Imagine a busy Saturday afternoon in any crowded neighborhood in New York. How many people would honestly take their time out of their busy day to stop and talk to you? As I walked along the street with Fadi and Carl the only think that came to mind was how bad of an idea this was. I mean…. Who tries to talk to a New Yorker at 11 A.M? The events that followed still surprise me.

My first impression of Forest Hills was simple. A neighborhood split into two parts by a small plaza, and the LIRR. The first part is the business area. A small town teeming with restaurants, delis, clothing shops, and anything else you can imagine, all lined across Austin Street. After a small glimpse of the town we decided to start our day in the residential district. As soon as I crossed to the left of the LIRR it felt like I was teleported to whole different world. It stopped feeling like New York City altogether. Lining the streets, were gorgeous, spaced out houses 1900’s style buildings that looked like they belonged in the suburbs, not a town in the heart of New York with almost 35,000 people per square mile.

It is safe to say that our shocked expressions told every person that passed us that we weren’t from the area. One woman in her twenties who was jogging laughed and said “Welcome to Forest Hills Garden” as she passed by us. This was the first time that I realized that I was in a special part of New York. I realized that maybe trying to talk to people wasn’t as bad of an idea as I had first thought.

Forest Hills Garden is hardly where the marvels of this neighborhood end. Only a short walk away is the pride of all Queens parks, Corona Park. This 1,300 square foot park has just about everything in it, from soccer fields, to the Queens Museum, to the Ice Rink. Dotted throughout Forest hills are numerous parks and squares, including the Yellowstone Municipal park. A park that always seems to be filled with kids playing basketball, and handball. Several small plazas provide areas where you can take a rest from a walk, or you can just admire the scenery throughout. It was in one of these plazas that we met a middle-aged couple who were out for a stroll with their dog.

Originally from Philadelphia they moved to Queens twenty-four years ago. They have been lucky enough to witness the changes that have occurred in Forest Hills. They have seen friends move into and out of the neighborhood. They were witnesses to the highs and lows of both the middle school systems, and Forest Hills High School. Once parents that devoted their lives to their two children, they now devote their lives to their one dog Sam. They treat him as though he truly was their own child, wanting him to experience fun, while still attempting to shield him from some of the darker parts of the neighborhood.

Forest Hills is famous for having one of the best school systems available. The couple agreed with our statement, mentioning how many things have changed in this area, but the great quality of the elementary, middle school, and of Forest Hills High School hasn’t changed at all. The Ohio website report card gave the Forest Hills school district an A. This is something that almost everyone we talked to liked to brag about.

Although many of the buildings in the neighborhood are old, by walking through the streets you can’t help but see the lack of history. This modern town seems to have no remains of the place that once held speeches by presidents Jimmy Carter, and Theodore Roosevelt. Some neighborhoods may have kept pictures of important events such as this, yet Forest Hills seems to be ever changing, and never looking back. There isn’t much that remains from the once small, rich, mostly Jewish community. In the 1920s and 30s, these Jews were the only ones that could afford to pay the expensive rent of 25 to 30 dollars at the time. Yet even this has changed. The two constants that have remained in this area was that it was, and still is home to many wealthy people, whom a large number of are still Jewish, but not to the extent that it once was. The second constant and one of the only forms of history are two monuments that were erected to honor the victims of World War 1, and of the shit Columbia. No more do you see signs of the U.S Open that was held in this area until 1977. Instead, the large amount of people moving into Forest Hills seem to have brought along with them their own history, one that is rapidly replacing the old.

Not everything in Forest Hills is as rich and wealthy as they were originally imagined. In the 1970s the first low- income apartment complex was built on 108^th street, and from that time on several other high rise apartment buildings have popped up in the neighborhood. Although they haven’t lowered the quality of the area, certain people such as the couple were a bit ashamed of it. For a neighborhood as friendly, and as popular as Forest Hills, they didn’t think that this was the kind of housing that should have been placed in the area.

A local deli owner (located on Austin Street), a middle aged Indian man who had come to the U.S eighteen years ago and immediately settled into Forest Hills was more than eager to talk to us. Although his original plan was not to become a deli owner, he chose to come here to the U.S mainly because of money. “This town isn’t what it once was, although people still have money you see new stores coming and going constantly. The neighborhood is slowly going broke, but then I guess that’s every neighborhood now.” Through these words, the deli owner let us in on some little secrets that we would normally have never been able to know about the neighborhood. Although considered by many to be an upper- middle class neighborhood, the financial troubles have hit them just as hard. In an attempt to forward his argument the owner told us: “The prices of everything has gone up by like 25, 50 cents! People just don’t have the money to spend on things anymore.”

Almost as if on queue we met a man who had a much different story: “I came here cause I’ve gone broke man. I lost everything I had, and just couldn’t afford to live in Manhattan anymore.”

Although their smiles told one story of their lives, the eyes of the people around the neighborhood told another. As the couple in the park told us, people are quickly migrating to Forest Hills, and often times from Manhattan. Why? The main reason that people said was cause they just didn’t have the money to afford the prices in the City anymore. Although expensive, Forest Hills is nowhere near as expensive as Manhattan is now. The lady from the park who we talked to, told us that, “majority of my newer neighbors now are young people with kids. It’s really a great sight to see. There’s also a lot more Asian people moving into the neighborhood which is nice, these streets could always use some more diversity.” This last sentence was pretty shocking to me considering that there are over 40,000 immigrants residing in the area. Almost 49 percent.

Although Forest Hills is considered one of the safest neighborhoods in New York, to the point where the local 112^th precinct was nicknamed the “snooze precinct,” many people have started having problems with homeless people. The couple told of their anger after seeing several homeless people late at night attempting to hassle them. One instance in particular that really bothered the couple was of seeing a man urinating in a public park. The couple both chimed in almost perfect unison when they talked about their disgust: “I understand that you may not be as privileged at the moment as others, but there are certain sets of principals that I just feel every person should have to follow. Urinating in a public place is one of those principals.” Aside from the problem with the homeless people, and the fact that the police aren’t allowed to bother them in any way possible the man said, “if my wife had to go and buy milk in the middle of the night, I’d absolutely feel safe letting her.”

Although every person has had different experiences in Forest Hills, no matter who we talked to, even tourists just visiting family, all seemed to agree that this was a wonderful area. In many ways, they are right. Although in a time of hardship, the people in Forest Hills just seem to find a way to enjoy their time. Whether it’s a walk through the park, going shopping, or just simply hanging out in the beautiful neighborhood, people just always seem to have a smile on their face. Leaving Forest Hills, it’ll be hard to forget the feel of having random people smile, and say hello to you as they pass. It is truly a neighborhood like no other in New York City, and one I look forward to spending more time exploring.

I’ve always loved walking down 31^st avenueand Ditmars Boulevard in Astoria, Queens. It’s the one place in New York that makes me feel like I’m back home again. It used to be that no matter what direction you turned your head to, you would always see an elderly Greek man smiling at you, or a typical Greek scene where his wife is yelling at him, and telling him to hurry up

The winds of change though pass through every single place on earth. Astoria was no exception.

I was always extremely proud of my heritage while growing up. I thought (and still do) that being born Greek is probably the coolest thing that could happen to a person. I mean. Come on. If you ask any Greek they’ll tell you that we invented civilization. What could be cooler than that? This is why these next few words that I’m about to write, are quite honestly the hardest words I’ve ever written in a paper The Greek community, or at least the Greek community that I’ve always known (in Astoria) is slowly dying.

            While I have no doubt that the Greek people in New York have simply moved to different locations. Many have relocated to Long Island. It hurts me a bit inside seeing that an area that used to be almost exclusively Greek now has hints of other cultures such as Indian, and Middle Eastern. AlthoughI am in no way against this cultural diversity, it’s disappointing  that I can’t stand in the middle of the street, close my eyes and let the smell take me away and make me imagine that I’m in the middle of Athens. Within five seconds of closing my eyes I’d hear the most typical Greek thing of all: me getting cursed at in Greek to get out of the way. But now things are different. I wouldn’t get cursed at in Greek anymore.  Now there’s a good chance that the person that yells at me does so in English but it just isn’t the same.

            I usually take little walks in the neighborhood, just to get to enjoy the sights and smells of the area. I’d pass stores that have been there for what seems like forever. A few examples consist of, Stamatis, Telly’s Taverna, and Kyklades. But now, I see newer restaurants as well. Restaurants that are more modern. More American. In the infamous corner of 23^rd Avenue and 31^st Street, there’s now a Bareburger. It wasn’t always a Bareburger though. This corner has probably my single fondest memory of Astoria.

            It was in 2004, but to me, it feels like yesterday. Greece had just beat Portugal 1-0 in the finalof the European Cup in soccer. In that moment, when the final whistle was blown, I, along with every other Greek person that happened to be in Astoria at the time ran out into the streets. People were cheering, and singing. Cars were honking their horns, but for once not to tell someone to get out of their way. The whole area seemed to have been instantly painted white and blue. And then there was my dad. In the corner that had the Barebuger was the restaurant that he worked in. At the time it was called Anna’s Corner. It was there that I remember seeing my dad outside of the front door jumping up and down smiling at me. This was paradise. It is pretty safe to say that I wasn’t the happiest person in the world seeing that restaurant close, even though my dad didn’t work there anymore at the time of its closing.

If I walk up 31^st street, then I’ll come to the one place, that hasn’t changed. Agora Plaza. This translates to “Market Plaza.” In this little plaza is where my parents used to, and still do most of their food shopping for Christmas. There’s a Mediterranean Foods, Aphrodite’s Bakery, and of course my favorite store of them all, the butcher’s shop. My dad’s a well known person in the plaza, having worked nearbyfor so many years, thus causing me to become well known in the area as well. Of course I’m still just “Peter’s kid,” but it’s better than nothing.

It’s at this plaza that I decide to turn my walk around. There isn’t much to see up farther. Just houses. I’m only eighteen. I want to be in the middle of everything, not looking at houses. As I turn around I take a long look at the plaza, and at what used to be Anna’s Corner. For all I know they might be completely changed the next time I come to Astoria. As I walk farther I pass the local coffee shop, Lefkos Pyrgos, I greet the elderly men that are sitting around playing backgammon, and they smile and wave to me,asking me how my day is. Then I come around to the best pizza place in the world. Franky’s Pizza. Okay, it may not be the best in the world, but its pretty darn good. I eat pizza relatively often and I must say, this is the one place I’m actually willing to wait twenty minutes for a slice. It may not be a Greek restaurant, but it’s been there so long (since 1958) that it’s embedded into the community.

Suddenly I hear the roar of the train above me, which wakes me up, from my little fantasyland. I then begin to realize that I’m nowhere close to Greece. Even more importantly I realize that I have to go meet my friend for her birthday. But I really don’t want to leave Astoria. For about half an hour, I forgot that I was in New York. At the same time though, I knew that my walk couldn’t last much longer. There aren’t many exclusively Greek locations left in Astoria. Most have a mixture of other races that live and own stores amongst the Greeks As I walk up the stairs to the N train, I think to myself: I’m not sure how much more change I could take to Astoria. I still think it’s perfect. Maybe a bit less than it was ten years ago, but it’s still close to perfect in my heart.   

Many believe that our ancestry helps shape us; helps make us into the people we ultimately become. I’m not certain whether or not this is the case, but I do believe that the actions of our ancestors definitely help shape where we eventually wind up living. For the most part, my family lives, and always has lived in Greece. Of course certain members of my extended family wound up in different parts of the world such as the U.S, Australia, Brazil, but never anyone from my immediate family’s ancestry. Odds were that a change of scenery would eventually have to happen. Next thing you know, my parents, 2 of my siblings, and myself found ourselves in Whitestone, New York in December of 2001. I was six and a half years old, knew very little English, and was in general terrified of New York because of the things I had heard about the attack on the Twin Towers.

            This trip to America though was not the first time my parents had come here. They had previously attempted to live in New York back in the late 70s. At that time my mom gave birth to my two oldest siblings, my sister, and oldest brother. Things did not work out and they were forced to move back to Greece where my father tried to open up several restaurants (some of which were successful for a time). During that period between the 80s and 2001, my Mother gave birth to three more boys, of which I was the youngest. Due to the ever changing governments, and economy of Greece at the time, the most successful of my father’s restaurants had to be shut down and so he decided to pack things up and move back to the U.S. He took along my two oldest siblings, my mother, and me. My two other brothers stayed in Greece as one was about to start college, and the other was living with his fiancé.

I remember very distinctly how my first emotion in regards to coming to live in New York was utter fear. I may not have been that old, but at six and a half years of age I was old enough to understand the kind of drastic change that was about to undergo my life. The adjustment though to my surprise was not that hard. I didn’t know a word of English that first year, but luckily thanks to some help from my mother, I was able to pick up the language pretty quickly over the summer, and feel like I’ve been thriving ever since. For several years my father moved from job to job. We had a stint in 2007, and 2008 when we went to North Carolina for a business opportunity. Unfortunately things didn’t work out and we quickly moved back here in 2008. Since then, things have really settled down, my Dad opened up a restaurant with my Brother-in-Law (now Ex Brother-in- Law), and an old family friend.  For the first time since I can ever remember my parents can finally breath a sigh of relief with me having started college, and them not struggling financially in every aspect of their lives. Like my ancestors shaped my past before me, I have no doubt that this immigration to America, will shape my children, and eventually their children. The truth is, I honestly can’t wait to see how the rest of my future will shape out.