Synthetic Gorilla

Tuesday 13th July
Another balmy morning. We head off to find the `red stairs` to meet Hope and her band, at 42nd Street Broadway. Concerned about missing them, we grab cream cheese bagels and end up in Duffy Square early. Never heard of it before, but it`s actually more than what I expected Times Square to be. The stairs are hard to miss. 40 of them 30m high, and seat the visitor in the best spot to view the 16 or so enormous screens. Toyota must have paid the most. Our favourite screen by far is the one where you see yourself.. like in the TV shops, except this screen is 150m squared! Fun to find Hope again. Quick chat. Plan to meet at Christmas when she`s over.

Fulfill Jessie`s dream to visit the M and M Mecca. Marvel at the inflated prices and the obscene amount of colourings. Now time for the big one. The ESB. We queue, but not for long. Glossy 1930s décor, feels sophisticated and a loved space – let down a tad by the synthetic gorilla we have a snap with. Paid an extra $60 to go the top - 102nd, once in a lifetime and all that. Wait. Queue. Corner. Queue. Tense excitement. Another lift to the 86th - and there it was - the greatest downpour, and most expensive shower to date! We could only see a misty 4 blocks in any direction, a few flashes of lightning and a poor guy repeating, `the storm is approaching`, into his walkie – talkie.
Another queue. More waiting. Up. The 102nd was now a hoot. Zero visibility..we all laughed, with squeals of delight when a faint gap in the clouds emerged. With a refused request to run down the stairs, we glided down in the elevator, with no evidence to show we had been there at all.

All that standing around had built up our appetites, so we nipped into a hot/cold buffet place, that sold food by the weight. A clever solution for all that food piling in the salad bar at Pizza Hut. Our plate scores in weight order were: J A M R E.

Replete for savoury, we headed for the Serendipity ice cream parlour, as of the film. With wrong directions we ended up at Union Square and a bagpiper. A generous passer by took pity on us, and googled - confirmed our mistake and recommended Max Brenners instead. Wow! Willy Wonka eat your heart out! The smell, the look, the anticipation.. the tastes did not disappoint. The girls each had `hot chocolates to create moustaches` - and we shared a fondue between us, involving various fruit homemade cakes, marshmallows and a miniature marshmallow burner on the table. With fitting music for occasion (eg Sweetest Thing by U2, Englishman in New York by Sting..) we smiled as we took it all in, and felt increasingly sick. We wished our dads were here. They would have loved it! Leave slightly sticky and somewhat slower.

Now for a long march to West 10th Avenue for my big dream visit – the Highline. Stop to buy drink and find a rest room for
Andy who`s already in the wars with chaffing and blisters. Eve`s tetchy now too. Reach scrubbed up cobbles and 1930`s warehouses. Pass McQueen and Macartney shops. The latter being the only designer whose both parents are known names by the children. And me for that matter. This place is new-old, and has a taste of new trendy London. It is towered by the disused freight railroad, rescued by locals from demolition, and had it`s opening featured on Radio 4 last October. No disappointment here. Serene, creative, peaceful, thoughtful.. bliss. Filled with people reading, thinking, and doing a fashion shoot, we saunter along between plantings and art and find a view of Liberty, but cut the journey short due exhausted children and a need to revisit past haunts for new shots.

A block away, en route to the Subway, in a small park, 4 timely sprays of water drench a compass floor. All in. It refreshes, revives, rejuvenates and loosens the chocolate off Eve’s dress. We walk away dripping, and attracting stares.

Back Downtown via dirty platforms, we see a cross made of broken girders and the 9/11 Remembrance Museum. The focus is on rebuild and finding life beyond. I wonder what the firefighters in the Sicko film make of it. It’s 7pm. Downtown is hungry and going home. We stagger to the red cube for a rerun photo shoot! The females then hop off to Borders (yes there is one) while the male in the pack, replaces deleted shots of Wall St and the surrounding area.

Fast train to Harlem in the front carriage with the driver, hunting for ghost stations, ignoring the queer looks we attract due to `touristness` quote Jess.

Harlem at dusk, 9pm. We must look an odd bunch. The only whites on the street, bedraggled, creased and sunkissed with a trailing Dad snapping any forgotten sights. A guy at the main junction enquires our business – we end up sharing Cockney Rhyming Slang. It feels like he gives us permission to continue. Stand by Aretha’s plaque again and salute the Apollo. Plod to Old Navy, by which time Eve has constructed a complicated treasure hunt for which only I can be in her gang. However Millie needs help to hunt for a Birthday T-shirt, and Charlie (Jess insists) wants advice on skirts. Eve implodes. The doormen crosses himself in dismay and my mother`s guilt hides behind the grinning mannequins. Andy is reprimanded for snapping in a shop again.

Home on the Express. We don’t need to talk as much on stations. We know what we’re doing. Along with familiar corners it makes it feel more like home. Eve and I are desperate for the “restroom” we skip ahead, past the New York Times building, `our` deli on the corner, and into Mahattan Broadway Hotel 273 W38th 8th Ave.
Shower. Bed. Eve.
Shower. Pack. Bed. Millie.
Shower. Pack. Check in online. Pack. Check $/£. Pack. Bed. Me.

Andy and Jess adventure into the night, but that’s another story.

Having a great time.
Wish you were here.

Rachel x