The New York Escapade
Well, after endless nights of watching The Late Show with David Letterman , I decided to head off and check out New York, on a whim . Having finished a 3 month contract, I had the time, might never get the same great deals on tickets due to the current climate and hey, I might be too poor soon.
So, the next day I booked a hotel, then the flight and then got the visa (needed in that order to get the visa). Flights were cheap, after all ($1599 after taxes), even if the hotels are not ($150 per night!!).
Secured the cheapest hotel possible to actually reside in without bunking up with Ben Dover and the rest of the risks associated with hostel life (have you seen the movie Hostel!!). The Astor Hotel, next to Central Park on Central Park West, corner of 106th Street, was the one for me. Despite all the bad feedback blogs, I went ahead.
All was looking well for a Thursday afternoon flight and so I headed off to the airport, armed with a small amount of luggage and a big amount of excitement! My brief (very brief) research of New York meant that I didn’t know the area where I’d be staying but that Central Park and the Museums were not far off. Couldn’t be too bad and was not in the Bronx or Harlem.
iPod = Come Fly with me – Frank Sinatra
The flight over was a marvellous laugh! There were several Jewish Chaps of the Haredi persuasion – a friendly bunch given to praying in the rear galley by the toilets. My seat was second from the rear, where there are only two, and I was sat next to a friendly Italian chap called Mario.
Mario was over from Italy, travelling through selling restaurant equipment of sorts. Made the flight easy, at least for me. Mario may have a different point of view.
Halfway through the flight, with the queue for the loos starting to conjugate at the tail end, I got talking to a Lebanese Australian. Remember, the Haredi lads were also doing their praying malarkey down the tail end also. In a moment that will stick with me forever, the Arab chap (let’s call him Ahmed) leans over and whispers in my ear, “Do you think we should be worried about them, ‘cos I’m getting afraid of this lot!” Ha, ha. Yes.
IPod = Fuckin in the buses - Oasis
*Just then, the Haredi lads, armed with half peeled bananas, made a rush and stormed the toilets! Ahmed was alas assuming the position of standing on the toilet seat, given the requirement to squat. Apparently the storming helped facilitate a smoother action in this process. A melee ensued and bananas were used in grotesque effectiveness. It was an awful mess. Well, it went everywhere.
*this bit may not be true.
LAX
Ipod = Ramble On – Led Zeppelin
I woke up after my daydreaming (see above) as we prepared to land. A few more funny stories with Mario and we were ready to set down. We landed in LA (lovely dump of an airport) without incident, but, as with all bookings with United Airlines, I had less than an hour to clear customs, pick up my bag (you do not get it checked all the way through when your connecting to an internal flight), get over to the next terminal, manoeuvre the big black chaps trying to sign you up to help the local homeless and catch my flight to New York. Phew! Made it with 15 minutes to spare. Alas, I was to find out later, my bag did not! W**kers!
JFK
Ipod = New York, New York (of course!) = Frank Sinatra
So, arrived in New York at an ideal time of 8:30pm but had to wait nearly two hours at a shit terminal with no facilities to speak of, whilst I awaited my baggage. I asked the chap behind the lost baggage desk if my bag would in fact be receiving an upgrade due to their incompetence, but that comment went straight through to the wicket keeper...
So, armed with my bag and the sure and certain knowledge of getting ripped off, the negotiations started with the plethora of ‘Hotel Buses’ outside, which basically means that the wait until enough people turn up to make it worth their while to take you. In the end, given the time and lack of any chance of hitting the town, I opted for the services of Richard’s Limo Services. Well, if you’re going to get ripped off, you may as well do it in style. I got the grand sight-seeing tour on the way, which I found fab. US$40 plus tip (get used to that element!).
My hotel was pokey, but I’d known this by reading all the reviews before I booked it. The main source of complaint from the reviews was the tiny sized rooms. Well, a bit of Irish charm, a reference to a 7 night stay and a few gags, and I got a massive room, with 3 beds, on the 10th floor overlooking Central Park. Never underestimate a bit of courtesy...
Ipod = Moments of Surrender – U2
Woke up the next morning at 5am, gagging to hit the street. Central Park was, of course, first cab off the rank. The weather, the same for my entire trip, was slightly chilly with the drizzly rain normally associated with Dublin. So, a 6am stroll through Central Park, with the fog just lifting slightly, was a wonderfully picturesque introduction to New York, as I was euphoric!
Statue of Liberty
Richard, him of Limo reputation, had armed me with a map, visitors guide and pen-ringed locations of all I wanted to see, namely art galleries and land marks. Today, day one, I was off to see the great French lady, the Statue of Liberty.
Up like a lark at 5:30am, I was ready to go exploring. Out into Central Park and a good walk through to Jackie Onassis Reservoir and then back to 81st Street. A subway down to Fulton Street and then a donder down through Wall Street for a coffee at Starbucks.
Further roaming through the Financial District and then I headed over to Battery Park, setting me on my course. Tickets to The Statue of Liberty & Ellis Island are just $US12 but I had been warned to allow half a day. Time well allocated.
Ipod = An Englishman in New York - Sting
The queuing started when trying to get onto a ferry, with about 20 minutes of queuing. Bear in mind, this was a queue full of screaming American Teenagers. The decibels are that much higher!
The ferry was packed to the rafters and as soon as we resembled a can of sardines, we were on our way. The trip over to The Statue of Liberty was quick enough, and the view awe inspiring! I couldn’t help but think of the scene in Planet of the Apes, when Charlton Heston finally realises he’s on Earth...
At the time of visiting, only the bottom end of the Statue was open to the public, so another hour of queuing was underway, along with all the screaming American Teenagers. Bastards. Herded into the Security Checking area, we were requested to turn off all electronics, and that food, large umbrellas and backpacks were not coming in! The security guard, fond of his own voice and elusions of stardom, did a little pantomime to constantly remind us of this feature. The scanner was a bit of fun, though. A whoosh of air and hair, t-shirt, etc was all over the shop. Quite fun being behind a couple of Asian girls, who clearly hadn’t expected this to happen to them, despite all their predecessors having had said treatment.
The climb up the Statue was fun, though not for the not-so-fit. That’s what the lift is for, but alas the rather beefy Americans ahead of me had opted for the wrong choice. A bit ‘nip and tuck’ so best get ahead of such impediments when given the opportunity.
Ipod = Fanfare for the Common Man – Aaron Copland
Just out on the bottom level, The Statue of Liberty is magnificent. Looking up, she looks exceptional, though knowing that 3 weeks later the top level will have opened was a bit of a shame.
A knackering return to ground level and back onto the ferry. Ellis Island is, it seems, mandatory, though you can stay on that ferry for a trip straight back to Battery Park. I opted to take in Ellis Island, and was rewarded with a rich piece of history of immigration to the US. The processing room itself is a treat to behold, but the wealth of history on Ellis Island makes it a worthwhile few hours.
Ipod = The hands that built America – U2
Back on to the ferry to Battery Park and the mainland, and I was ready for a nap. So, after a few sidetracks, back to the hotel...and an early night zzzz.
Day 2
Ipod = Nights on Broadway – Bee Gee’s
Up and Adam! Broadway, here we come. Today starts with a good long walk from Central Park West all the way down through to Broadway and Time Square. This has to be seen to be believed, though the walk down was fairly amazing too!
A quick late afternoon stop off at a bar for a mandatory, and first of many, burger. There is the collective seating at the bars here so striking up a chat is made very easy. I was at the Mercury Bar on 9th & 46th which had a good mix of a crowd in.
I soon got chatting to Ciaran and his wife Elizabeth. Ciaran’s an Irishman with 8 or so years in New York running his own Chiropractic business, and Liz is Senior Vice President for Martha Stewart’s PR firm. They’ve got plenty of recommendations of what to do in NYC, particularly recommending good runs in Central Park. Talk shifts to jail and handling the press...
Ipod = Fight Music – D12
With the Ricky Hatton v. Pacquiao fight on, a good Irish pub is on the cards. Just off Broadway it’s teaming with them so a random bar is chosen. They certainly know, and like their boxing in New York so the pre-fight warm up is pebbled with talk of various fights over the years as well as bets on when Hatton/Pacquiao will win. Well, whilst I was not overly confident of Hatton winning, to hit the deck in the 2nd round and be clearly be outboxed in the process was a surprised. Quite to the delight and glee of my new found, and to be forgotten, New York friends. Tried for a subway train, but after an hour of waiting (there are no train times), time to head back to the hotel...Taxi!
Sunday morning and it is pissing down yet again! Fog overhanging Central Park views from my hotel room and I contemplate another day in the Big Apple. What to do...
Ipod = The Fear – Lily Allen
I have made a decision that Empire State Building will be Monday, Museum’s will be Tuesday (they are closed on Monday), Dakota Building will be Wednesday (along with the Football) and so today, Brooklyn.
Ipod = Living on a prayer – Bon Jovi
What I was not aware of, was the Five Boro’ Bike Ride. Having started a few years earlier, this was 30,000 riders braving the awful weather to cycle through the five boroughs of New York. Quite ready to be saturated yet again, I set off onto the subway (long since mastered, despite the lack of next train times, filthy stations and dubious characters loitering with intent). Now, prior to heading off to New York and well aware of the likelihood of being mugged so was preparing my jab-cross-hook-kick in the knee/bollocks and run routine. In my head, it was all sorted. Hit first and then ask questions. All sorted. Well, in my mind, anyway.
So, when a bunch of African Americans joined my subway train on the dubious C line and started to wrestle each other, I thought, here we go. A few fellow passengers got up and moved seats but not me. I was ready. At the next station, they moved carriages, much to my relief, but the preparation had probably done me good. Ready for the next time. Then, the biggest bloke I ever encountered entered my carriage menacingly . Well, any trouble out of him and, eh, I’ll just give him my money, hotel key and write him a blank cheque...
A thankful arrival at Fulton Street and I was keen to get out into the rain. Roaming down to FDR drive and onto the Seaport Historic District to take in Wavertree Cargo and Peking Cargo ships. Then, up onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Still pissing down with rain, joggers everywhere, the new menace was...cyclists! Thousands of them.
A pleasant walk over the bridge, stopping to take in the Statue of Liberty off in the distance and then a descent into Brooklyn. Hoards of cyclists everywhere and a good sense of early morning excitement.
Ipod = Deliverance Duelling Banjo’s
After enough dondering, it was time for a spot of lunch and a hot toddy. Found a bar called Superfine on Front Street, with a band playing bluegrass, which was, eh, interesting. Still, with the usual bar seating arrangements, more random conversations were undertaken, with further recommendations of where to head off to next. The recommendation was to head to East Village or China Town.
Ipod = Long Way Round - Stereophonics
Heading out to the rain yet again, I stumble upon a massive gathering of the Boys in Blue. Well, if anyone’s going to give directions to a subway, these are the lads. A subway into Canal Street and the next adventure is underway.
Dondering through China Town and associated Streets, and with the afternoon dragging on, shelter from the rain again is decided as I come across a pokey little joint called Lucky Jacks.
Paul Potts, he of Opera fame, from Britain’s got talent was landing as we spoke. Sat at the bar was a couple of English lads who were the film crew for a Paul Potts Documentary.
Paul Hawkins and Mike Hodder were there to video shoot Paul on his exploits in New York, though as time would tell, they ended up in Germany. The footage has since disappeared from You Tube...
Discussions were abound of getting Paul down for the local Karaoke . Alas there was a no go on that one, so Nessun Dorma would have to wait.
Ipod = Inbetweener - Sleeper
Rich English banter ensued and quickly turned to Snatch, and every second sentence ended in “I hate Faaakin Pikeys!” Not to be outshined our Barman (a top bloke who’s name alas escapes me) pointed out ever so subtlety that Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr had entered the bar, taking a stool down the end. Orlando, noticing all of us tucking in merrily to pints of Guinness, ordered a pint of the great black stuff. Miranda quickly gusumpt the poor chap, changing the order in remonstrating fashion, to just half a pint. Good look with the marriage, Orlando!
The day was quickly getting ahead of us and night had fallen by the time the gags had died down. The director of the doco had joined us, a lovely English lady, and talk was of dinner. My thoughts were of a nice nap, so off to hail a Yellow Cab I went. Half hearted plans were made to hook up the following evening, as is the polite decorum of such encounters when travelling.
Monday morning
Ipod = Rain – The Cult
6:30am. A crisp, Spring morning. Raining again. Bloody hell! Anyway, skates on! I’m off for a run. As per recommendations from Ciaran, I’m off to trot around the Jackie Onassis Reservoir in Central Park. If you like a run, even if just a novice runner like myself, this is a wonderful experience.
On Mondays, the galleries and museums are closed, but today was health, health health. After freshening up back at the hotel I cut across Central Park to Upper East Side and the Museum Mile, so suss out where everything was. Here, you will find the Jewish Museum, the Guggenheim and finally the wonderful Metropolitan Museum of Art.
My walk continued all the way into town and down to the site of the WTC.
Ipod – One – U2
This site is huge and wondrous, expansive, thought provoking and very, very sad. Peppered with clotted crowds of tourists on this drizzly day, it’s also strangely, very lonely. My mind without prompting was taken back to the moment, on a late night in a bar in Melbourne with work colleagues and the shocking television pictures of the planes hitting the towers. For our generation this is our Kennedy moment ...
Monday night was set to be a visit to the Yankees new stadium, but the heaven had another idea. With such a downpour all day and the price of a tickets, this was a good thing. The game went on well past midnight.
Tuesday was the day for culture and I started with the Guggenheim. This is a wonderful building and it was packed to the rafters. Alas only two floors were open so with a reduced ticket price of six bucks, I went in. Not overly impressed, though my understand is that when fully opened they get great collections in from time to time. My highlight of my whole trip, however, awaited me at the Metropolitan.
This building is intimidating from the outside and crowds are constantly pouring in. You are herded like cattle, into the ticket section, though I am still not clear if payment is mandatory. You can choose to pay the entry fee of $20, I suspect and most people seem to do this. I choose to take part also though I make the mistake of lining up behind a group of elderly, hairy eared, dithering, drawling Southern Americans. Working out if you have a $20 note in your wallet should really not take this long. And, good God! They’ve all paid for each other, so the resulting refund melee is too painful to describe with any justice.
I am no Art expert, but I know what I like. I am chocolate box. After a few hours of wandering around ancient Egypt, China and Japan, I decide to cut and run to what I came for. The Impressionists and the European Painters. Having seen so many exhibitions around the World, from the wonderful Galleries in London to visiting exhibitions in Australia, I was reacquainted with some old friends by Monet, Constable and so many others too numerous to mention. There is something like 2300 European paintings here on display.
12 years ago, having decided I loved Monet, I purchased some Money prints through the Evening Standard in London. My favourite is a print of the Houses of Parliament, which currently takes pride of place in my living room, in front of the sofa. I have often, over the years when missing London after 10 years away, stopped to take in my print. Having seen so many other Monet such as Bridge over a pool of water lilies, I had never seen this painting until now. Hard to describe how I felt, but I was certainly in a world of my own for many moments. And here it was. I find myself drifting back to that moment even now as I type this and view the picture on line.
Five hours later I managed to pull myself away from what I hope will be a frequent destination in my life.
Ipod = Imagine – John Lennon.
Wednesday. Final day. Today is to be John Lennon day. I wander over to Broadway and 106th for a spot of early lunch. Here I find that, with a massive population of Mexicans, they have these subway sandwich bar-type joints where you order what you want in your filling. I love hot food, after growing up in the Middle East, and Tabasco is an important part of my life. However, hot to a Mexican is a different level of pain for me. Good God, going down was burning enough, but I am not looking forward to this exiting the tunnel.
I take the subway from 103rd street, where Humphrey Bogart’s House is located, to 72nd and Sherman Square. What a buzz! If I was to live in New York, then surely this is where I’d want to be. I’m off to the Dakota Building where John Lennon lived and, sadly, died. A poignant moment of reflection and again, I am taken back to a day in my youth, in Bahrain, when my Dad came home to tell me that John had been shot!
The Dakota building is a poncy affair. Doorman on hand to scowl at tourists taking mandatory pics of the place. A walk around the block of the place gives you a sense of the size, as well as the privacy John & Yoko must have enjoyed.
Across the road is Central Park’s Strawberry Fields, a dedication to John Lennon, who, when you talk to the locals, was remembered with fondness as a local. A lovely spot to stop, grab a piece of park bench if possible and reflect on events in history forever embedded into our conscience. Of course, the odd wanker ruins the moment with renditions of Imagine being ‘sung’ over the Imagine mosaic. Still, the rain had stopped for a rest bite and we all knew why we were there. Stop and smell the roses.
Still in a moment of surrender, I headed back to Broadway to do just that. Finding a rather poncy cafe, in French style elegance, and awful service, I sat and had a coffee to take in the wanderers strolling by.
Ipod = Boy from New York City – Manhattan Transfer (not actually on my ipod!)
There, I got in great conversation with Chuck Saletan. Chuck, embracing his 7th decade, was a wealth of New Yorker knowledge, wit and entertainment. Chuck lived on 74th Street renting at I think $4000 a month.
“I’m loving being in New York”, I say. “Hey pal, when I wake up in the morning, that’s just what I am grateful for nowadays!” replies a clearly contented Chuck.
We chatted about property, my places in London and Sydney, life in New York, his now sold Chicken business and the Dakota building.
Chuck used to raise chickens just outside New York and every morning, before the crack of dawn, would deliver live chickens to all the great Manhattan eateries. None of your frozen chicken in them days. Well, it would seem it made for a good life, by all accounts. Clearly well fed and with an appreciation of the finer things in life, Chuck had also married a fine woman, who he was still happily married to. So this did exist in the Big Apple!
Ipod – Dakota - Stereophonics
The reason Dakota is so called, is because when it was built, it was the only building for miles and was named after that desolate State to reflect this. The building was built from 1880 to 1884, and even before Lennon, was a famous landmark heritage building with a wealth of history.
The history Chuck related to me seemed slightly at odds with the history I have since uncovered but who am I to get in the way of a good story teller. Built by Edward Clark, history states it was purpose built as apartments aimed at the wealthy. Chucks story made mention of a socialite of the day owning it and that Chucks building having to be built as a hotel for friends and servants of residents of the Dakota, to reside. All in all, New Yorkers tell a great story and maths aside, I got the sense that Chuck was there holding court back in the day.
Chuck went on to recommend two spots and but for the 3pm kick off for UEFA game, I would have gone. Next time.
So, for the list, the Frick Collection and the Faberge Eggs at the Forbes building are two gems to be explored. One look at the Frick Collection on line, and reflecting on the football match I watched, ensured my eternal regret of not having headed straight down.
Instead, I headed off to the nearest bar potentially showing the match.
Ipod = I’m shipping off to Boston – Dropkick Murphys
Just along 72nd street I found a pokey Irish bar, minutes before kick-off. They did not have the game on but were very accommodating. However, my Union Jack themed T-shirt, which I had not even realised I had chosen that morning (last clean t-shirt in the mix other then my travel clobber for tomorrow). I felt the animosity in the air, with these 2nd and 3rd generation Irish. For them, I felt, there was still an English/Irish war on. A random Spanish tourist joined me at the bar to view the match and soon we had a few of the curious locals getting into the game. There were, of course, plenty of questions on rules, etc, but we all got into it.
The locals soon warmed to me and we got chatting about the various gigs they had been to. Aged in their mid 50’s at a guess, they had plenty of stories to relate. Talk soon turned to John & Yoko, who they had all encountered as locals back in the late 70’s. One chap was an ex-cop and related stories of Yoko. The other, a story of John living a normal life buying a paper in the morning, having a coffee and chatting away to them. Great nuggets.
Ipod – Jump Around – House of Pain
So, final night out. Back to the hotel after the match (straight after, not wishing to push my luck with the locals), and of course, no plan. I think, head into town, perhaps to the Mean Fiddler, recommended by many a random I had met over the week.
On the subway into town, I got talking to a chap who was armed with a rather impressive screw on microphone in it’s case, which he had momentarily opened to reassume himself it was still there. We got talking and it turns out he was a roadie for a split off version of Nine Inch Nails.
He told me about a secret gig at the Playwright Celtic pub on 8th Avenue.
The Mean Fiddler was somewhat sterile and being my last night, I grabbed a cab in the rainy New York night to 8th Avenue. Everyone, including the cabbie, seemed to be in on the secret gig, but when I got there I knew I was in for a great night.
Ipod = Slither – Velvet Revolver
The venue itself, the Playwright, was worth the trip. The roadie recognised me and came over to welcome me in. The equipment being set up meant business and when the band started, we were in for a treat. No idea who the singer was, I am ashamed to say, but the music kicked arse and I had a great time.
Taxi?
Thursday, final day, and with so much time to waste before my 6pm flight, I opted for the train to Penn Station and a connection, in due course, to Newark Airport (an anagram of wanker, as pointed out on Facebook by my mate Marty).
At Penn Station, I had more then enough time for a last New York Hamburger. A jolly affair of a bar called Houlihan’s was my choice of eatery (nothing else in sight) and so I took my usual place on a stool at the bar. I was oddly asked for ID before I was allowed to order my burger, a Tillamook Medium. Karen, the bar person, was up for some good banter and it turned out that the bar was soon to be closed down. So a certain Wake feeling hung over the place. There were plenty of locals, travelling salesmen and alike, all up for banter. I had a great bit of craic before heading off for my train to Newark by train and mono rail.
Check in was seamless, having already done so online the day before, so again I was left with plenty of time to kill. I had a good donder around the airport, which took no time at all before finding a cafe for what resembled a flat white. God, I was so looking forward to a return to Sydney and decent coffee.
Ipod = Airport – The Motors
A visit to the bar neat the gate resulted in further banter with the ever so chatty locals. Amongst others, I got chatting to Brazilian business woman brandishing a Brazilian version of The Secret! It had changed her life, she had become very successful and she was full of fun.
It turned out her proudest moment was her daughter being Miss Brazil 2008. Now, I’m still not clear if her daughter was actually Miss Brazil, or just one of the runners up, but she had a copy of Brazilian Times (which she insisted I keep) within which was a picture of her rather fetching daughter. Wow, a bit of a knock out. After a few compliments on the rather fortunate genes my new Brazilian friend had whipped her phone out and was making a call. Eerily feeling this involved me in some way, I asked what was afoot, to be told she was calling her daughter for me to chat to! Thankfully, we got voicemail.
The flight to San Francisco went without incident, unless you count dreadful in-fight entertainment. However, as per usual, we were given diddily squat time to get to our connecting flight to Sydney. When we landed, late, the flight attendants didn’t even ask the passengers not connecting, to sit down. So I did. They sat down and myself, along with a few other Sydney bound passengers pegged it off the plane and all the way to our connecting flight with minutes to spare. Whilst dashing through the gate, the flight attendant at the gate just asked our names for scribbling onto a pad, as I bundled my boarding card (the wrong one it turned out later without notice by those in charge) into their hands. Such Professionals...
As we set off on our dash from the landed plane, there were several of us, but by the time we made the fight, there was only myself and one other person. Unsure what happened to the others.
Ipod = Come Undone – Robbie Williams
After all the days mayhem and frustrations of shocking connecting flight malarkey courtesy of United Airlines, I was ready for a big nap!
Ipod – Throw your arms around me – Mark Seymour
Arriving into Sydney, thoughts turned to Swine Flu and the hope that the cold I was recovering from would not show up on the infra red camera at passport control. With no queue I was quickly into baggage and, thankfully my bag had made it. In fact, it was first off, onto the conveyor belt. Customs were proactive and came up to me before I’d reached them, to tick off my customs form and waive me through express, i.e. no checking at all.
Taxi’s were copious and there was no one in the queue. Lovely. That’s the quickest I have ever got from flight to taxi, roughly 10 minutes. What a great end to a smashing holiday!
Ipod – This War is over – Melissa Etheridge
The End.
