It’s been a week now, as of this writing, since we set out on our New York City adventure. You can read the part 1 backstory to catch up on how and why this all came about, but here, I’m continuing the story of our one day/night.
Driving is not my favorite thing. I am a nervous passenger, even though my husband is an excellent driver. It’s the potential for catastrophe that worries me. Did I take my anxiety meds before we left on this trip? You bet I did, and there was a noticeable decrease in the number of times I gasped or tried to grab at the door handle to brace myself for what I thought would be impact.
We drove the turnpikes for ease of travel. The Pennsylvania Turnpike is no stranger to us but we’re usually driving it west to Pittsburgh and beyond. The New Jersey Turnpike was a new stretch of road for us and it was–surprisingly–the most pleasant part of our trip. Six lanes of traffic with three of those lanes unavailable to trucks. Beautiful. At least, on a Saturday afternoon it was.
When we finally arrived in Jersey City, it felt like our adventure was truly beginning. The hotel we were staying at had character. I purposely chose it because from the outside it looked like an old apartment building or an older style hotel. It was right in the middle of a neighborhood and a short walk from the train station. And it was priced right. As we approached, we had to circle the block once because we missed the parking space for check-in. The downside of it being in a neighborhood was no parking lot. Our check-in process was smooth. We unloaded the bags, and the kids and I rode a noisy elevator up one level while Phil tried to find parking.
The hallways were wide, reminding me of apartment buildings I’d seen in movies and television. We opened the door to our room and our son announced, “There’s only one bed!” But we discovered the second bed in an adjacent room, the most unique hotel layout we’ve encountered as a family, I think.
A quick Internet search later led me to believe the building was apartments at one time. It was exactly the unique vibe I wanted for our trip. A Catholic school sat across the street and the old fire escape was just outside our window.
We stretched our legs, changed and waited for Phil to return. It took a while because he was advised to find street parking since it was the weekend, but we should not have taken that advice because we know how weekend parking goes in the city. When he did finally return, he had put our car in the garage down the street. We gathered our things for a night on the town and walked to the train station.
It took us a moment to recognize the train station and how to get inside, but after a quick stop at the vending machine to get our Metrocard loaded with fares, we were on our way to the city. Our friend who was originally going to meet us had given us an itinerary with subway stops, which helped us orient ourselves initially. We exited the train at 33rd Street station and my husband guided us in the direction of Bryant Park.
New York was overwhelming at this moment. I had no idea what I was looking at or where I was. Even now as I look back at the map and try to figure out which path we took, my memory is foggy. I remember seeing Macy’s, but did we pass the Empire State Building and I didn’t even know it? We were tired and hungry and on a bit of a time crunch to find dinner. We were hoping to find food trucks in or around Bryant Park, but we hadn’t done a lot of research. I just remember being relieved to be in Bryant Park because the city was noisy and full of people, and I felt on high alert the whole time we were walking.
We settled for a kiosk that had sandwiches and soup and drinks. I’d never heard of Le Pain Quotidien but we would soon discover them all over the city. I started referring to them as “upscale Panera.” That night, it just meant food at the time we needed it. I’ve since learned that the restaurant name means “the daily bread” and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate choice. We sat at a table nearby and ate under the lights of the city. Eating outdoors in the evening in October felt like a gift.
Bryant Park felt like the kind of place I could frequent and love. On our way out of the park, my husband exclaimed, “I just saw my first New York City rat!” This was momentous and also killed the mood a little. I could have lived my entire life never hearing those words.
Our show was to start at 8 and our kids’ companion for the night was meeting us in Times Square around 7:30, so we finished our dinner and began walking toward Times Square. The walk, again, is a blur. If I thought New York City was overcrowded with people before we reached Times Square, then I hadn’t seen anything yet. I could not grasp Times Square. We stood on a corner near our theater and just watched people go by. I took a picture of us and texted our companion so she could find us. It had been years since we’d seen each other and I wanted to be sure we didn’t miss her.
Not long after that, she came right up to us holding her phone out to match the picture and said, “I found you!” I hugged her right away because I still couldn’t believe this was happening. She introduced herself to the kids and laid out a plan for their evening. “What is the cookie/candy rule?” she asked. It was a getaway trip, so I said there wasn’t one. (I would maybe come to regret these words.) We planned to check in after our show and see where we could meet, and then they were off and we were standing in line to enter the theater.
Seeing a show in Times Square is not something I ever would have put on my “must do” list. Having a date night in Times Square is not something I ever thought we’d be able to say we had done. Often in places like this, I feel inadequate. Am I dressed the right way? Do I belong here? We nearly wandered into the wrong hallway to find the bathrooms. A security type person let us know pretty quickly that we were not in the right place. When we found our seats, we were four rows from the stage and dead center.
The show was Foil, Arms and Hog, a comedy trio from Ireland whose weekly videos my husband watches regularly. I know how comedy shows worked and I prayed that our placement in the middle of the row would not require any audience participation on my part. Phil got us something to drink and we settled in for a lot of laughs and–to my great relief–no audience participation from us other than what was required of the audience as a whole.
Meanwhile, our kids were having a TIME. They walked out of the M&M store with what felt like 5 pounds of candy and a grinning benefactor who said, “They promised me they wouldn’t eat it all at once.” They stood on the steps overlooking Times Square, rode the subway twice, tried to go to the Met museum but it was already closed, took two taxicabs and saw the view of the city from a rooftop. Our show started late so by the time we were finished and had met back together, it was almost 10:30. At night! I’m usually in bed by then.
We parted ways with our companion who offered her help the next day if we wanted it and promised the children a future visit to the Met. We had promised the children a slice of pizza after the show and seeing how there was pizza by the slice on every block and none of the places closed until midnight, we trekked a few blocks to a place Phil had researched, New York Pizza Suprema. We passed Madison Square Garden on the way, and after we’d selected our slices and slid into a booth, I noticed a picture of Anthony Bourdain hanging in the restaurant. We were in a good place.
A word about pizza: We are Chicago loyal and love us some deep dish pizza. But at 11 o’clock on a Saturday night, a slice of New York pizza hit the spot and gave us the oomph we needed to get back to the train that would take us to New Jersey.
It was 1 a.m. before I fell asleep.
Some final thoughts on part 2 of our adventure: New York was not deserted at 11 p.m. Not by a long shot. I remembered that one of its nicknames is “the city that never sleeps.” We saw evidence of that. The people in Times Square looked like they might be there all night. We did pass significant groups of people sleeping on the streets, both in the city and across the river in New Jersey. But I never felt unsafe. At least, not any more unsafe than I would usually feel walking around somewhere at night, even in my own community. When our friend first suggested that we might be out that late on our first night, I scoffed, thinking we’d surely be back to the hotel long before then.
I was wrong about that and so much more.
When it comes to New York City, I knew next to nothing. And I was okay with that.
To be continued (again) …
