was staring at a dimly lit corner and a curious wall decoration resembling the outline of a Christmas tree for the majority of the time. It is a dark and snug place filled with people whose schedules probably allot a significant amount of time to drinking beer as opposed to, say, attending spinning classes. Which is not to say that they were all bar flies. There was an ample spattering of intriguing characters – people whose stories I tried to guess at and size up in my mind. But for the most part my attention was turned to my two companions and to studying the strange, tangled holiday-inspired installation on the wall.
It was easy to relax into the darkness and the hum of the chatter. Untidy little bars like this demand the shedding of pretensions and elicit something more truthful and human in everyone. There is nobody to impress. And even if there were, you would look absurd putting on airs in a dark hole like that. It doesn’t fit. And perhaps because of that, you can shed your day’s crap and sink into a slower, easier way of being. Which is precisely what I did. And of course was aided along by some whiskey and a couple more Genesees.
There’s a nice patio out back where we escaped for a bit and imagined how lovely it would be to sit out there on a springtime evening and wear dresses (Hall did not share this desire) and fancy shoes (Hall did share this desire). But there is a time and place for everything, and I must say that being holed up in that scruffy cramped bar drinking whiskey and beer was a nice scene, perhaps even a perfect one, for a mid-February Wednesday night.
