I am always a bit hesitant to tell people what they should see, where they should go, or what they should do when I hear they are going somewhere that I have been. Mainly because I am aware that my sightseeing interests, much like many of my interests, just aren’t that interesting to a lot of people. So it goes.

I also resist the urge to direct another’s travels because it feels as though you’re giving them an assignment, and a completed assignment is never as gratifying as an accidental discovery or a quest fueled by self-interest, curiosity, and good old-fashioned serendipity.

It was self-interest and curiosity that first led me to McSorley’s Old Ale House in the East Village of Manhattan about ten years ago on a visit to the Big Apple. Opening for business in 1854, it lays claim to bragging rights as the oldest pub in New York City. As the writing on one of the window pains looking into this kaleidoscope of bygone times says, “We were here before you were born.” My math skills are embarrassingly minimal, but I’d say that’s a pretty sound statement.

On that maiden voyage to McSorley’s a decade ago, my brother-in-law, the only one in the group in possession of a smart phone, assumed navigation responsibilities. As I said, my interests are not always that interesting to others, so it took a fair bit of negotiating to convince my brother-in-law of the importance of this pilgrimage.

With the voodoo magic encased in his Black Berry (remember those?) he reluctantly led us to McSorley’s and allowed for the consumption of a round of their famous light or dark ale (the only two choices) before scuttling us through the swinging doors to resume the scheduled tour.

I enjoyed the visit, was grateful to my brother-in-law for indulging me, but wanted to go back someday and just be in that space a little longer. Be where the likes of Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, Harry Houdini, Tommy Makem, Frank McCourt, and many…many more historical, musical, and literary notables tipped a pint or two amongst the regulars at the worn wooden tables around the potbelly stove.

I was able to get back to McSorley’s a couple of times during my recent 10-day ramble about the city. Once with Sierra and her boyfriend, and again a few days later with Dawn and Jackson. Often times with places like this I am hesitant to return for fear that the initial lure and luster will begin to pale, but thankfully that fear drifted away and was completely lost among the sawdust strewn upon the foot worn wooden floor.

McSorley’s walls hold a treasure trove historical photos and documents, but more importantly, they contain the laughter, song, and voices of an unimaginable number of people. People seeking the company of others, or simply the company of a pint while they read, think, and contemplate whatever is in need of contemplation.

So yes, McSorley’s is on my “must see” list for New York City, or to be more accurate, my “must experience” list. We saw a lot on our trip to the city, but we experienced McSorley’s, and as we pushed through the swinging doors, and the sawdust turned to sidewalk, I was grateful for the experience and for the people I got to experience it with.