5:45 pm - 6:45 pm, Madison Square Gardens, NYC

Waiting for my cousin, I take the time to watch the people of this city.

This city of the world -- not just of North America, but one teeming with global flavour.

I find some things that meet my expectations: a man walking with a big fat pretzel, a woman on her cellphone complaining about her relationship without pausing for a breath in fifteen minutes, artists carrying sketchbooks, and of course, the tourists.

I'm in all the pictures now of Madison Square Gardens for that hour. I blink as the flashes go off. Not used to lights from cameras nearby, nor the lights from the large screen behind me. I keep looking at the sky, wondering if the dark clouds above bring lightning with them ... then laugh at my innocent assumptions.

There are some things that surprise me: a tall blond man carrying a surfboard, a short bald south-asian man who looks like some kind of guru, except his green pants seem too shiny, and about four men whom I am certain I would have married in another lifetime. (They were not drop dead gorgeous -- they just looked like they would have made good husbands).

At about six pm, women and their young children go by me in parades. The toddlers are in strollers or perching from a carrying sling in front of the speedy, effective parents. Others walk alongside their parents. I didn't know three year olds could walk so fast.

The streets are impeccably clean. Here, in this hub, there is a garbage can every ten paces. (I count the paces as people walk pas - yes, it is ten steps). And I witness two men come by with their garbage bags and dustpans, sweeping up the cigarette butts and cleaning out the garbage. Maybe more than usual smoking this week in NYC. I catch snippets of conversation about rates and markets.

But even more than cleanliness, I see what surprises me most. The reports are true. New Yorkers are polite. A man drops a newspaper, the person behind him picks it up, runs to catch up with him and offers the paper back. One of the street cleaners tries to sweep a napkin into his dustpan. The wind blows it out of his reach. He tries and the wind gusts again. Another reach, and the napkin still escapes. Finally a young man, with a guitar slung across his back,  steps on the napkin with his boot, picks it up and gently pushes it with his hand into the dustpan. Now, THAT's polite. It's hard to impress a Canadian with politeness, let me tell you.

A teen comes out of the subway, stops and does a couple of dance moves, oblivious to the people smiling around him. He opens one eye and grins. He knows he's watched. And then, three people saunter by, walking slow, with nowhere to go -- ah, they must be the tourists.