Biting into the Big Apple

For me, when we set out on this trip, New York was one of the bright stars outshining all but Paris and New Orleans on our list of destinations. The last time I came here, I promised myself I'd be back as soon as I could save up enough for the air fare, but over the past few weeks I've fallen for small-town America. My love for the rushing, buzzing anonymity of big cities has given way to a love for lazy afternoons reading in sun-dappled, tree filled parks; searching for deer tracks in snowy woods; and the oh-so-friendly townsfolk, with their tales of boo-hags and ghosts, who go out of their way to make you feel right at home. In the face of these new found pleasures, the New York of my memory had lost its sparkle. On the eve of our departure from Belvidere, NJ, I would have been more than happy to swap New York for a few more days curled up by the radiator with Lisey's Story (did you really think I'd pass up the opportunity to read Stephen King in a small, East Coast town?).

I was also very sad to say goodbye to Lou and Harriet, we both were. They were so wonderful to us, showing us around and looking after us for a whole week, oh, and making sure we ate double our body weight in food each day (Mum, trust me, you don't want to know)!

Despite my reservations, the train doors opened onto Penn Station and it grabbed me: that fierce, raw energy unique to New York. Those of you who've been here will know exactly what I'm talking about. Those of you who haven't, I don't know that I can describe it. Such a dense, diverse range of people have lived in these buildings, ridden these subway cars and pounded these sidewalks that everything is coated in millions upon millions of layers of personal histories. More than that, most of those people weren't born here, they came here. A city of dreamers. People come here with their heads full of lofty ideals, and that excitment and hopefulness has rubbed off on the city. It's not really like the rest of America; Manhattan is an island unto itself.

We are staying in the world's smallest apartment (my bed is in a kind of loft over Maddy's and my head knocks the ceiling evrytime I try and sit up, but I love it) on the Upper East Side, and sitting here typing this late at night, I feel a little bit like Carrie Bradshaw (sans endless queue of boys and world's most amazing wardrobe, but tomorrow is a shopping day, and maybe the boys will follow).

Our Getting to our apartment, however, was no easy feat. We had to take three subways and walk about ten blocks with our packs in -12 degree weather. The wind felt like a pack of sadists attacking my fingers and thumbs with blunt knives, my face was so numb with cold my speech came out all slurry, and by the time we finally reached our apartment, my spine had become a burning rod of pain. So after settling in we rode the subway down to China Town to find a cheap massage parlour and a steaming plate of sesame chichen (our new fave Chinese dish). What we also found (after hiking up Broadway for a bit) was the world's best bookshop. (Lou and Harriet, I can just imagine you groaning to read this: not ANOTHER one!) Fellow biblophiles, I tell you, we stumbled on the Holly Grail and it's name is Strand Books. Imagine 18 miles of stock. 2.5 million individual books. All. Heavily. Discounted. Needless to say, we stayed until close then went back this afternoon. We'll probably make a third trip, and possibly a fourth and fith before the week is out.

Today we also toddled down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is hu-uge and choc-a-block full of pretty piuctures and statues and things (we're talking ancient tombs, relics from the last 2,000 years and rooms full of Degas, Warhol and Van Gogh). I took a bunch of happy snaps, which I'll put up soon (you can probably tell I'm getting a wee bit tired and may actually fall asleep typing this).

In fact, I think that's me done. Provided the people on the other side of the wall stop howling in ecstasy at some point in the near future (yup just like Gossip Girl, this blog delivers an exclusive insight into the scandalous lives on Manhattan's elite), I'm going to see if I can't find my way to the land of nod.

Margs

xo xo