Tim's Travels

The day starts a little later than yesterday, but still earlier than is absolutely ideal. I’m first up around 05:00, and Ali’s not far behind me. We’ve a LONG day ahead, culminating in a Yankees - Red Sox game that is unlikely to finish much (if at all) before 23:00.

Coffee and Bloody Marys provide the sustenance we need to get up, showered, and out of the apartment. Frustratingly, the two subway lines that run just 100m from our apartment are suspended for the weekend for some engineering work, so we need to make alternative plans for getting out and about. I propose a bus route, which is met with initial suspicion, but ultimately proves to be a decent transport option. The bus is air-conditioned, which helps.

We aim for a diner that’s just South of the Brooklyn Bridge, and we feast. Karin has some much desired pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. Ali has some kind of southern US take on an Eggs Benedict which includes some amazing smoked pork belly and a Chipotlé laced Hollandaise. Vicks dives headfirst into a ‘simple’ plate of eggs, bacon and toast, and I paddle in the shallow end of a smoked brisket hash. Sizeable, delicious, nourishing. It will stand us in good stead.

From here, we head North over Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. The walk over the bridge is spectacular. It is, for me, one of the most recognisable edifices in the city. The views across to Manhattan are some of the best of the city’s skyline, and the architecture of the bridge itself is stunning to look at. When Vicks and I last visited, there were street vendors selling tacky tourist crap lining both sides of the walkway. They have all but disappeared. This *might* be because of the wet weather, but we suspect more likely that there’s been a clampdown by the New York city government.

Yes, the weather. The forecast has been predicting some stormy conditions while we’re in town, and it looks like today is the day. I’ve got a sturdy umbrella to help me out. Karin has a waterproof jacket, and Vicki has both an umbrella and a poncho. Ali has…. *checks notes* nothing. As we walk over Brooklyn Bridge, there are brief showers. The heavy stuff is due later, around lunchtime. It’s still warm though - around 24C, so the air is thick and steamy. We all sweat up with alarming ease.

At the North end of the bridge walkway, we take a left, and wander down through the financial district to the 9/11 Memorial. I wrote about it at length in the journal for my last visit in 2023, so won’t retread this very saddest of grounds. I’m unsure why, but for some reason on this visit to the memorial that lists dead soul from that horrendous day, my eyes are repeatedly drawn to the very many entries that end with ‘and her unborn child.’ I’m in two minds about the folks taking happy, smiley selfies in front of the memorial. I suppose it’s nice that they came to pay their respects, but I wish they’d pay them just a little more.

Sobering as the experience is, we head for a sit-down and a beer in a cool sports bar just round the corner from Freedom Tower (Fuck yeah!) The Irish bartender is an interesting character. He makes his own hot sauce, which he puts to great use in Ali’s Bloody Mary. It transpires he was a professional (but not brilliant) rugby player earlier in his career, playing occasionally for the great Leinster side of the early 2000s. He’s been in New York for 17 years, and very much considers this his home now.

We head a little to the North, in search of FDNY Ladder 8 - the firehouse made famous by original 1980s Ghostbusters films. When Vicki and I last visited, we had the place to ourselves. Today, we’re a little surprised to see some folks in costumes heading the same way as us. As we get close to the firehouse, these intensify in number, and we can hear a large crowd cheering, and some live music. It transpires we have coincided with the annual Ghostbusters celebration. My personal favourite is a woman dressed as the ghost, Slimer, who is walking along hand-in-hand with her little kid, who is a tiny Slimer.

We head further North to the Flatiron building, which is sadly draped in scaffolding and netting, so is robbed of much of its majesty. We pass by the Empire State Building, and make to head towards Grand Central Station, at which point, the heavens open. These are the much heavier rains that we were promised. Umbrellas are barely putting up a fight against the downpour, so much so that we seek shelter in a bar on Park Avenue. As we emerge, the rain is still there, but it’s just a couple of blocks to the station, so stay relatively dry.

The interior of Grand Central Station is, I think, the most beautiful I’ve seen. The light refracting through the windows is so charismatic, and the architecture just stunning. It’s a bit of a shame that the soulless Penn Station is the source for all of the long distance trains from New York across the country, as I think it robs Grand Central of some of the romance of long distance rail travel.

As we emerge to pick up a cab to take us to our lunch stop, the heavens have opened, and in a big way. It’s teeming down. Heavier than heavy. Cabs are at a premium, as no one wants to walk. Traffic is at a standstill.Vicki and I bravely stand at the roadside with our arms raised, and getting increasingly soggy. A yellow cab takes pity on us, and we pile inside. What should be a 10 minute cab ride is reckoned by GoogleMaps to be more like 20. When we ultimately abandon our cab 20 minutes later, GoogleMaps reckons it’s STILL another 20 minutes away by car, but only 10 on foot. Ali dons Vicki’s very fetching lilac poncho, and we stride up 8th Avenue, doing our utmost to avoid the largest of the puddles.

We arrive at Gallaghers about 20 minutes later for our 14:00 reservation, and more than a little flustered/damp, but the Maitre D’ is welcoming and relaxed. Gallaghers is from the very oldest school of steakhouses - leather banquettes, dim lighting, huge slabs of meat roasted over charcoal, long-standing connections to the mob, and countless pictures of film stars and celebrities - past and present. They offer an incredibly well valued 3 course lunch menu. What follows is theatre and history in equal measure. The salads - my goodness, the salads. Karin’s Caesar looks like the real deal. None of that chicken bollocks - just leaves, anchovies, cheese and croutons in a rich, egg based dressing. Ali’s wedge salad features blue cheese, ranch dressing and bits of bacon. Delish. Vicki and I are a little more abstemious with our soups (asparagus for her, Manhattan clam chowder for me), both of which are excellent. The steaks are sensational. I wouldn’t describe myself as a fan of fillet (ubiquitously referred to as filet mignon over here), but this is a brilliant piece of meat, couple of inches tall, cooked to a beautiful mid-rare finish. Stunning. Dessert, whilst entirely unnecessary is New York Cheesecake or Key Lime Pie - both of which are very tasty. Our server also brings over Ali a teeny chocolate fondant with a birthday candle in it, as they’ve heard us chatting about the reason for our trip - a lovely touch.

We’ve made up a little time, and can take our time heading down to the Rockefeller Center for our visit to the observation deck at the top of the building. It’s fairly cloudy still as we arrive at the deck, but the sun quickly pushes through. The same view down over Central Park changes dramatically in a 20 minute window. Even in the couple of years since my last visit, a couple of new skyscrapers have popped up, and more are under construction. The view to the North over Central Park and up to Harlem remains brilliant. The view South is more cluttered than I remember, and the beautiful Chrysler building is increasingly hidden from view by the far less elegant newcomers around it.

We stop in briefly at the Nike Innovation Lab, where Ali discovers they don’t have the trainers he wants in stock. We repair to a very cool little bar called The Naked Pig, where it’s happy hour, and we’re happy to. Ali and I have been warned about the extortionate prices for beer at Yankee Stadium, so we collectively spend a very happy hour pre-loading. There is, at one point, a Backstreet Boys singalong.

At 19:30, we arrive at Yankee Stadium. Our seats are up in the heavens, but actually afford a really good view down over the field of play. I’ve been a Boston Red Sox fan for a little over 25 years, and Ali has determined that he’s a Yankee. I suspect this is partly so he and I have just one more thing about which to bicker and banter. The atmosphere in the stadium is more rugby than football (i.e. soccer) Fans of both teams intermingle, there’s some friendly but lively chat, and not even the merest hint of crowd trouble. I have no qualms about cheering for my team when they’re doing well, and when they ultimately win. The view over the top of the stadium towards the sunset is a beautiful one. The beers - yes, they are expensive, but they are also huge. 25 fluid ounces, which is a shade under 750ml. We’re on the Stella, which for some reason is viewed in the US as some kind of premium European lager.

Our journey back to Brooklyn is sketchy at best. Because of the line closure to our nearest station, we know we’ll have to change a few times. 3 subway trains and about 90 minutes later, we emerge about a 20 minute walk from our apartment. The walk back through the neighbourhood is pretty spicy. Lots of drunk/stoned/mashed people on the streets. At one point, a full on rap party on the street, with a sizeable crowd, and a car soundsystem at full beans. We get back to the apartment around 00:15. It’s been a long, but incredibly successful day.Læs mere