About an hour before we arrived into Penn Station, Mike got the queasies--sweats and nausea. This we guess from him being awake for 36 hours straight. When we arrived at the station he went into the restroom to splash cold water into his face. It helped a little, but I was quite concerned because we had about a 15 block walk to the hotel and we were dragging our wheelie bags. Not sure if Mike was ready for that. I suggested a cab, but he said to soldier on.
We labyrinthed our way up two levels to the street, one by escalator and one by stairs. Outdoors felt a little more refreshing after the stuffy train and claustrophobic train station. We were at 32nd and 8th Street and had to schlep our way north or uptown to 44 Street between 5th and 6th Avenues.
I had studied the Manhattan map and I thought I knew which way to head, but decided to ask. Did not want to waste time getting Mikie to bed. Glad I asked because we would have gone the wrong way. (Darn, in this old age I'm losing my spot-on sense of direction.)
The streets were busy and crowded. We weren't the only ones trudging along with bags, but we sure weren't used to trekking through hoards of people with these awkward "pets" slothing along behind us and with worries of people toes being crushed underneath our wheels.
There was every type of human creature you can imagine--females of all ages in skimpy clothing, couples in formal attire and jewels headed to a Saturday night play, one sickly homeless guy laying on the street with his precious belongings scattered around him, heads together in confidence wrangling drug deals, kids running in play, everyday people headed home or shopping or leaning against walls taking it all in, some "normal," some suspicious. Me keeping an eye on Mike ahead and my trailing bag behind.
Eighth Ave was not a particular memorable street, at least at this particular moment in time. Mostly stores selling knock-off type jewelry, purses, luggage, cameras, knick-knack treasures, some higher end stores, but we were not in a shopping or sight-seeing kind of mood. Wall-to-wall people, unknown territory, sick husband. Get us to our hotel !!!
Twelve blocks later (at least they were short blocks) we turned right onto 44th. Ugh. The crowd got more dense with long, thick lines of people waiting to get into theaters. People huddled around ticket windows. Cabbies, dropping off fares. Street vendors lined up taking advantage of your tired, your hungry, your thirsty,... Oh, the hordes of humanity. OK, so now I'm being a bit flippant and a tad exaggerated, but geez.
It all peaked when we hit the crossroads of Broadway, 44th, and 7th--Times Square. I cannot imagine what New Year's Eve must be like here, as this was beyond anything we had experienced since Bangkok, Thailand. The lights. The battalions of people. The difference was I weirdly felt like I was in slow motion. Yes, there were hawkers and walkers, but for the most part everyone was standing still, with mouths open, looking at the dreamlike backdrop of a million-trillion lights illuminating the skyscraper-sized billboards. People mesmerized and trying to verbalize the panorama in every foreign language. Heck, I felt like a foreigner. No photo or TV show could portray the reality of this moment.
My brother-in-law Tom recently reminded me of the classic photo of the sailor kissing the girl in Times Square after WWII. That historic scene never entered my mind, as this was so far removed from that moment in time. We were stuck in our own time warp, trying to take it all in. Overwhelming, but wonderful at the same time. Stop, stare, our mouths hung open, too; not sure where to look, high, low, American flag created in lights, animation, movement, flood of color, flood of humanity. Drowning?!
Oh, boy, back to reality. Catch breath. Mike white as a sheet. Where is our hotel? It should be nearby, but the building numbers were confusing. We need 59 West 44th. But the numbers kept bouncing high and low. 329, then 1109, the 244, then 1549. What the heck. Ask a cop. He should know (the hotel had only been open since 1902 and is quite famous for its literary history). "Could you direct us to the Algonquin Hotel?" He says we are going in the wrong way.
Head back across Times Square. Building numbers still not making sense. Go two blocks. Ask a few more people. Call the hotel. She says keep going, just a bit further. Go two more blocks. Ask a waitress at an outdoor cafe. She checks with the boss. Looks at our map. First person to really stop and take an honest moment to help us.
Sends us back the way we came. Go two blocks back. Worried. Crying. I ask Mike, "Are you ready for a cab?" No, just go. I trust that he is OK if he says he is OK. Call the hotel. Desk clerk confused. I thought it was just us. Says now to continue this way. Cross back across Times Square. By this time, it's not so foreign. Just hot, dense, and over the top, bordering on obnoxious. I tell Mike to rest and hold the bags, while I venture further to make sure we are still not an a wild goose chase. Two blocks later I see the sign. Hallelujah! We were almost there when we had talked to the cop. Just a block and a half beyond that point. Dang it!
OK, no matter now. Get Mike. Get to hotel. Get to room. Exhausted. Both. Get to bed. Happy now. Sweet dreams.
I had studied the Manhattan map and I thought I knew which way to head, but decided to ask. Did not want to waste time getting Mikie to bed. Glad I asked because we would have gone the wrong way. (Darn, in this old age I'm losing my spot-on sense of direction.)
The streets were busy and crowded. We weren't the only ones trudging along with bags, but we sure weren't used to trekking through hoards of people with these awkward "pets" slothing along behind us and with worries of people toes being crushed underneath our wheels.
There was every type of human creature you can imagine--females of all ages in skimpy clothing, couples in formal attire and jewels headed to a Saturday night play, one sickly homeless guy laying on the street with his precious belongings scattered around him, heads together in confidence wrangling drug deals, kids running in play, everyday people headed home or shopping or leaning against walls taking it all in, some "normal," some suspicious. Me keeping an eye on Mike ahead and my trailing bag behind.
Eighth Ave was not a particular memorable street, at least at this particular moment in time. Mostly stores selling knock-off type jewelry, purses, luggage, cameras, knick-knack treasures, some higher end stores, but we were not in a shopping or sight-seeing kind of mood. Wall-to-wall people, unknown territory, sick husband. Get us to our hotel !!!
Twelve blocks later (at least they were short blocks) we turned right onto 44th. Ugh. The crowd got more dense with long, thick lines of people waiting to get into theaters. People huddled around ticket windows. Cabbies, dropping off fares. Street vendors lined up taking advantage of your tired, your hungry, your thirsty,... Oh, the hordes of humanity. OK, so now I'm being a bit flippant and a tad exaggerated, but geez.
My brother-in-law Tom recently reminded me of the classic photo of the sailor kissing the girl in Times Square after WWII. That historic scene never entered my mind, as this was so far removed from that moment in time. We were stuck in our own time warp, trying to take it all in. Overwhelming, but wonderful at the same time. Stop, stare, our mouths hung open, too; not sure where to look, high, low, American flag created in lights, animation, movement, flood of color, flood of humanity. Drowning?!Oh, boy, back to reality. Catch breath. Mike white as a sheet. Where is our hotel? It should be nearby, but the building numbers were confusing. We need 59 West 44th. But the numbers kept bouncing high and low. 329, then 1109, the 244, then 1549. What the heck. Ask a cop. He should know (the hotel had only been open since 1902 and is quite famous for its literary history). "Could you direct us to the Algonquin Hotel?" He says we are going in the wrong way.
Head back across Times Square. Building numbers still not making sense. Go two blocks. Ask a few more people. Call the hotel. She says keep going, just a bit further. Go two more blocks. Ask a waitress at an outdoor cafe. She checks with the boss. Looks at our map. First person to really stop and take an honest moment to help us.
Sends us back the way we came. Go two blocks back. Worried. Crying. I ask Mike, "Are you ready for a cab?" No, just go. I trust that he is OK if he says he is OK. Call the hotel. Desk clerk confused. I thought it was just us. Says now to continue this way. Cross back across Times Square. By this time, it's not so foreign. Just hot, dense, and over the top, bordering on obnoxious. I tell Mike to rest and hold the bags, while I venture further to make sure we are still not an a wild goose chase. Two blocks later I see the sign. Hallelujah! We were almost there when we had talked to the cop. Just a block and a half beyond that point. Dang it!
OK, no matter now. Get Mike. Get to hotel. Get to room. Exhausted. Both. Get to bed. Happy now. Sweet dreams.
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