How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

Practice, practice, practice, said the weary musician to the bewildered tourist.

And what do you do at the end of a once-in-a-lifetime experience, with fun, friends and most of all the unbelievable sensation of standing on the stage of the magnificent Carnegie Hall to a four curtain call standing ovation as the featured ensemble at their Memorial Day concert? Please, will somebody tell me, after five days of unreality, how I can now write my essay that's due tomorrow, and prepare for my teacher's recital, and settle back into my life?

I've been looking forward to this concert for almost three years. When I was thirteen Dr. Cobbs told us that our year should practice hard because we had a big event in the offing. Last year he announced that selected students were invited to perform at a return trip to Carnegie Hall. Would I get to go? I went to camp, where less than half the students would get in to the top orchestra, and recorded my audition piece about five times, trying to make it perfect. In Israel I called my mother every few days and always asked her: Any news about the audition? When I spent a week in London with Nonna, and my mother called with the good news, I screamed down the phone. I imagined myself going to New York with the group, standing on that famous stage. Now it was actually going to happen.

September, and our rehearsals started. Brief confusion when the management continued to talk about "selected students," as if all the top orchestra were not going. Letters of invitation were mailed out to everyone, however. We had four hour rehearsals once a month on top of our weekly ones. New York was constantly on my mind. Rehearsing got more and more intense and Dr. Cobbs pushed us harder. It was at times stressful and then boring, but it was always worth it. The months passed, the EDS play was completed wonderfully, and we had our rehearsal-intense retreat. We got our itineraries and whenever life got too much I would remind myself of the adventure to come. The last two week were a blur of writing essays in the Odegaard computer lab, panicking about homework, and particpating in last-minute rehearsals and recording sessions. Finally, after a rueful hug from my violin teacher and late-night packing, I boarded the plane, knowing somehow that I couldn't slow down time no matter how I tried and the trip I had kept as my reward, my special time, would be over before I knew it.

I've traveled to quite a few European countries, but the thought of these past four days have excited me for well over a year. I have to practice to get to Carnegie Hall. I need to stick with symphony because we're going to New York, and it'll be awesome. When I finally pulled my roll-on suitcase through the Sea-Tac terminal, I was unsure what to think. At the airport, I settled down with my friends and we played a game Jin taught us - Mao. It consists of her as the dealer making the rules and the rest have to pick them up as the game goes on. It sustained us through many a long wait. Our seats on the five-hour flight were assigned, so I was sitting next to two male violists I didn't know and it was a relief when we arrived at Newark Airport in New Jersey. Of course, once we met up at the baggage claim there was much frantic chatter, laughter and deranged games of "Quackdiddlioso." We waited for at least forty-five minutes for the bus. As the two coaches took us across the state border into New York City, I spotted the quintissential NYPD cop leaning against a street sign chewing gum and looking disgruntled. Panic as Annie, sitting next to me, realised she'd forgot her cellphone on the plane. She used mine to call the airline, the airport, and her parents, so we'll see how the bill for that one works out.

The sky was grey and New York seemed dingy and harried as we travelled through a long tunnel and towards Midtown. Our hotel was the opposite of dingy. The Grand Hyatt is right across the street from the Chrysler Building and located directly above Grand Central Station, where we were to spend much time, and money. As we walked into the lobby a collective "Oh my God!" was heard, as the space was gilded in black granite and gold fixtures, with mirrors and chandeliers all over, and in the middle of it all, a gorgeous cascading waterfall. Keys were distributed and I went to my room with my roommates, Susie - a friend from the second violins - and two random others, Jade, another second violin, and Kristine, the principal violist, neither of whom had selected roommates. Kristine has a lisp and is an amiable twenty-year-old. Jade is sixteen, half-Asian, and pretty, with a penchant for smoky, colorful eyeshadow. Our rooms were a disappointment after the lobby. They were small, and we had to share beds. Jade was not pleased about this. Although she was a great roommate for the rest of the trip, we were all uncomfortable and uncommunicative with each other that first night. With our counselor, Mrs. Johnson (Mr Johnson's wife), we went down to the dining concourse at Grand Central Station and had dinner. Grand Central is a huge, bustling place with New Yorkers running, out of breath, to catch trains every few minutes. We got food from the overly-expensive shops and then embarked on our first tour, a walk to Rockefeller Center. It's a lovely square where the huge Christmas tree is put up every year. There's a multicolored fountain which sparkled in the dark evening, glittering cafes and a shopping concourse that was closed. A policeman showed us the windows where most of the famous talk shows are filmed. We didn't talk much, and after a little TV-watching in the room the first day ended awkwardly.

On Friday, however, my roommates and I got to know each other better and a fun time was had by almost all. After some half-hearted practicing in the am, we boarded buses for our Uptown Tour. The tour guide was an actor - I don't know how struggling - who had a habit of naming all the famous people who had lived in a particular building with an odd sort of vibrato in his voice on the last syllable of each name ("Paul Newmaaaaan, Duke Ellingtooooooon, Barbra Streisaaaaaaaand...") We stopped at Central Park, which is fantastic, but we didn't have much time, Grant's Tomb and St. John the Divine Cathedral, and saw the rich neighborhoods of the Upper West Side, the New York Public Library, Times Square and the entertainment capital, with the NBC building, the gold Trump Tower (enormous, with Donald's private penthouse and swimming pool at the very top), and the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, which was swanky, but nowhere near as nice as Carnegie Hall.

After pizza at Grand Central, which was quickly becoming quite familiar, we grabbed our instruments and walked to a brownstone Jewish community center, where we had our first New York rehearsal. It was divided into two: a winds and brass workshop with a Julliard conductor and ex-principal trombonist of the Metropolitan Opera, and a string workshop with the concertmaster of the Richmond Symphony who happens to be married to Johnson's son. It made a huge difference to our playing, and although sitting through the winds and brass workship was boring, I felt our ensemble and intensity increasing each minute. Why couldn't we have recorded our pieces after New York, where our playing reached a different level?

At the end of rehearsal, most people prepared for a night of shopping, eating and a trip to Times Square. I hightailed it back to the hotel to meet my parents for the evening. Unfortunately, the handover was not smooth, as I realized I had lost my travel wallet, with debit card, one hundred and thirty dollars in cash, photo ID and more. Panic! Panic! My parents looked very grim when I met them in the lobby and told them. After retracing my steps, the wallet was regained in Banana Republic, where I and some friends had tried on clothes. I'd left it in the dressing room. Wallet in hand, we hailed a taxi to go see an off-Broadway show, "Jewtopia." It's a comedy about Jews and the only show that still had tickets left when my parents visited the half-price booth that evening. "Jewtopia" may have been in a small theater (not so much bigger than the ECT), with a modest set and another show playing upstairs, but it was truly funny, and more irreverent than "My Big Fat Greek Wedding."

The next day, after an even more halfhearted practice session in the room with mutes on, my roommates and I decided to go shopping on Fifth Avenue, a few blocks from the hotel. We must have walked two miles. We were in search of the Holy Grail, the huge Sephora that we eventually discovered was on 52nd and 5th, but not before walking from 42nd to 57th and Lexington. Jade went mad in Sephora and blew her budget on a face cleansing routine. I got a gift for Liz and Sinclaire, which was - I'm ashamed to say - one of the cheapest things in the store; the eyeshadows were almost prohibitively expensive. After an overly long time waiting for Jade in Sephora, we had just enough time to visit H & M, the hot clothing store from Europe - my store of choice because it has a huge selection and it's cheap. I had just enough time to run through and grab a tank top and a green peasant skirt before we ran the ten blocks back to the hotel to make it in time for our dress rehearsal on the stage of Carnegie Hall.

ID cards were handed out and it was explained to us that it was impossible to get backstage without these performer's passes. When the hall was in sight, a cheer went up in the bus. We got out and started taking pictures, and there was excitement when someone pointed out our name on the Carnegie Hall marquee. It said: "Ensemble Spotlight Series. Tacoma Youth Symphony. Paul-Elliott Cobbs, Conductor. TOMORROW." We went crazy with our cameras.

All hundred of us were then herded into a small, not very nice back room to practice, squeal with excitement, or look bored and unimpressed, depending on the person. We were there for a while, but for once the orchestra was compliant with the requests of the adults: this was Carnegie Hall, and there was no room for argument. The nice, but very firm, people at the hall directed us onstage after a long, hot wait. An array of at least four balconies, with boxes going round the walls till they almost were above the stage, presented itself to us. The color scheme was red and gold. The back of the stage was inlaid with gold, columns and decoration. The general effect was "Oh, my fucking God. We better be good. This is unreal!" We had half an hour, the polite but very firm man said - just enough time to run through parts of both pieces. The acoustics were unbelievable, and the Firebird notes rang out with power and strength to every corner of the hall. We expected the man in charge, who came out when we were finished, to talk to us, but his only words were "Good - now get out, leave!" They had other things to do. Carnegie Hall is a busy place.

After a brief interlude of watching "A Midsummer Night's Dream," the ballet, on TV in the room (I found I am forgetting the lines! Horror!) and browsing at Strawberry, the clothing store that was pretty much our second New York home (I bought two more peasant skirts), it was time to head for the buses on our Uptown Tour. We were whisked past Ground Zero, Wall Street, Battery Park, the ferry terminals, Little Italy, Soho, Nolita and the other ethnic neighborhoods. We stopped at what appeared to be the Chinatown/Little Italy border and were let loose on a three-block stretch of street filled with Chinese souvenir shops, where I bought gifts and was haggled at. The haggling process was the same as the Arab Christian market in Jerusalem: "You're so pretty. For you, pretty girl, only sixteen. No, I make it fourteen for you only." And then the same conversation starts again with the woman behind you. It started raining as we dashed from shop to shop, squinting at the merchandise which was almost identical in each one.

Dinner in Little Italy was a real disappointment. We went to a touristy place called Puglia's - probably the only one large and cheap enough they could find. The food was mediocre at best, and the clientele was solely tourists. A man came out and started piping in music and getting us to sing along to the Chicken Dance, the Brady Bunch song, and "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." I was relieved when we went back to the hotel. Susie, Jin, Laura and I took a walk, pretended to be Mafioso in Grand Central, and bought junk food to take back to the room and watch movies with. The day ended with very full and tired musicians. Susie, Jade and I gossiped at length about other TYSers, and I love gossip.

Sunday two things hit me: (1) Our concert was that night, and (2) the trip was almost over. There were no rehearsals. In the morning, we went back to Strawberry and I bought a pair of flip flops and a pink top with a silver clasp. Much time was spent at Strawberry, and we helped a girl called Stefanie with a screwed up love life select an outfit to impress her crush with on the cruise that night (long, and ultimately pathetic story that I cannot really sympathize with). We then toured the Empire State Building, which just sucked. It was hot, I walked blocks and blocks in flip flops that tore my feet apart, and we stood in countless lines. I didn't count them, but they kept coming, and the one to enter the building stretched right around the block. Yes, it was pretty, but still. Any tall building would have done. I got another souvenir gift and we headed back to the hotel to relax, pack, and prepare for the concert. We also ate delicious gelato and egg rolls from Grand Central. At six, we got into concert dress and did our hair and makeup, and I got a little jittery. This was it!

Many people saw our instruments and asked where we were performing, as they did throughout the trip. It was satisfying to respond "Carnegie Hall" and see their expressions change from amused patronization to impressed surprise. "Oh, my," they'd say, or "Oh, wow..." The bus ride to the hall was tense, and many of the wind and brass players were probably thinking about their solos. Once at the hall, we were met by more nice but firm people who took us up an elevator into the "Kaplan Space," where all the famous orchestras who play in the hall wait. Cobbs and Johnson got the "Maestro Suite," which must have been fantastic - we didn't get a chance to see it.

The concert started at 8.30, and there were two sections and a first intermission before we were on. We were able to be as loud as we wanted, as we were on the sixth floor, and tensions and tempers ran high. My friends and I played Mao. Too much last-minute practice would hardly help. We were there for two hours at least. Finally, we were told to teeter down the six flights of stairs in our high heels. The atmosphere was quite something. One girl was quietly crying, even. Some people seemed unaffected. I had lost one of my contacts, and was wondering whether I'd be able to see the music properly. We waited amongst the scenes of backstage Carnegie Hall until finally we moved onstage, smiling nervously, and sat in our seats (Sophia and I, as third stand, were center and second row - a good place to be). The hall was not sold out, but the audience was by no account sparse. The balconies, oddly, seemed very full, and about three quarters of the main seats were taken, although I can't be sure. There were lots of whoops when we came on from the parents and friends who had travelled to be there, and blank faces from the New York audience. Parents grinned and waved to their kids. It was unreal.

After we tuned, we played the Tender Land, and there was a good round of applause. It is hard to write more because all I remember from the playing was nerves, concentration and focus on the music. And I remember that we sounded good. Our playing wasn't passionate, but we had a pretty tone, and all the entrances were right on. Had we ever played that well, even in rehearsal?

We tuned again, and Dr Cobbs came out to more whoops from the TYS supporters in the audience. Silence as the pianissimo first notes of the Firebird began. We played it, and thank God, we played it the best we ever had. The Introduction, which was nowhere near good enough at our Tacoma concert, seemed practically perfect. The Princess's Rondo featured lovely wind solos - somehow, they got their act together and played fantastically. At the first notes of the Infernal Dance there were gasps of "Oh God!" and "Whoa!" from the audience, and someone swears they heard a "Holy Shit!" although I didn't catch that one myself. The Finale was rousing and the acoustics flattered us; there were no obvious, unmasked mistakes. As we played the last page, Dr. Cobbs smiled at the orchestra. We were done! As the last note ended, people stood up to applaud before our bows had left the strings. We'd gotten our standing ovation from the New York audience and it lasted for 4 curtain calls. As we stood there smiling and thinking "Unreal!" I realised how much I didn't want to leave.

The rest of the trip is a bit of a blur. We clattered up six flights of stairs, put our instruments away, talking very loudly, and clattered down the stairs again. As we exited the stage door, flashbulbs went off: it was the parents who had come to say hi to their kids. I saw my parents and they were very pleased. It's the last time I've seen them; I'm at home and their flight gets back later tonight.

Not quite knowing what to say, and realizing that it was almost midnight, we boarded the buses for our cruise. One of the firm-but-kind men came on to the bus and thanked us for "a really stunning concert," which was the cue for cheers that had been held in since the performance. We boarded the "Spirit of New York," our cruise ship, at 12.20 am. The skyline glittered as we ate dinner from the buffet and took pictures of the Statue of Liberty and each other. Unfortunately the cruise was not as long as we had assumed, and without getting to visit the disco downstairs, or more importantly spend time outside on the observation deck, we were pulling back into harbor. I had learned two things about our concert: first, that the English horn player fell down the stairs on the way to the stage and sprained her ankle, so she played not only with an injured foot but back spasm as well and she still sounded better than ever. Second, a cellist's bow hair exploded (is that the right word?) at the first note of the Tender Land, so she spent the entire concert playing on the tiny amount of hair that was left on her bow amidst the mass of loose hair. I hadn't known about these things as we played.

We got back to the hotel at 2.30 am and fell asleep at about 3.15. Wakeup today was at seven, as we finished packing and hung around the lobby. At the Newark Airport we stuffed ourselves with junk food - I had a bagel sandwich and french fries, others had cheeseburgers, donuts and ice cream - and tried to forget about saying goodbye. The flight back was bittersweet; I read a book by the author of Bridget Jones, I haven't finished it yet, it's not very good. At the baggage claim phone numbers were exchanged and I met the father who'd be driving me home. As we drove down I5 I realized that the trip I've been waiting for - it seems like forever - is over and done with. If I don't do orchestra next year, a mainstay of eight years of my life and a major source of excitement this year is also finished. That's why I decided to write down my impressions, so that I could have a record, and sort out my thoughts. I also realised that if I dreaded coming home so much, I need to make my life less stressful. I need to do that for my own sake.