Breakfast in America

3 A.D.

It's getting hot, the shorts are on, and I have a new mantra - never pass a drinking fountain without stopping for a swig. I sit on floor 3 of the YMCA, writing today's entry as our laundry cycle completes. Yes, four days in and we're already doing a wash! It's more a case of using the facilities while we can - next stop is a hotel in Philadelphia and it's unlikely we'll be able to get our grundies processed there.

Anyway, what have we done so far today? We rose at 7.30 and went through our usual morning routine of showering, eating an apple, and putting any left over slummy into the vending machines for cookies / crisps - pretty much the same sort of grub that I start my day with at Smedley. We hopped onto the subway down to the East Village, which has much less skyscrapers and a more bohemian feel to it. Going to the Joe Stummer mural on the corner of Avenue A and 7th Street was a personal pilgrimage - it seems a million years ago and a million miles away since David Bond first told me about it back in the office kitchenette. If you've never been a fan of The Clash, this probably won't mean much to you.

By this point the tummies were rumbling again so we did breakfast properly in a nearby diner. We got two bacon and egg sandwiches with coffees for $3.99 each, plus sales tax (which we constantly forget about), but I wasn't sure whether to tip the girl behind the counter. So far our tipping has been minimal, and I wonder if we've upset a few people in the service sector by not following local custom. Anyway, she was going to give me $11.31 change so I graciously told her to give me $11 back...couldn't tell whether she was pleased or p*ssed off to get a whopping 31 cents extra with which to pay her rent.

Leaving the diner with coffees in hand, we meandered down through Noho (not much going on) to Greenwich Village - supposedly arty and happening, but still not much going on, besides a rather tatty street market. Oh and a guy playing a grand piano in Washington Square Park.

On the way back up north, we stopped at 42nd Street to plan how we would travel to our future destinations across the US...yes, it was time to go to the Greyhound terminal. It wouldn't have been so bad had they put more than one person on the desk, but they hadn't, so we queued for nearly an hour as an old man stood behind us and talked to anyone who would listen about how great New York was when he was "coming up". At this point I discovered that, despite an excellent silk sleep sheet, I'd already been attacked by a wild creature - sizable bite on my left arm, presumably from a pesky bedbug. It was about 50 minutes into our queuing that we realised that we might actually need some form of ID to purchase our 60 day Greyhound bus passes. Tim had his driving licence, but I had nothing - not once had I been ID'd when buying beer, so I'd got out of the habit of carrying any around with me. Sure enough, the clerk asked us for some, but she let me off and took Tim's driving licence as good for both of us. Several hundred dollars later, we'd reserved two seats on the 12.01 express service to Philadelphia tomorrow. We'd only be using our passes for 40 days, but we'd had to pay for 60. Unfortunately, because my name was emblazoned across it, there was no way I'd be able to sell it on for a few bucks in Los Angeles as I'd hoped.

After getting back on the subway and alighting at Grand Central, we saw the sign shown above - dunno what it represents, but wouldn't it be a great place to drink at? Back to reality - we went into the lobby of the Chrysler Building to look at the infamous art nouvea (or art deco - I forget which it is), but the lobby was closed. One positive thing to mention is that twice this morning on the subway I got asked where certain trains were going, as if I would know - finally New Yorkers are overcoming their initial fears and accepting me as one of their own!

Washing's just done, time to get the line out and dry it all off...in our room.

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We left the clothes hanging on the makeshift line and headed downtown for one last trip - our final evening in this great city. The old meatpacking district has been revamped into a rather swanky area for people with plenty of money and tonnes of class, so I fitted right in. The reason we were there was to walk 'The Highline' which is an old elevated railway line that has been converted into a greenery-lined walkway above the regular streets. For many years I have had recurring dreams about disused railways...why? I have absolutely no idea. And nothing revelatory happened while we were up there, but it was a very peasant walk. 

Although we went to Times Square on our first day here, Tim was keen to check it out when it was dark, so we made our way up there while dusk was falling to people-watch for a while. However, just when we arrived, I was hit by a revelation, or rather something fell out of the sky and splattered against me. Anyone who knows the story about the three pigeons who flew into my bedroom several years ago and caused havoc also knows that me and the "rats-with-wings" have a less than happy relationship, but apparently it's good luck to be plopped on so I took it as a good omen for the rest of the journey, especially as it was on my knuckle. It could have been sooo much worse! 

As nightfall arrived, we headed to the "Top of the Rock", the Rock being the Rockefeller Centre that was built by that guy whose name I forget. This was always part of the plan - do one tall building by day, do another by night. So, instead of seeing the awe-inspiring skyscrapers under the pretty blue skies, we saw them lit up against the darkness in all their neon glory. Another fab view to write home about.

And finally...

Q. How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

A. Practice, practice, practice!

Or just go there like wot I did (despite all the bloody scaffolding):

[I'm winking at you, Miss Anderson.]

So, that was four days in NYC and tomorrow we head to Philly. It's a bit too early to start getting philosophical about it all, just suffice to say that.