The Holiday That Wasn't...Then Was...Almost Wasn't Again... But That Was

Continuing on with my New York Saga, I'll pick up after the events of the hurricane. Sorry, storm. Yeah, this was totally not the Helen-Hunt-'Twister' event that the news media had led me to believe was coming. It was a bit of wind, a bit of rain, and it was gone. SO not that big a deal.

Irene passed us by on the Sunday. On Monday, I said farewell to my hurricane-host and moved downtown, to the apartment that I'd booked with my friends, hoping like anything that they would manage to get there soon. The storm wasn't as bad as predicted - subway lines and public transport in NYC were all reopened, surely they'd open up all travel in and out as well?

Of course not.

One of my best friends, coming down from Montreal (where I was originally supposed to be), had about as many problems getting to New York as I did. Trains were cancelled until at least Wednesday. A direct flight is going to cost upwards of $1,000 (you can't be serious?!). Greyhound's website advertised overnight buses from Sunday night, arriving into New York Monday morning. Hooray, a shining light! Oops, no, just kidding, those buses aren't really running. But from Monday morning. Definitely. Being that the bus depot was an hour and a half from where she is staying, she did the responsible thing and called them Monday morning.

"Your buses to New York are definitely running?"

"Yes, all buses to New York are back on schedule."

Lies. All lies. She was forced to sit, amongst the chaos of hundreds of other stranded travellers, at the Greyhound station for the better part of a day, clutching what she was then told was a non-refundable ticket, and hoping that they would eventually send a bus. They did not, and she was forced to navigate French-speaking Montreal (without a word of French) back to where she was staying - not an easy task.

Meanwhile, in New York, I was determined to make the most of my holiday, solo and traumatised as I was. More as an "up yours" to the travel gods than because I wanted to - let's face it, I was over it. But I went exploring on Monday, blissfully ignorant of what was occurring in the Montreal Greyhound Depot, and thinking that I would not be spending another night alone. Things were looking up. I decided that I would go and see the photojournalism exhibition at the International Centre of Photography, it was running until the 29th (last day). I get there, greeted by a sign on the door stating that the exhibition finished yesterday but please, browse in our shop and spend your money anyway. I silently shake my fist at the travel gods.

Fine. I will go to everyone's favourite, McDonald's, and use their free wi-fi to get in touch with my friends and find out what is happening in Montreal, and in Dubai. The free wi-fi fails me, and I am forced to endure dry chicken nuggets and overly salty chips for nothing. I want to cry. Is there nothing that will go my way?! 

Toughen up, I tell myself, the sun is out and life could be worse. I go to Central Park and I find a grassy knowl to sit down and contemplate the past few days. A quick nap in the sun and I feel recharged and happier. It will be ok.

I am going to go and see a Broadway show. Alone, which is a little depressing, but less depressing than sitting in an empty apartment in the middle of New York by myself. I buy tickets to an off-Broadway production of Rent. I am killing time, when I wander past a hotel and realise it is where my stepsister is staying - I go past to leave her a note with my number and nearly fall over her in the lobby. The highlight of my holiday so far, I have never been so excited to see anyone. We make plans to catch up - I'm going to go and watch her compete in the Police and Fire Games the next day, hooray! I continue my walk, stumbling across a cheap and amazing Japanese restaurant for dinner. Delicious. Things are definitely looking up. I just have time to grab some money from the ATM to pay for my night's accommodation before I head over to catch my show.

Things are not looking up. I take out money, I walk out of the foyer of the ATM trying to locate my wallet, and then spend the next 20 minutes trying to locate the money I have just withdrawn. It is gone, vapourised in my hand. I do a perfect impersonation of a stunned mullet for a little while. I check my bag. I check the ground. I check my pockets, to discover I do not have any pockets. I approach a policeman standing on the corner.

"Excuse me, umm, hello. Umm. I think I have just been robbed." 

"You think you have been robbed?"

"Yes, well, you see, I had $200 in my hand when I came out of the ATM but it's not there now."

"You think you have been robbed?"

"Um maybe. I think maybe someone took it."

"You think? Did you see someone take it?"

"No."

"Do you know what they look like?"

"No."

"So you think you have been robbed?"

"Umm...yes?"

Honestly, it baffles me. But this money was in my hand, and then it was gone. Somebody very clever and practised has taken $200 straight out of my hands, almost without me even noticing. My helpful policeman friend, aside from thinking I was the dumbest person to cross his path that day, could not provide much assistance. I was free to check with the Bank if they had security cameras but, realistically, if I could not identify the person...well, it's New York City. Bye bye $200.

I make it, bewildered and a little late, to my show. Yes, thieves, you can take my money but you cannot take my ticket. Rent is awesome. Simply awesome. I forget my $200 for a little while. Until I get back to my apartment and discover the door does not close and lock properly, that is. Then the matter of 'personal safety' begins to remind me that I am in New York City, home of perpetual scumbags such as the one who stole my money. I have visions of Law and Order, bodies dumped in garbage cans over an iPod. I don't want to die for an iPod. I don't even own one.

 I make it through the night, without much sleep but also without being attacked. Tomorrow will be better - my friend will be here. And if she does not get on that bus, I am on the first plane back to Dubai because this holiday sucks. So it's going to be better. I fall into the world's most disturbed sleep. I wake up to discover that my friend is on the bus, NYC bound. It's going to be better. I am going to watch my sister play soccer. I head off to battle the subway uptown.


Two hours later, I am definitely lost. I am walking around the Bronx with no idea where I am going, or how to get there. I take a path through a park, before I realise it is not a park. It is a government housing block with a small triangle of grass at the front to make it look 'homely'. Bronx. Government housing. Recent victim of robbery. Shakes fist at travel gods.

After spending my morning wandering around, looking for the Games and being hopelessly unable to locate them, I cut my losses and go back downtown. I spend the day wandering aimlessly and avoiding ATM's until it is time to collect my favourite from the bus terminal. Finally. I am with my friend in New York City. Finally. We celebrate by going to see Mary Poppins on Broadway. Life is good - this is the holiday I have been looking forward to.

We spend the next day frolicking about New York, doing some shopping, seeing some sights, eating cheap pizza slices and drinking ice tea (which is nowhere near as delicious and refreshing as it looks, mind you). Two more friends arrive to complete our party that night. Finally.

Thursday is spent sightseeing on the big red bus. We shamelessly tote cameras through Times Square, and hang off the side of the bus to get the best views of buildings, sights, people. We take the ferry past the Statue of Liberty. We molest the bull on Wall Street. We visit the 9/11 memorial and WTC site, just a few days before the 10 year commemoration - it is eerie, and sad, and I am outraged that they have a GIFT SHOP in such a place (seriously, that's disgusting). We sing Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind" because we can. This is what the last week is supposed to have been like but hey, better late than never!

Friday morning we are up ridiculously early. We go to Rockefeller Plaza for a free Lenny Kravitz concert. Top of the Rock follows. We eat bagels smothered in cream cheese and visit Starbucks - there is a ratio of one Starbucks for every 2 people in New York City. Ok this is not a verified fact, but it's got to be close. We shop more. We visit the Magnolia Bakery and indulge in delicious treats. We spend our evening at Yankee Stadium, watching a game we don't really understand but cheering when the Yankees win anyway. We buy beers, and merchandise. The two are not disconnected. It is amazing and fun, and I am glad I stuck it out in NYC because I have had an awesome couple of days with my friends around me.

I am supposed to fly out Saturday morning, but the flight is full. I have another day to spend in New York, which I am happy about, but it means I miss one of my best mates from home, who leaves Dubai just a few hours before I land, and this I am sad about. He is not happy with me, and I am sorry. I wish I could be everywhere in the world at once, or maybe just pack you guys up and stick you in my pockets and carry you around with me. But if you read this blog, you'll have noticed by now that when and where I travel are not necessarily within my control - one of the 'benefits' of staff travel. Still, I am sorry I missed you Camel. Will make up for it when I am home next, whenever that might be.

I join the girls on their outing for the day. We go to Central Park and have a picnic. We visit Strawberry Fields, and get irritated with the people who choose to stand ON the John Lennon memorial for photos, feeling that it's a little disrespectful, plus you are ruining our photos. We go to the Met, so that we can pretend we are in Gossip Girl and sit on the steps eating frozen yoghurt. Unfortunately, we do not have Blair Waldorf's minions to fetch us frozen yoghurt, and there is nowhere there that sells it. We have to settle for pre-packaged ice cream treats instead. They are still delicious and we still feel hilarious and cool in a dorky kind of way. We finish the day at the Billabong store in Times Square, where professional Aussie surfers Taj Burrow and Joel Parkinson are doing some form of autograph signing. Ten years ago, I had no doubt in my mind that I would someday marry Taj, and that Parko would probably be in our wedding. I haven't had much to do with surfing since then (too scared of sharks), but it didn't stop me from being a nervous, giggling teenager when I got to meet them. Luckily they are very nice blokes, and did not draw attention to my stammer, embarrassment, or childish ways. I was so completely stoked. It was a great way to finish off The Trip That Almost Wasn't, seeing a dream come true (the meeting, not the wedding), and reconnecting with 16-year-old-Kim, who apparently still lives inside me. We had fun.

All in all, it didn't go smoothly. It was not easy, and it was not always fun. But I will definitely never forget this holiday. I can look back and laugh at my misfortunes, thankfully, because at the end of the day it could have been a lot worse (hurricane, mugging, etc) and I got out of it pretty unscathed - although RIP my $200. In saying that, it's hard to be miserable in a place like New York, and I'm lucky to have such great friends to share it with. It would have been a very different holiday if those 3 girls hadn't made it to salvage the last few days.


I bought a t-shirt: I heart NY.


Despite the dramas, I do.