Columbus Circle & The Natural History Museum

We eventually surfaced and set off a bit later today, around 10:20 a.m. I think, embracing a more leisurely holiday rhythm. We wandered down to the subway entrance at the other end of our road to catch the uptown C train. Our destination was Columbus Circle, a bustling roundabout that sits right on the south-west corner of the magnificent Central Park. It’s quite the hub, this spot, with plenty of shops buzzing around its perimeter, including the rather swanky Time Warner Center, a colossal glass structure glinting in the morning light.

Chicken Soup & Chainsaws

Chainsaw sculpture

Once we emerged from the subway, we made a beeline for one of the many food kiosks dotted around the edge of the park. Brunch was calling, and I opted for a comforting pot of chicken and noodle soup, which came with a crusty bread roll, all washed down with a large coffee. Perfect for a slightly crisp New York morning. While we ate, we couldn't help but admire the impressive skyscrapers that frame this part of the city. Many of them are these incredible edifices of glass and steel, acting like giant mirrors reflecting the older buildings around them and the blue sky above, creating a dazzling, almost futuristic cityscape.

We had a good stroll around the area for a while, just soaking it all in. Then we came across a rather unexpected bit of street theatre: a group of people expertly carving intricate ice sculptures, not with delicate chisels, but with roaring chainsaws! It was quite the spectacle – a blend of raw power and surprising artistry, and certainly not something you see every day. We stood and watched them for a good while, fascinated by the skill involved in turning a block of ice into something beautiful with such an aggressive tool.

Dino’s and Dumb Dumb

Old Bones

With the ice sculptures duly admired, it was time to move on. We hopped back on the subway, heading further uptown to the American Museum of Natural History – or AMNH, as those in the know call it. Now, it wasn't the cheapest attraction, setting us back $18 each to get in, but honestly, it was worth every single cent. The place is absolutely colossal inside, a sprawling labyrinth of knowledge with something like 30 different halls to explore. You could genuinely get lost in there for days.

Jane & Dumb Dumb

One of the early highlights, and clearly a massive draw, was bumping into "Dumb Dumb," the giant Easter Island head statue made famous by the Night at the Museum film. We, of course, had to have our photo taken with him. I’m pretty sure they used the grand exterior of the museum for some of the opening shots in that movie too. It was hilarious watching pretty much everyone who walked into that particular hall; "Dumb Dumb" was the first thing they saw, and almost without fail, they’d immediately start re-enacting the "You give me gum-gum!" scene. Brilliant! After a good deal more walking, admiring everything from towering dinosaur skeletons to intricate dioramas, our stomachs started to rumble. We decided to try the cafe inside the museum for some lunch and a well-earned beer. Big mistake. It’s not a place we’d be rushing back to. The food was seriously overpriced for what it was, and let’s just say it wasn’t the tastiest meal I've ever had. Still, silver linings and all that – I made very good use of their free Wi-Fi while we were there, catching up on a few bits.

Hayden Planetarium

By this point, it was getting dangerously close to closing time, and we realised we hadn't even managed to cover two-thirds of the museum. It’s just that massive! We made a quick dash to have a look at the Hayden Planetarium, which is an impressive structure in itself, before conceding defeat for the day. We’d definitely have to make another trip here, either tomorrow or at least before we headed home; there was just too much amazing stuff to miss. It was becoming clear that my well-organised, meticulously planned daily schedule was, for the most part, completely out the window. We seemed to be rearranging our plans on the fly most days, but hey, that’s half the fun, isn’t it?

Time Square Squeeze

When closing time finally rolled around at the American Museum of Natural History, we somehow managed to exit the building and walk straight into what felt like the entire population of the museum simultaneously trying to cram themselves into the adjacent subway station. It was absolutely heaving – I suppose it was to be expected, with everyone being turfed out at the same time (how very dare they stop us from looking at old bones!). We squeezed onto a train heading for Times Square, blissfully unaware of what awaited us.

Now, I’ll say this for Times Square on a Saturday night: if you’re not a fan of crowds, it’s probably not top of your list of relaxing places to be. The place was utterly, overwhelmingly packed. You could barely shuffle along the pavement without having to engage in a bit of polite (and sometimes not-so-polite) barging. At some points, you just got swept along in the human current, a bit like trying to swim upstream in a river made entirely of people. I genuinely thought I’d lost Jane on a couple of occasions in the sheer crush of bodies. Our plan had been to find something to eat before heading back to the hotel, but that was proving to be a mission in itself.

All the decent-looking restaurants were, predictably, full to bursting with queues snaking out the doors. In the end, we admitted defeat on the sit-down meal front and ended up grabbing some sandwiches (and, crucially, a few tins of beer) from a corner shop. It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it meant we could retreat to the relative sanity of our hotel room to eat.

A little later, I decided to dive back into the chaos and head out to Times Square once more. The mission? Secure some of that glorious free Wi-Fi. I had updates to share, emails to check, and absolutely no intention of handing over twenty dollars a day for the hotel’s overpriced internet.

Twenty bucks for something invisible? Daylight robbery. So, I found a spot amidst the madness, connected to the digital world, and let the city swirl around me.

Wall Street and Brooklyn

We surfaced around ten o'clock, ready for another day of exploring. One of the brilliant things about our hotel was that a subway entrance was quite literally on our doorstep – super handy for getting around. The grand plan for the morning was to hop on the subway and head right down to the southern tip of Manhattan. However, it turned out Hurricane Sandy had other ideas, even weeks after she’d blown through. The South Ferry station, which would have been our stop, was closed for the foreseeable future.

You might remember seeing it on the news at the time; there was this unforgettable, dramatic footage of water absolutely gushing down the station stairs like a raging river, completely swamping the platforms below. It was a proper deluge. And the real kicker? The station had only recently reopened after a massive refurbishment before Sandy decided to give it another makeover, this time with a few million gallons of seawater. So, our straightforward trip south was going to need a bit of a rethink.

City Hall and Wall Street

Jane on the Subway

No worries about the South Ferry station being out of action; we were seasoned travellers by now (well, sort of) and quickly switched to Plan B. This involved a change of trains and a new destination: City Hall. Our original thought was to have a wander around nearby Chinatown, but on a quick assessment, the neighbourhood didn't look entirely like our cup of tea for a morning stroll, so we gave it a miss. Instead, we ambled around the impressive City Hall building itself and found a little plaza area dotted with snack stalls. Jane spotted a Korean kiosk and managed to get a lovely, steaming pot of chicken and noodle soup for only a couple of dollars, which she declared delicious. I just grabbed a coffee, taking in the city bustle.

One Police plaza

While Jane was enjoying her soup, we made friends with some of the local wildlife – a gang of surprisingly large and brazen squirrels. They weren't shy at all and happily relieved us of a bag of crisps, one by one. Entertainment over, we dropped back down into the subway and made our way to Wall Street. Taking a walk past the New York Stock Exchange was quite something; the whole area was a hive of activity, with serious-looking people striding about and more security than we’d ever seen in one place – very imposing.

Next on our loosely-formed agenda was the Police Museum, which was only a short walk away. I had a feeling this part of Lower Manhattan might have been affected by the hurricane a few weeks back, even if the streets themselves looked remarkably clear. The museum, I believe, was housed in a former police precinct building. Thinking it wise, I nipped ahead on my own to make sure it was actually open before we both trekked over. Good job I did. Despite the building looking perfectly unscathed from the outside, it was closed. Not a sausage about it on their website, which was a bit of a shame as I’d read it was a great place to explore. Apparently, all the staff had been temporarily redeployed to help with the massive clean-up effort across the city.

It was astonishing to see the sheer scale of work unfolding across Lower Manhattan. Just weeks after Sandy had hit, the cleanup and restoration efforts were already in full swing, an operation as vast as the damage itself. Everywhere you looked—cranes towering overhead, workmen scattered across construction sites, the constant hum of rebuilding—the city was charging forward, a true testament to its relentless, get-on-with-it spirit.

Brooklyn Bridge

Just a short walk from where the Police Museum wasn't, was something I’d genuinely always wanted to clap eyes on: the Brooklyn Bridge. And let me tell you, what an absolutely incredible sight it is when you're standing right there, ready to set foot on it! The sheer scale and intricate design just takes your breath away.

Now, I had no grand ambitions of walking the entire length all the way across to Brooklyn – that’s a proper trek! My plan was to venture as far as the first magnificent stone tower, and even from there, the views looking back towards the Manhattan skyline were simply jaw-dropping. Standing on that wooden boardwalk, you can't help but marvel at how on earth they managed to build such a colossal structure way back in 1883. It was the very first bridge to span the East River, a true testament to the engineering genius of the day, with its iconic Gothic arches and intricate web of steel cables.

The Brooklyn Bridge

Unlike most bridges, the Brooklyn Bridge features a unique elevated pathway running down its center—about 15 feet above the road—rather than along the sides. But don’t let the scenic walk lull you into a false sense of security; you’ll need to stay alert. The path is shared with a cycle lane, marked only by a thin white line, and it’s quite narrow in places—not that it’s particularly wide overall. Wander into it at the wrong moment, and you’ll quickly learn just how seriously cyclists take their space. It was highly entertaining watching them passionately shout, "Out the way!" at any unsuspecting pedestrian who dared to drift across the line.

After spending far too much time leaning over the railings trying to capture the perfect photograph (and probably getting in the way of a few cyclists myself), we headed down towards the edge of the river. It actually felt a lot warmer down there, with the glorious sunshine bouncing off the water. And the views back to the city skyline from that vantage point? Simply amazing.

Wall Street Pier

We found ourselves at a pier where a couple of ferries were docked. One was clearly a tour boat, doing the full commentary circuit, while the other looked more like a functional water taxi. We ambled over to a little kiosk to ask about getting a ferry across to the Brooklyn side. The woman inside, however, seemed utterly intent on selling us tickets for the expensive tour boat and wasn't the slightest bit helpful when we tried to ask about the simpler commuter ferry. Still, never ones to be easily defeated, we managed to work out the timetable for the one we wanted, discovered you could pay cash onboard (bonus!), and soon enough, we were setting sail. We chugged our way across the East River, heading for a place in Brooklyn called DUMBO – which, we learned, is rather unflatteringly short for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Classic.

Dumbo

The ferry trip across the East River was a quick hop, probably ten minutes at most. Getting Jane off the boat at the DUMBO pier was a bit of a manoeuvre, as it wasn’t the most accessible setup, but blimey, it was definitely worth the effort once we were on solid ground.

Brooklyn Bridge From Dumbo

The first thing that strikes you in DUMBO is just how incredibly close the Manhattan Bridge looms. It’s practically on top of you, even straddling some of the old warehouse buildings that give the area its character. It's a fascinating jumble of cobbled streets and trendy converted spaces, all sitting literally "Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass." The oddest thing was the temperature. Back on Wall Street, surrounded by those canyons of skyscrapers, we were freezing. But out here on the Brooklyn pier, and later in Brooklyn Bridge Park, it felt a good 10°C warmer. Finally, some direct sunlight on our bones! We sat for a while in the park, and the views back to the Brooklyn Bridge, glowing a magnificent red and gold in the late afternoon sun, were just stunning. Looking south, the Statue of Liberty stood proudly in the distance. Naturally, I took far, far too many photos.

All that fresh air and sightseeing had us starting to feel a bit peckish, so it was time to hunt for some grub. A fair few places in DUMBO were still closed due to the flooding from Hurricane Sandy, and you could tell it was a bit of a tourist hotspot price-wise. Still, when you’re hungry, you can usually sniff out somewhere decent without too much trouble.

Medium Grimaldi's Pizza

And boy, did we get lucky today! We stumbled upon an Italian place called Grimaldi's, famed for its coal-brick oven pizzeria. We dived inside, eager to refuel. I don’t think either of us had ever seen a pizza that enormous outside of a cartoon. For $14, plus $2 per topping, it was looking like fantastic value. We opted for a "medium," which turned out to be a whopping 16 inches across! That's a serious amount of pizza when it lands on your table. The best bit was that the kitchen, complete with the all-important coal-fired oven, was right there in the bar area, so you could watch your magnificent creation being tossed, topped, and baked right before your eyes. It took some serious effort to get through it between the two of us, and even then, we had to admit defeat and leave two slices. All this, including drinks, tax, and a tip, came to just $27.

The bloke who served us seemed a tad put out that we didn't want to take the leftovers with us in a doggie bag. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it – quite the opposite – but neither of us are big fans of cold pizza. We could barely move when we finally heaved ourselves up to leave, Grimaldi's is definitely one place we’ll be making a beeline for on our next visit!

With that epic meal over, and Jane's leg starting to remind her it had been a long day, it was time to start thinking about making a move back towards the hotel. The journey back, however, turned into a bit of a palaver. To get the subway under the East River from Brooklyn, you have to go down fairly deep at High Street station. There were a lot of steps for Jane to navigate, with no lifts in sight and an escalator that moved at warp speed, making it impossible for her to get on safely.

Our original plan was to catch the C train. But when we eventually made it down to that particular platform level, we could see the tracks were clearly flooded – a rather unwelcome souvenir from Hurricane Sandy. Frustratingly, there weren't any signs further up warning you not to bother heading down there. So, it was back up the mountain of steps we went, and time to figure out a different route. This, unfortunately, involved changing trains at a station called Chambers Street. It’s a massive, sprawling interchange, all underground, and it felt like we walked for miles through endless tunnels and up and down countless flights of stairs. I’m pretty sure it would have been quicker, and certainly easier on the legs, to go up to street level and come back down again at a different entrance.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, we found our way to the Number 1 line, which would, thankfully, drop us off right near our hotel. We finally stumbled out of the subway around 8:30 p.m. grabbed a few bits from the local shop for a late-night snack, and retreated to our room to chill out and recover from our unexpected subterranean obstacle course.

Neon Nightmare

Giant baubles

Later that evening, with Jane presumably enjoying a well-earned rest, I decided to head out on my own again, back into the electric embrace of Times Square. I’d always fancied having a proper go at capturing those iconic photos of the dazzling neon signs, the kind you see splashed across travel magazines. Armed with my camera, I wandered into the heart of it all, ready to create some photographic masterpieces. Turns out, it’s not nearly as easy as it looks! Wrestling with reflections, judging exposure times with all those constantly changing lights, and trying to get a shot that wasn’t just a blurry mess of colour was a real challenge. I can’t remember exactly how long I spent out there, wandering from one glowing billboard to another, trying (and often failing) to get those perfect, iconic shots.

I got back to the hotel at a much more respectable hour this evening, feeling like a semi-professional photographer, or at least a very persistent amateur. We still had the window open. We’d finally managed to wrestle the room’s heating into submission and turn it off, but it was still a bit on the warm side. Speaking of the window, the view wasn't exactly one for the postcards. I think we were on the fifth floor of what was probably a twelve-storey building, and our vista consisted mainly of other hotel room windows across what must have been a small, rather unglamorous courtyard below. The star attraction of this particular panorama? A fine collection of dumpsters. Still, you can't have everything, can you?

It's funny, though, just lying there with the window open, listening to the unfiltered sounds of New York City. It’s a constant symphony of cars swishing by, the wail of sirens in the distance (which always makes you wonder what drama is unfolding), and the incessant hooting of car horns. They seem to hoot their horns all the time here, day and night. I honestly don't think anyone knows who’s hooting at whom most of the time; it just seems to be part of the city’s natural background hum.

With my photographic ambitions temporarily satisfied and the city serenading us from outside, it was finally time to crack open a couple of those tins of beer, stick the telly on for a bit, and look forward to sinking into that big, comfy bed. Another New York day done and dusted.

Grand Central Station

By the time we surfaced the this morning, it was nudging nine o’clock. I suspect the infamous time difference was beginning to make its presence felt, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. It definitely couldn’t have been the fact that I’d sat up half the night, nursing beers after a 3,000-mile flight, could it? Nah. We didn’t feel particularly shattered, but motivating myself to actually get up and go took a bit of doing. Eventually, about an hour later, we finally emerged from the hotel, grabbed a quick bite to eat from one of the countless delis, and began our walk towards the legendary Grand Central Terminal.

A Stroll to Grandeur

New York Public libarary

Our route took us past some classic New York sights. We ambled by a rather impressive fountain display – I think it was called Lilholts Pooley Pool, or something equally memorable (great name, that!). It was one of those wonderfully over-the-top Christmas decorations you see in American cities, with giant, brightly coloured baubles in the water, looking like escaped ornaments from a giant’s Christmas tree. It certainly brought a smile to our faces.

Pressing on, we skirted past the famous Rockefeller Plaza, already buzzing with that unmistakable festive energy, before finding ourselves on the grand expanse of Park Avenue. Strolling down this iconic street, flanked by its towering, stately buildings, you really get a sense of the city's power and architectural ambition. It’s a world away from the flashing lights of Times Square but every bit as New York. Our destination, Grand Central, was drawing ever closer, and I couldn’t wait to see if the inside lived up to its monumental reputation.

Cathedral of Commuting

Grand central Terminal

From the outside, Grand Central Terminal doesn't scream "colossal." It’s impressive, sure, but it cleverly disguises its true scale. Then you walk in. Wow. The place is absolutely vast, a veritable cathedral dedicated to the art of getting from A to B. It unfolds across three main levels. Down in the depths are the platforms where the trains lurk, alongside a scattering of coffee shops for the commuter. But the main floor, the Grand Concourse, is the one you see in all the films – an immense, echoing hall bathed in a soft light, bustling with people and home to the grand ticket windows.

The upper public floor, where you often enter at street level from Park Avenue, offers these brilliant elevated views down onto the main concourse, particularly of the majestic staircases. You get the distinct impression that half the people there are, like us, just soaking it all in and taking photos, rather than actually catching a train. One of the most striking features for me was the way the concourse gently slopes downwards towards the lower levels, with these enormous, almost chandelier-like light fittings hanging from the high ceiling, guiding the way.

And speaking of ceilings, if you head into the main ticket hall and cast your eyes upwards, you’re in for a treat. The entire vaulted ceiling is an amazing celestial panorama, a beautiful teal sky painted with golden constellations. Apparently, for donkey's years, you couldn't really see this masterpiece properly; it was hidden under layers of grime from decades of cigarette smoke. When they finally restored it, they cleverly left one tiny, dark patch on the original paintwork untouched, just to show you the difference. It’s a fantastic touch.

Vending machine vendetta

While we were marvelling at the architecture, we decided to sort out our travel for the week and get the 7-day MTA cards. These offer unlimited travel on the subway and buses, and at $27 each, they’re absolutely cracking value for money. The only snag? You have to buy them from a vending machine. Now, Grand Central is a hub for several different rail services – Metro-North, Amtrak, Long Island Rail Road – plus the local MTA subways. And it seemed to us like each of these services had its own army of little ticket-selling robots, all stubbornly refusing to acknowledge each other. It was like yesterday’s train ticket palaver all over again, but this time with uncooperative machines instead of unhelpful staff.

After a bit of trial and error, we finally located the correct MTA machine, only to discover it had a personal vendetta against card payments. So, we ended up feeding our precious smaller notes into it, which I was trying to avoid as getting change for a $50 bill can be a right pain in the arse. A word to the wise about these travel cards too: they’re made of surprisingly thin cardboard and feel like they could bend or snap if you so much as look at them sternly. You do get charged for the card itself, as they're re-loadable, so best to treat them with a bit of care.

Fifth Avenue

Radio City

With our travel cards sorted and Grand Central thoroughly explored, it was time to brave the outside world again and hunt down some lunch. We emerged and set off for a stroll along the famous Fifth Avenue. Now, Fifth Avenue is lined with all sorts of posh shops and impressive buildings, but finding somewhere that appealed for a quick, casual bite with somewhere to actually sit down inside proved surprisingly tricky. Plenty of places offered food, but nothing quite hit the spot or looked like it would offer refuge from the biting wind.

Speaking of the wind, it was a real force to be reckoned with. With all those colossal skyscrapers channelling it down the avenues, and the low winter sun keeping the streets in permanent shade, that New York cold cut right through you. After a while, with our stomachs rumbling and the chill setting in, we spotted the golden arches of McDonald's. "Well," we thought, "when in Rome..." or in this case, when freezing on Fifth Avenue, so we dived in.

And you know what? It was a revelation, definitely not like anything you get back in the UK, that’s for sure. We both went for a rather lovely Aberdeen Angus burger topped with Swiss cheese, which came with a mountain of large fries and what can only be described as a bucket-sized soft drink – all for about $7 each. It was surprisingly tasty and did the trick perfectly.

Warmed and refuelled, we had a bit more of a stroll around the shops, still battling the cold. We even found a 99-cent shop, which felt a bit out of place amongst the ritzier establishments. It was a life saver for me, though, as I’d typically managed to forget my woolly hat and scarf, so I quickly acquired some new, very reasonably priced headgear. After a bit more window shopping and generally soaking up the atmosphere, we decided it was time to head back to the hotel for that essential afternoon nap, to recharge the batteries for whatever the evening might hold.

When we got back to the room, we discovered a new, unwelcome feature: the tap in the bathroom was leaking quite enthusiastically. We reported it, and soon enough, a maintenance chap turned up. It didn't take him long to fix the pesky tap, thankfully. The real entertainment, though, was listening to him getting what sounded like a right earful from reception over his handheld radio. I can't speak a word of Spanish, but there was a lot of rather animated shouting going back and forth, especially when he announced he had to turn the water off for ten minutes. The ensuing "flood" of calls to reception – no pun intended – from other guests apparently caused quite the stir. Just another quiet afternoon in a New York hotel!

Time Square Wander

Time Square Neon

While Jane was enjoying a well-deserved nap, I decided to embark on a little solo mission. My objective? To recce the local subway situation and generally have a bit of a stroll around Times Square on my own for an hour or so. I didn't plan on venturing too far, but I was keen to see how the infamous New York subway compared to our own London Underground.

There were a couple of stations conveniently located on either side of our hotel, so I popped into one. First impressions? It’s nothing like the Tube, where you can spend what feels like half your life descending miles into the earth on escalators just to travel a quarter of a mile. Here, it was just a couple of flights of stairs down from the pavement – much more immediate. I only travelled one stop, more out of curiosity than anything, and also to make sure Jane would be able to manage the stairs, as lifts seemed to be a bit of a rare luxury in this particular area. It’s a funny thing, those shallow subway lines. As you walk along some streets, you can hear the trains rumbling right beneath your feet through the metal grates in the pavement. In a few places, if you time it right, you can even catch a glimpse of the tops of the carriages flashing past. Definitely a different experience!

One Time Square from the Tickets steps

I got back to the hotel around six o’clock, had a quick breather myself, and then it was time to think about rustling up some dinner with Jane. We had absolutely no plan, so we just headed out for a wander. It's not like you're short of places to eat around Times Square; the challenge is sifting through them all to find somewhere decent that doesn't require a second mortgage. Eventually, tucked away on 47th Street, we stumbled upon an Irish pub called Langans. It turned out to be a cracking find – the food was lovely, proper hearty stuff, and really good value for money.

Once we were suitably fed and watered, we decided to walk it off with a browse around some of the model shops in the Times Square area, soaking up the still-bonkers atmosphere. During our wanderings, we even managed to snag a couple of free energy drinks. Some poor bloke's trolley, laden with them, tipped over, and cans went rolling everywhere. We helped pick a few up, and he insisted we take a couple for our trouble. FYI, they tasted absolutely vile, which probably explains why they were being given away as free samples in the first place!

We finally made it back to the hotel around one in the morning again, caught a bit of telly, and then crashed out. Another day in New York was over, just like that. But we were definitely starting to get the hang of the place now, finding our way around without any major dramas, which felt like a small victory in itself.

Off We go

It was touch and go from even before we went anywhere near an airport let alone the other side of the Atlantic due to Sandy, that was hurricane Sandy I should say. On October 22, 2012—three weeks before our departure—a massive storm formed in the Caribbean, eventually spanning over a thousand miles. It intensified as it moved north, making landfall on October 29, battering New York City with powerful winds and a devastating storm surge. Flooding crippled the subway, millions lost power, and the city faced widespread destruction. The storm lingered until November 2 before recovery efforts could begin, marking one of the costliest disasters in U.S. history. Luckily the area we were staying was largely unaffected although it would cause us problems on more than one occasion.

Departure

The night before we travelled was less of a "night before" and more of a long, dark period of staring at the ceiling. I don't think either of us properly slept a wink, our minds buzzing with a mixture of "Are we really doing this?" and "Have we packed everything we need?". The alarm felt entirely pointless when the taxi arrived at a frankly ungodly 2:30 a.m. to begin the 90-minute trek to Heathrow. By the time we pulled up to the terminal around 3:45 a.m., we had an hour or so to spare before our 5:30 a.m. check-in for the 8:30 a.m. flight to Newark. 

Being complete novices, we used this time quite poorly, not realising that the real world of decent shops and comfy chairs lay beyond the security check. This led to a classic blunder: a frantic, last-minute dash to the gate after finally getting through the security scrum. We arrived, flustered and breathless, to join the queue already snaking onto the plane. It was only later we learned that due to Jane's disability, we could have waltzed on first with priority boarding. You live and learn, and we filed that nugget away as lesson number one for future trips!

At least we’d made it. We found our seats, and I was immediately struck by the aircraft itself. I’d always pictured transatlantic flights taking place on colossal jumbo jets, but this was a much more intimate affair—just a single aisle with three seats on either side. It was also surprisingly empty; clearly, not many people fancied a trip to a hurricane-battered city on a cold November morning.

Naturally, the automated seat allocation system, in its usual lack of logic, had wedged us right next to another passenger despite the abundance of empty rows. Jane took the window seat, I was stuck in the middle, and a friendly-looking chap sat on the aisle. Just after the doors shut, he leaned over and said, “I’m moving to the row behind so I can stretch out and get some sleep.” And just like that, we had a whole row to ourselves. What a gent.

The plane pushed back right on time, and then, finally, it was time for takeoff.

Up up & away

For me, the take-off was the best part of the whole experience. There's a real thrill to it, isn't there? That moment the engines roar to life, the brakes release, and the whole structure hurtles down the runway with gathering force. Then, just as you feel you're going to run out of runway, there's a sudden, peaceful quiet as the wheels lift from the tarmac and you're airborne. Absolute magic.

The eight hours that followed were wonderfully uneventful. The cabin crew came around every so often with tea and coffee, and the meal, when it arrived, was perfectly edible – which is about the highest praise you can give to plane food, I reckon. With our unexpected extra space, there was nothing left to do but sit back, watch the clouds drift by, and finally relax. The chaos of the morning felt a world away; we were actually on our way.

Arival

Our flight touched down at Newark about 45 minutes ahead of schedule, a fact we felt quite smug about for all of ten minutes. Our victory was short-lived as we then joined a queue of aeroplanes on the tarmac, waiting for a parking spot like cars at a Tesco superstore. By the time we finally disembarked, the five-hour time difference meant it wasn't even midday. This was followed by what felt like a marathon trek through the airport corridors to immigration and baggage claim. Thankfully, we were travelling light with just two small suitcases, so we were spared the scrum at the carousel.

Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR)

After a surprisingly quick passage through security, we were there. At 12:45 p.m., we stepped outside the terminal and took our first breath of American air. It was a lovely, bright, and sunny day, but with a crisp chill that reminded you it was November. It was just brilliant to be out in the fresh air, and for me, to finally have a much-needed smoke. With that little ritual over, it was time to tackle the next leg of the journey: getting to the Amsterdam Court hotel, right in the heart of the Big Apple.

Our first taste of American public transport was the Air-train. It’s an odd sort of driverless monorail that zips around the airport terminals every few minutes, and best of all, it's free. The "train" is really a chain of little pods, each holding about a dozen people. We managed to get a pod all to ourselves for the five-minute ride, which gave us a fantastic view over the airfield. Watching the massive jets taking off and being serviced while we trundled along in our little bubble felt suitably futuristic.

The Air-train dropped us at the main railway station where we bought tickets for the NJ Transit train to Penn Station in Manhattan. At only $12 (£7) each for a 20-mile, 50-minute journey into another state, it felt like an absolute bargain. What we didn't realise, however, is that two different train companies—NJ Transit and Amtrak—operate from the same platform, both heading to Penn Station. This, it turns out, is a classic trap for the unwary traveller. The sleek, impressive Amtrak train pulled in first, and almost everyone on the platform, us included, tried to pile on. This did not please the sole member of station staff, who quickly transformed into a very unhappy bunny, putting it mildly, as he herded the confused flock back onto the platform.

A short wait later, our actual train arrived, and it looked like it had seen better days. After minding the considerable gap to get on board, we found ourselves in a carriage straight out of a 70s film. The seats were brown, leathery benches designed to sit four on one side and three on the other. They were crammed together so tightly it felt worse than the plane, and there was absolutely nowhere to put luggage. Our two small cases ended up unceremoniously chucked onto the seat next to me. It wasn't glamorous, but it was certainly an authentic start to our American adventure.

To the Big Apple

Newark Railroad Station

The train rattled on, and the view from the window was a real eye-opener. The journey through the

outskirts of New Jersey was a landscape of industry; sprawling warehouses, rusty fire escapes, and what looked like a fairly run-down collection of housing. You couldn't help but assume this is where the people who keep the city running—the bar staff, the waiters, the hotel cleaners—lay their heads at night, priced out of the gleaming island just across the river.

About an hour later, we pulled into Penn Station. The train had descended into the earth, and we got off in a place that immediately reminded me of Birmingham New Street station at its worst: a dark, gloomy, underground concrete warren, teeming with people purposefully striding in every direction. We navigated the crowds and followed the signs for the exit, making our way up escalators towards the light. Then, we stepped out onto the street.

That was the moment. Standing there on the corner of 34th Street and 8th Avenue, with the yellow cabs streaming past and the roar of the city hitting us full force, it finally sank in. We’d made it. The dream we'd held onto for years was no longer a dream; we were standing right in the middle of it. For me, that was a defining moment, the kind that sticks with you.

It was good to be out of the station's stuffy, crowded tunnels, even if the number of people on the pavement wasn't much better. In our excitement, we decided to walk to the hotel. On the map, it looked manageable. In reality, it was a 16-block trek up to 50th Street that, in our post-flight haze, probably wasn't the brightest idea. The walk took the best part of an hour, but it gave us our first proper look at the city: the impossibly tall buildings stretching up on all sides and the truly insane traffic on 8th Avenue.

We found the hotel without any trouble, checked in, and practically fell through the door of our room. It wasn't massive, but it was clean, warm, and home to a super-comfy bed that was calling our names. We flopped down for a much-needed afternoon nap, finally at rest in the city of our dreams.

First Evening

A couple of hours after our recovery nap, we felt human enough to venture out for our first proper wander around New York City. The plan for the evening was wonderfully simple: get our bearings, find something to eat, and, most importantly, locate a source of beer. Priorities, eh?

One Time Sqaure

Our hotel was just a five-minute stroll from Times Square, and honestly, no amount of television prepares you for the real thing. It’s an absolute assault on the senses, in the best possible way. Every building is drenched in colossal, flashing video screens, lights blaze from every conceivable angle, and the noise is just this constant, energetic roar. For me, standing there, right in the thick of it, was the second defining moment of the day. You see it on TV so often, but to feel the buzz, smell the street food, and see those iconic plumes of steam billowing from the manhole covers, illuminated from behind just like in the movies – well, it was pure magic.

We pottered around the shops, which mostly seemed to be either tourist-trap gift emporiums or massive flagship stores for big brands like Nike, Adidas, and fancy watch places like TAG Heuer. They all seemed to operate on a 24/7 schedule, catering to the city's relentless pace. At the top of Times Square, we stumbled upon the M&M store – or rather, it’s impossible to miss. This place is a three-storey temple to all things chocolate and round. We did wonder how much confectionery people actually munch on while wandering its many aisles; it’s not exactly a cheap pick-me-up, especially if you’re tempted by the life-sized M&M characters from the adverts, each apparently boasting its own unique style and personality. Who knew?

Con in the M&M shop

After acquiring a few "small samples" of chocolate (alright, it was far too much chocolate, but who’s counting?), we headed back out into the dazzling chaos of Times Square and decided to climb the TKTS steps. These are a huge set of bright red steps plonked right in the middle, originally a temporary spot for selling discount theatre tickets from a booth underneath, but they became so popular they're now a permanent fixture. It’s a brilliant place to just sit and chill out, offering fantastic views looking south along Broadway towards One Times Square – the very building where the famous ball drops on New Year's Eve. We’ve watched it live on telly in previous years, and while it looks like an amazing place to be, I reckon the reality of being penned in for eight to ten hours beforehand is probably less than glamorous.

Just off Time Square

Next on the agenda was food. For the life of me, I can’t remember what we ate that night, which probably means it wasn’t anything to write home about. What I do remember is nipping into a shop near the hotel on the way back to stock up on some tins of beer. You’ve got to have your priorities straight! Funnily enough, they didn’t ask for ID when I bought them, but they did ask for my date of birth. Without thinking, I gave it in the UK format (day then month). Trying to key '17' into the 'month' field on their till clearly wasn’t going to work. After a couple of my fumbled attempts, the cashier, bless her, twigged I was a clueless Brit, and the problem was solved with a laugh.

We finally stumbled back into our hotel room at about one in the morning, utterly knackered. It felt like we’d crammed a full day’s worth of excitement into just a few hours. But even then, I wasn’t quite ready for bed. I sat up for a bit, sipping a beer and listening to the local radio, with the window open to the sounds of the city. It was a cold night, but the heating in our room was evidently stuck on ‘tropical rainforest’ and we couldn't figure out how to turn it off.

Tomorrow was set to be a long day, all meticulously planned out, of course. I really should have hit the sack sooner, but what the heck. Who knew when we’d get the chance to be back in New York again? So, I sat there, rechecking our plans and nursing another beer, until about 3 a.m. – which, I vaguely registered, was a rather more sensible 8 o’clock in the morning back in the UK.