Manhattan fever. our new addresses and our loved ones

My legs are still shaking. Like a skyward staircase, the exterior staircase runs 30 Hudson Yards to a transparent platform 385 meters above the ground. The goal? Climb up there. The body is held in shackles, the head is in a helmet, the brain painfully commands to go forward step by step, slowly. Ahead: 161 steps at 45°. On the left, a ramp to which a hand desperately clings; on the right, absolute and dizzying emptiness. One step after another and a deep breath. The altitude takes some getting used to. Suddenly we dare to face our fear and gaze. Manhattan then unfolds like a model at our feet. From a bird’s eye view, the world regains its beauty and the sounds of the city fade into a cloud of cotton wool. For a brief moment, a tremendous sense of freedom invades us.

.fig-i-8e3b7b4eb55458b60f82aebd160334fc.fig-placeholder::before {padding-top:150%}<div class=”fig-media__container fig-placeholder fig-i-8e3b7b4eb55458b60f82aebd160334fc fig-lazy fig-placeholder–with-dimensions” data-module=”fig-photo” data-context=”was @visible” data-modal-image=’‘ data-modal-image-credit=”Eric Martin / Le Figaro Magazine” aria-label=”View Larger Image”>