Noo Yoik - Pt 1
It didn't start off so well. Upon arrival at JFK airport I eschewed the chance of taking a bus or the subway to Manhattan and headed straight for the cab rank. I was expecting the cabbie to be a garrulous Irish or Italian type who'd welcome me to their wonderful city by giving me all the proper patter. Instead, my driver was a taciturn black guy who barely uttered two words to me the whole way.
The Pod Hotel was all funky and bohemian and my little pod-room seemed very cosy. I had a vague expectation that the lobby would be filled with young, attractive travellers who'd invite me on a four-day hedonistic party around the city, but oddly enough they didn't materialise and so it was that I headed off on my own for an initial Big Apple recce. I walked by the United Nations building and then down 42nd Street towards Times Square, and gawped around like an idiot trying to take everything in. The sheer size and quantity of skyscrapers is what you notice most, a very different skyline to London's. And Grand Central station with its huge marbled halls is what a proper station should look like - a far cry from poxy old Euston.
Times Square was as garish as I'd expected, simultaneously modern and sleazy, a shrine to rampant commercialism and also hardly a square at all, more an intersection stretched over a few blocks. I was particularly amused by the M&Ms store, three floors of merchandise all spun off from one humble candy product. Ah, the magic of capitalism. I then headed up Broadway to Central Park, which being entirely man-made was very impressive but in a very different way to the London parks.
Or maybe it was just my mood, because despite all the joggers, rickshaws and horse-drawn carriages (hiring one of those can't be that romantic when there's hundreds of the buggers on the same stretch of road), the park seemed kinda empty, and I began to feel rather sorry for myself. This was a great city, and I had nobody to share all these discoveries with. Still, I tried to pull myself together and took a stroll down 5th Avenue, casting envious glances at the ridiculously snooty stores and stopping off for a coffee in the awesomely ludicrous Trump Tower. Say what you like about "The Donald", none of our businessmen build monuments to their own egos in this insane manner (except for gobshites like Dave Whelan and their tinpot stadia, which is hardly the same thing).
Suddenly seeing St Patrick's Cathedral in the middle of all the 5th Avenue shops was also pleasingly incongruous. And just across the way was the Rockefeller Center, the top of which I'd been specifically ordered to visit. At night, mind, and it was only 5:30ish now, but sod it. Despite the great view, seeing couples and friends sharing their wonder with one another made me envious. I'd accepted the fact that if I wanted to go on holiday I'd have to go on my own as there was nobody else to go with, and yet, having taken the plunge of visiting to this new and exciting city, here I was almost at the very top of it, feeling self-indulgently miserable. Plus I'd been trying to call Steve, my distant New Yorker cousin who I'd literally only found out about after I'd booked this trip, but kept getting his answering machine, and I was too scared to leave a message.
It was only early evening, but I was knackered after being up since 4am UK time so I had a McDonalds, went back to the hotel and slept. Rock and roll.
Friday morning began with a jog. Yes - a jog! Around Central Park! I say "around", I actually jogged part of the way there, stopping at the lights at every intersection (it was only later on that I grew confident enough for jaywalking), and then ran for 20 minutes around the lower half of the park before I hit my very low psychological wall. During the walk back, it began to piss it down with rain. Hey, I thought, not to worry - I'll go to a cafe for breakfast, and by the time I've showered and dressed back at the Pod (where they even play music in the bathrooms, how coold is that?) I'm sure the sky will be clear like the forecast said at the beginning of the week. Then I can head out and pursue all my outdoorsy, walking-based plans for the day. Sorted.
Two hours later and the rain showed no signs of abating. However, this was September 11th, and after watching some of the memorial ceremony on TV (a) the overcast weather seemed somehow appropriate, and (b) I wasn't going to let a bit of rain stop me from walking downtown and taking in Ground Zero, the financial district, South Street Seaport, Staten Island Ferry and Brooklyn Bridge. It couldn't rain all day, right?
By the time I'd walked through 20 minutes of constant drizzle, I was convinced otherwise. I couldn't even make a stop at the library as it wasn't open yet (sod you, early-rising bookworms!), although I was amused by the signs outside the heavily-scaffolded building saying "Pardon us for our appearance". So polite! I carried on down through Flatiron, NoHo and SoHo, which stand for North and South of Houston Street respectively - not only is the city arranged in an easy-to-navigate grid format but some of the districts have pleasingly logical names too. Unfortunately, I managed to defy all logic and somehow completely missed Chinatown and Little Italy on my way to Ground Zero.
At this point the ceremonial stuff was over so most people had gone home, although notably not the conspiracy theorist nutjobs who were trying to preach their ill-informed nonsense to every passer-by. Well done guys, tasteful stuff, although I was too thorougly saturated with rain to get properly angry. I hopped on the free ferry to Staten Island and stood on the front viewing deck for the crossing, noting just how tatty the Statue of Liberty looked as we sailed by, and mentally thanking everyone who said not to bother with that particular ferry. Speaking of not bothering, there appeared to be literally sod all on Staten Island so I got the next ferry back. Sadly the conditions were by now far too treacherous to allow us to stand out front so I had to content myself with standing behind the doors. As I watched huge waves crash into the glass, I noted with concern that I would shortly have to step back out into this bloody weather.
I struggled through the financial district to the South Street seaport, which I'm sure would be lovely on a dry, sunny day. I just walked around the shopping centre and then up to Brooklyn Bridge, where I got lost trying to get up to the pedestrian entrance and then decided not to take the risk of getting blown into the East River and got the metro back uptown instead. Contrary to some of the scaremongering stories I'd heard about the metro, it was really no different from the tube except without the upholstered seats. Oh, and no displays saying how long before the next train, which is torturous for someone who craves order and organisation, trust me.
I returned to the Pod thoroughly bedraggled, but I had plans for the evening which would surely cheer me up. Yes, I saw the Proclaimers and yes, they were fantastic. And if you can stand in a crowd during this song and not get all misty-eyed, then you're probably dead inside. Furthermore, figuring that cousin Steve and his wife probably always let their phone go to the answering machine, I finally bit the bullet and left a message, and was called back straightaway to arrange a meet-up the following afternoon. All in all, I didn't drown and saw lots of southern Manhattan, so I couldn't really complain. Much.
Continued in Pt 2...
Spoiler alert! Look away now if you don't want to know the end...
I got home safely.
The Pod Hotel was all funky and bohemian and my little pod-room seemed very cosy. I had a vague expectation that the lobby would be filled with young, attractive travellers who'd invite me on a four-day hedonistic party around the city, but oddly enough they didn't materialise and so it was that I headed off on my own for an initial Big Apple recce. I walked by the United Nations building and then down 42nd Street towards Times Square, and gawped around like an idiot trying to take everything in. The sheer size and quantity of skyscrapers is what you notice most, a very different skyline to London's. And Grand Central station with its huge marbled halls is what a proper station should look like - a far cry from poxy old Euston.
Times Square was as garish as I'd expected, simultaneously modern and sleazy, a shrine to rampant commercialism and also hardly a square at all, more an intersection stretched over a few blocks. I was particularly amused by the M&Ms store, three floors of merchandise all spun off from one humble candy product. Ah, the magic of capitalism. I then headed up Broadway to Central Park, which being entirely man-made was very impressive but in a very different way to the London parks.
Or maybe it was just my mood, because despite all the joggers, rickshaws and horse-drawn carriages (hiring one of those can't be that romantic when there's hundreds of the buggers on the same stretch of road), the park seemed kinda empty, and I began to feel rather sorry for myself. This was a great city, and I had nobody to share all these discoveries with. Still, I tried to pull myself together and took a stroll down 5th Avenue, casting envious glances at the ridiculously snooty stores and stopping off for a coffee in the awesomely ludicrous Trump Tower. Say what you like about "The Donald", none of our businessmen build monuments to their own egos in this insane manner (except for gobshites like Dave Whelan and their tinpot stadia, which is hardly the same thing).
Suddenly seeing St Patrick's Cathedral in the middle of all the 5th Avenue shops was also pleasingly incongruous. And just across the way was the Rockefeller Center, the top of which I'd been specifically ordered to visit. At night, mind, and it was only 5:30ish now, but sod it. Despite the great view, seeing couples and friends sharing their wonder with one another made me envious. I'd accepted the fact that if I wanted to go on holiday I'd have to go on my own as there was nobody else to go with, and yet, having taken the plunge of visiting to this new and exciting city, here I was almost at the very top of it, feeling self-indulgently miserable. Plus I'd been trying to call Steve, my distant New Yorker cousin who I'd literally only found out about after I'd booked this trip, but kept getting his answering machine, and I was too scared to leave a message.
It was only early evening, but I was knackered after being up since 4am UK time so I had a McDonalds, went back to the hotel and slept. Rock and roll.
* * * * *
Friday morning began with a jog. Yes - a jog! Around Central Park! I say "around", I actually jogged part of the way there, stopping at the lights at every intersection (it was only later on that I grew confident enough for jaywalking), and then ran for 20 minutes around the lower half of the park before I hit my very low psychological wall. During the walk back, it began to piss it down with rain. Hey, I thought, not to worry - I'll go to a cafe for breakfast, and by the time I've showered and dressed back at the Pod (where they even play music in the bathrooms, how coold is that?) I'm sure the sky will be clear like the forecast said at the beginning of the week. Then I can head out and pursue all my outdoorsy, walking-based plans for the day. Sorted.
Two hours later and the rain showed no signs of abating. However, this was September 11th, and after watching some of the memorial ceremony on TV (a) the overcast weather seemed somehow appropriate, and (b) I wasn't going to let a bit of rain stop me from walking downtown and taking in Ground Zero, the financial district, South Street Seaport, Staten Island Ferry and Brooklyn Bridge. It couldn't rain all day, right?
By the time I'd walked through 20 minutes of constant drizzle, I was convinced otherwise. I couldn't even make a stop at the library as it wasn't open yet (sod you, early-rising bookworms!), although I was amused by the signs outside the heavily-scaffolded building saying "Pardon us for our appearance". So polite! I carried on down through Flatiron, NoHo and SoHo, which stand for North and South of Houston Street respectively - not only is the city arranged in an easy-to-navigate grid format but some of the districts have pleasingly logical names too. Unfortunately, I managed to defy all logic and somehow completely missed Chinatown and Little Italy on my way to Ground Zero.
At this point the ceremonial stuff was over so most people had gone home, although notably not the conspiracy theorist nutjobs who were trying to preach their ill-informed nonsense to every passer-by. Well done guys, tasteful stuff, although I was too thorougly saturated with rain to get properly angry. I hopped on the free ferry to Staten Island and stood on the front viewing deck for the crossing, noting just how tatty the Statue of Liberty looked as we sailed by, and mentally thanking everyone who said not to bother with that particular ferry. Speaking of not bothering, there appeared to be literally sod all on Staten Island so I got the next ferry back. Sadly the conditions were by now far too treacherous to allow us to stand out front so I had to content myself with standing behind the doors. As I watched huge waves crash into the glass, I noted with concern that I would shortly have to step back out into this bloody weather.
I struggled through the financial district to the South Street seaport, which I'm sure would be lovely on a dry, sunny day. I just walked around the shopping centre and then up to Brooklyn Bridge, where I got lost trying to get up to the pedestrian entrance and then decided not to take the risk of getting blown into the East River and got the metro back uptown instead. Contrary to some of the scaremongering stories I'd heard about the metro, it was really no different from the tube except without the upholstered seats. Oh, and no displays saying how long before the next train, which is torturous for someone who craves order and organisation, trust me.
I returned to the Pod thoroughly bedraggled, but I had plans for the evening which would surely cheer me up. Yes, I saw the Proclaimers and yes, they were fantastic. And if you can stand in a crowd during this song and not get all misty-eyed, then you're probably dead inside. Furthermore, figuring that cousin Steve and his wife probably always let their phone go to the answering machine, I finally bit the bullet and left a message, and was called back straightaway to arrange a meet-up the following afternoon. All in all, I didn't drown and saw lots of southern Manhattan, so I couldn't really complain. Much.
Continued in Pt 2...
Spoiler alert! Look away now if you don't want to know the end...
I got home safely.
Comments