Year of the Dog

After a long hiatus, Helen and I have ventured down to Manhattan's Chinatown the past two weekends.  I always use this occasion to obnoxiously declare that Manhattan still has the best Chinatown in the city; a traitor to her borough, Helen prefers the version in Flushing, Queens.

Last week we went to the Museum of the Chinese in the Americas.  One of the exhibits focused on the continuing economic harm to Chinatown after the attacks of September 11, 2001.  For several weeks after the attack downtown  Manhattan was essentially closed to business, and Park Row--which used to be major access point to Chinatown, and connects with police headquarters--remains closed today.  Consequences are severe; a general store that survived more than 100 years, even through the Great Depression, had to close its doors.

In addition to economic turmoil, the neighborhood's demographics are changing. The yuppies are fleeing high-priced Soho and Tribeca, and setting up roots in nearby and more affordable Chinatown.  They usually aren't Chinese, and so neighborhood leaders are banding together to preserve its historic character. 

One result of these efforts are festivals to celebrate the Lunar New Year that are more flashy than ever before. So yesterday we were back in Chinatown, for a live firecracker ceremony. At one point it started to rain, and it appeared that the interminable political speeches would ruin the event.  At least, that's how the woman next to us--who kept shouting, "It's raining!"--felt about the situation. I enjoyed the speeches myself, mostly because I didn't feel so bad for not knowing how to pronounce "Gong hei fat choy."  And the firecrackers all went off, with loud explosions and smoke rings trailing in the distance.  Chinatown's transformation is probably inevitable, but events like these are a good reminder of what will be lost.

Gong hei fat choy. Welcome to the Year of the Dog.