It's one of many transit hubs in New York. Constant trains, planes, and automobiles are everywhere you turn, no matter the time or the day. Its soundscape is much like a war zone, with construction on new building developments in every possible direction and the 24/7 operation of the above-ground N, Q, and 7 trains overhead.
Queensborough Plaza is a neighborhood I call home. Between my morning commute to work, my afternoon commute to school, and my evening commute home, I constantly find myself in the midst of the drills, bangs, booms, honks, horns, and continuous metal-to-metal grinding and screeching. Most times I try my best to avoid these sounds by moving from point A to point B as quickly as possible with my earphones in, drowning out the city noises with music. But today I sat, walked, and observed with nothing to distract my mind from the insanely busy, displeasingly noisy neighborhood.
It didn't matter how far I walked, there is never an escape from noise in the "neighborhood under construction" without leaving it all together. The surrounding sounds of drills, jackhammers, and trucks were everywhere I turned. Sitting in the park below the Queensborough Bridge, in a visually calming, yet audibly displeasing oasis of plant life and benches, the sounds of the overhead subway trains became almost rhythmic and routine. The metal-grinding wheels of the trains created a pattern of identical, rhythmic sounds until they inevitably faded away as they passed far enough by me. It only took a minute or two before the next one arrived. The silence between trains allowed for the sounds of construction to regain control of the soundscape, followed by the speeding cars, trucks, and buses making their way over the bustling bridge.
The occasional spoken lyric added to the soundscape. "This is... Queensborough Plaza", was announced clearly and consistently among every passing train as well as the all too familiar, "Stand clear of closing doors, please." The surprisingly pleasing sounds of human voices walking through the park with bike riders whistling by almost created a sense of calm and serenity in the jungle of metal and concrete. And if I listened closely enough, and I mean, very closely, I may have heard a bird chirp once or twice. Of course it only lasted a minute, because before you know it, the next train was on its way to continue carrying on the rhythm of the noisy neighborhood that I call home.
Great post!
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