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New York, New York

OK. Here’s my report for last weekend. Finally. (Do you like the Manhattan taxicab motif up at the top?)

Saturday

All aboard! I go to sleep the night before, without taking a shower, without packing, thinking I’ll just get up early the next day and take care of everything then. Famous last words. Fast forward to Saturday morning. I’m supposed to be on a train leaving Washington, D.C. for New York’s Penn Station at 9:25 a.m. What time is it now? Nine. Doh. I’ll just take the next train in an hour. Think again. After I eat, frantically pack my bag, and make it to Union Station, I’ve missed that train too. I resign to take the next one, but I see that there’s an Acela Express leaving at 11 a.m., and decide to pony up the extra cash to take that instead. (It’s all getting very Amazing Race at this point.)

The Acela is sleek and James Bond meets Star Trek. I don’t usually ride it, but since I’m already running late, this is the way to go. The atmosphere on the Acela is almost comparable to first class on an airplane. I settle in to my roomy seat for the two-hour-and-fifty-minute ride, and start reading Harry Potter while listening to assorted classical music on the armrest audio. Nice touch.

Wilkommen. Bienvenu. Welcome. At around 1:45 p.m. I arrive at Penn Station, and we’re off. I walk to the Hotel Sofitel at 44th Street and Sixth Avenue, where Susan and Kesha are staying. Man, these are some posh digs. The carpet in the lobby is so plush, it’s like I need hiking boots just to walk on it. I go up to their room and chat with Kesha while we wait for Susan. She tells me about their adventures the night before, seeing Rent starring Joey Fatone of *NSYNC fame, and shows me their picture taken with him. Ha, fabulous.

I know it wasn’t Tehachapi. The three of us regroup and take a cab down towards the Village to meet up with Stefanie and Marie at Dean & Deluca. If the first part of my journey was The Amazing Race, this is Felicity, thanks to Susan’s impeccable choice of venue. To counter the rain and cold, I decide to have a bowl of hearty chicken and corn chowder soup. The gals and I have a fun, laugh-a-second gabfest, mostly gossiping about folks on the Rufus message board, proclaiming profusely the greatness of New York City, and trying to help Kesha remember what oddly named town on Long Island she had visited. (All of the towns up around here have quirky names.) Ronkonkoma! (And I thought Weehawken was funny.) Not just a city. A lake!

La vie bohème. A few hours and many laughs later, we say goodbye to Stef and Marie (such darlings), head back to the hotel to quickly rendezvous with Susan’s friend Crystal and her family, and see about dinner. We are three hungry musketeers. Manhattan Chili Co. is the site of our next chapter, where we get our grub and grog on. Dude. After much chili, several beers, and a very nice tequila shot, we are buzzing like a hummingbat out of hell. Or something. We offer to buy our gracious waitress a shot as well. (She declines, but says how nice we are. Ha, she’s great.) We get out our cell phones and start calling people on our lists. That’s right: core peeps… in the house, yo.

It’s getting to be about midnight, and we have to go back to the hotel to have a last chat with our doorman, whom Susan and Kesha have taken a liking to. They tip him generously, and ask him about bars or clubs to check out. (They stop short of asking him out, though another shot of tequila and we might’ve been there.) He recommends the W Hotel, points at a Town Car that just pulled up, and says, “Here. Take this.” A car — a fancy one, at that — to go five blocks? Yes, we’re officially rock stars. The club at the W is übercool. (Too cool for us? As if.) We are now a commercial for Sex and the City. Very swank and lounge-y, it’s like being at someone’s apartment party… if those persons were, say, Dolce and Gabbana. Take your pick.

Despite the spaciousness of the club, all the little seating areas are taken, so we leave and opt for something more comfortable: the Roxy Deli, a great open-late place at Times Square. I am so full and still kind of buzzed — the celebrity caricatures on the walls are starting to move, I swear — but I manage to have part of a slice of cheesecake, and a glass of water. The girls ain’t havin’ none of it. They order a couple more beers. Dude, for the next reunion, I’ll need to go into training. (My fridge is currently full of Pyramid apricot ale. That’s a start.) Then we’ll see who drinks whom under the table. Ha.

It’s late, even by core-peep standards. Back at the hotel room, we watch a little TV, listen to some music, and call it a night.

Info:

  • Amtrak. Several daily departures from D.C. to New York Penn Station, $72-$126 one way. Current holiday promotion: 30-35% off coach fares; purchase by Dec. 13, 2002 and travel by Feb. 28, 2003.
  • Hotel Sofitel. 45 West 44th. 212.354.8844
  • Dean & Deluca. 75 University Place. 212.473.1908 (other locations on website)
  • Manhattan Chili Co. 1500 Broadway on West 43rd. 212.730.8666.
  • The Whiskey. W Hotel Times Square. 1567 Broadway at West 47th.
  • Roxy Deli. 1565 Broadway btwn 46th and 47th. 212.921.3333

Sunday

No, really. What time is it? Our scheduled wake-up call doesn’t materialize, and we get up around 11 a.m. Eep. We pack up, and walk west on Forty-fourth past Broadway looking for a place to have lunch. We snub Sardi’s, the theater-district restaurant from which the Tony Award nominations are announced every year, ’cause well, I simply can’t be bothered with directors tossing their half-baked scripts at me. You know how it is. Kesha, Susan, and I decide on John’s Pizzeria further down the street, just opposite the Majestic Theatre, home of The Phantom of the Opera. We proceed to have some damn good pizza.

The shopping. My god, the shopping. No trip to New York City is complete without at least some dalliance in the retail trade. The gals had gone to Macy’s the other day, so for this outing we choose another venerable institution, Bloomingdale’s. Our strategy: divide and conquer. I wander off on my own, entering the men’s section (a maze, really), and after much deliberation over the items of clothing vying for my final purchase — there were several elimination rounds — I emerge triumphantly with one fabulous, eclectic shirt by Custo Barcelona, which is unexpectedly on sale, thank you very much. I’m currently trying to liven up my wardrobe, and this is definitely a step in that direction.

At this point the girls’ departure time is fast approaching, so we reluctantly part ways, but not before we are reminded how hard it is to hail a cab in the rain. They head back to the hotel to get their luggage and then continue on to JFK, while I am left to my own devices in the Upper East Side. Being an H&M habitué, I make my pilgrimage to their store down on Fifth. I usually find loads of clothes I want there, especially pants, but this time I end up with just a few choice items: a jean jacket (marked down fifty percent), a pair of plaid pants, and some dark gray gloves. Go, me.

They’s no view! Night falls. Rain is… still falling. I mosey down Fifth and stop at the Sofitel. Yes, the girls have already checked out and are long gone, but the place feels almost homey, so I go in and rest my weary self in the familiar lobby. Mmm, leather chairs and French newspapers. Classic. When I’ve regained my senses, I brave the elements once again and make my way to the Empire State Building. Kesha had given me her unused pass to go up to the observation deck, and I think, well, I’ve never been up there, why not? The guard I meet in the lobby is not so enthusiastic. He says in a stereotypically New York accent, “Save yeh money, folks. They’s no view tonight.” In my case, it would only be time I’d be saving, but I shrug my shoulders in agreement and head back outside. Perhaps I’ll try again another (sunny) day.

Looking at the sky. Hunger takes its toll, though all I could really use right now is a hot cup of something. I see a Starbucks. Bingo. (I know, so I’m a cog in the big coffee machine.) Anyway, I order a peppermint mocha and a slice of carrot cake. I take a seat by the window, and with a few hours until my train leaves, I lazily eat, sip, and read. I make a few phone calls. I love it. Sure, I’m not really doing anything — I fancy myself a flâneur, remember — but it’s all quite decadent: to be on vacation — in the city that never sleeps, no less — and yet have the leisure to sit around and let it all go by. What’s the Italian phrase? Dolce far niente. Sweet idleness (“doing nothing”).

Staying connected. Well, even Starbucks in New York closes at some point, so at about 8:30 p.m., I walk past the animated Macy’s windows on 34th, up towards the easyInternet Café on an especially lively, brightly lit block of 42nd. (A couple stops me and asks me where Broadway is. I point them in the right direction. I feel good.) The “café” is minimal; it’s more like a campus computer lab, but the size of a small airplane hangar. easyInternet is a chain actually, based in Europe, though this is the only U.S. location. I used their café on the Damrak in Amsterdam last year. Anyway, I enter and use the vending machine to pre-pay to use a computer. A word to the wise: just put in a buck or two and pay more later, as needed. I think I’m being safe when I put in five dollars. Doh. Unbeknownst to me, the hourly rate varies, gradually getting cheaper later into the night. So now my five-dollar ticket is good for way much more time than I plan to spend there.

Miles to go before I sleep. I e-mail, websurf, and AIM chat for a few blissful hours. I leave around 1:30 a.m. and walk to Penn Station. (My mom is going to freak when she reads that I was out walking alone in New York City at this hour. Don’t worry, Mom. It’s fine.) Despite the time, the waiting area is surprisingly crowded. Classical music is chirping over the loudspeaker. It could be noon, and you wouldn’t know. I’m entranced by the big departure board flipping its tiny numbers and letters. My train leaves at 2:15 a.m. I’m on my way.

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