My romantic trip to NYC
Plus, I'm a meme! Also, a handy travel hack, and my (further) adventures in neck pillows...
The first romantic holiday away with someone is always a bit of a test, isn’t it? You envisage strolling hand in hand down the beach or cobbled streets and/or dreamy evenings staring across the table at one another, and you end up worrying about indigestion and when you’re going to be able to nip to the bathroom in peace. A couple of months ago, Paul v generously bought me a ticket to NYC for my birthday present, so off we went for our first trip together last week. I packed plenty of Rennie AND Gaviscon in preparation (although not Imodium, which a certain friend of mine took every day on her first holiday with her now-husband to avoid any issues in that department), and hoped for the best. Here’s what went down…
Top 6 moments of my romantic trip to New York
Going downtown to see the Trump circus as his criminal trial got underway.
‘Darling, I have an idea.’
‘Mmmm?’
‘Trump’s criminal trial starts today, so can we go and have a look at the scene outside this morning? I think it’ll be fun!’
This was how I pitched a visit to see the carnival outside Manhattan’s criminal courthouse on Monday. We were in NYC; the trial was starting that day; why not? The case, essentially over Trump paying hush money to Stormy Daniels, kicked off at 9am just after his cavalcade arrived from Trump Tower. It’s expected to last six weeks. My god, the scene outside the courthouse. With the possible exception of Royal weddings, I have never seen so many press covering an event. There were cameras; there were reporters holding microphones and standing on plastic crates so they stood above everyone else; there were endless photographers; there were big TV vans with satellites on top of them. There were also protestors on both sides; twenty-something men wearing MAGA (Make America Great Again) baseball hats; a bald fellow holding a flag that read ‘Trump for President ‘24’; a more elderly chap shaking a rainbow banner that declared ‘Gays 4 Trump’ (he was my favourite); a woman holding a large bedsheet with wobbly hand-painted words that said ‘Convict Trump already’, and a serene-looking woman who didn’t speak but simply held up a series of cards that stated things like ‘the sun is shining on Trump’s glaring lies’ and ‘Trump is the definition of depravity’.
When Paul and I arrived down there, various protestors were screaming at one another. ‘Fuckin’ soy boy!’ one of the MAGA hat-wearers shouted at an older man on the opposing side (‘soy boy’ is a derogatory term much-loved by Trump supporters, used to sneer at men they view as less masculine and meat-eating than them). The man shaking the ‘Gays 4 Trump’ flag was haranguing the serene woman holding the series of cards, telling her that she was ‘sick’. A man communicating via a dog hand-puppet was busy telling everyone else that they hadn’t taken their meds that day.
Actually, while I’d wondered beforehand if it could get violent, and the spectre of January 6th was hovering, it felt relatively harmless. A bit like Speakers’ Corner on a Sunday in Hyde Park. This was largely a collection of tragic attention-seekers paying obeisance to their overlord, the King of Attention-Seekers, who was inside on trial. It also made me feel a tiny bit better about our election, because surely it can’t get as mad as all that???
We laughed on the High Line
Paul and I got up early on Monday to walk the 1.5m elevated walkway south through Manhattan which was lovely because a) the blossom’s out and it looked pretty and b) because we walked past a gaggle of tourists at one stage listening agog to their guide. They’d stopped in front of a large building and were gazing up at it in wonder. ‘This building has great significance not only for Americans but for people all around the world,’ the guide said reverently, so Paul and I craned our ears in his direction as we strolled by, eager to hear why this building was so important. What historical gem were we about to learn? ‘Because it’s in there,’ went on the guide, ‘that Beyoncé’s sister Solange punched Jay-Z in the head in an elevator.’
We ate
It’s New York; you’re going to eat. I think Paul was quite taken aback, ahead of the trip, by how seriously I was taking the food side of things. In the end, and largely thanks to my friend Wally who lives there (hey, Walls!), we ate delicious fava bean puree and mussel linguine at Roman’s in Brooklyn; twice-baked pistachio croissants and Earl Grey buns from a bakery also in Brooklyn; pancakes and syrup at a diner downtown; tacos and margaritas; burgers; Dunkin Donuts in the park; thick smoked turkey sandwiches; shrimps the size of babies’ fists and a reeeeeeally delicious final dinner at a restaurant called King in Soho, where we sat outside because it was balmy and gorged ourselves on (more) pasta, and quail, and sirloin and fish AND then liquorice ice-cream. Paul, I think, tired slightly of my constant updates on how many steps we’d done every day (‘now it’s 17,000!’, ‘We’re over 20,000!’, ‘Nearly 24,000!’), but my theory is if you’re eating 37,252 calories a day you need to move a bit.
BAKERIES seem to be a particularly big thing in NY right now. Like, queuing for very bougie bakeries that make particularly good cinnamon buns or custard croissants. There are tons of them popping up there. (Although not so long ago I wrote about living near London’s most fashionable sandwich shop in Crystal Palace, the fabulous Chatsworth Bakehouse, and the queues outside it every weekend. So we’ve got that a bit here too. If strapped, you don’t want to spend a fortune on eating out, right? But you may still want to spend a tenner on a delicious and ultra-fashionable sandwich which you can photograph for Instagram. That’s my theory on the phenomenon, anyway.)
Talking of food: Myers of Keswick
We only walked past this shop, but it made me laugh a LOT. It’s the place, or one of the places, you can go in NYC if you’re a Brit longing for…Ambrosia Rice. Or baked beans. Or Bisto. Or tinned haggis (????!). Basically, if you’re after something British, this is the place - a little shop in the West Village where the window display of stacked cans makes it look like something from Dad’s Army. They also have their cats’ ashes in the window, balanced on a tin of Ambrosia. Amazing.
We talked dogs
I know I’m talking a LOT about dogs atm, but the dog park in Brooklyn was something else. Dogs, as far as the eye could see. Dogs on leads; dogs scampering about off leads. Big dogs; small dogs. DOGS. There were way more dogs in Brooklyn, it felt like, than anywhere I’ve been in the UK. So it’s not just us who went dog mad over the pandemic.
OH my god, the smell of weed…
In 2021, New York legalised marijuana. I hadn’t been to the city since 2018 so this was new to me. Jesus, the number of shops flogging it. The smell of it all over the city. You can now walk into one of these places and simply buy a spliff over the counter, even if you’re extremely underage, according to one friend there. I saw an ad in one shop window offering three roll-ups for $20. You can then smoke those spliffs in the street just as you would a cigarette. If you live in certain bits of London/have ever visited Camden Market, you might think you’re used to this. Go to New York. It is PUNGENT.
That’s probably enough, although I could go on and on. We also saw Rachel McAdams (the one from The Notebook) in a new play about a single mother struggling with her disabled young son. Again, not that romantic, but interesting, and I’d never done that thing of ‘seeing a show on Broadway’ while there. We took a lift over a thousand feet into the sky at Summit One Vanderbilt, the tower above Grand Central Station, and gazed at all of Manhattan. We saw Henry VIII’s very rotund last suit of armour at The Met (talking of people who need to do more steps…), and a lovely big nude Matisse at MoMA (the Museum of Modern Art) which I quite wished I could have in my bedroom. Plus this ‘lactation pod’ which struck me as quite American and quite a good idea.
We had a ball, basically, and astonishingly I didn’t even need any of the Rennie OR Gaviscon that I’d packed in my washbag. So that was a bonus.
Pic of the week
Thank you to the multiple friends who sent me this screenshot saying ‘Are you now, in fact, a meme???’ I winced slightly at the first couple of times I saw it because I’m still getting *fairly* abusive messages from people who’ve read the headline of my Gen Z column but not the actual piece (see last week’s Substack HERE), but, as Paul cheerfully reminded me when he glanced over my shoulder at my phone, at least it wasn’t another threat about the guillotine. So, every cloud and all that. If you haven’t read my erudite thoughts on puppies versus babies, you can find the Times piece HERE.
Recommendation of the week
This is going to sound like a terrible advert you might see on the Tube, but are you going away soon and worrying about roaming charges? PANIC NO MORE. All you have to do is download an app called Airalo, pick whatever country you’re going to and you can roam to your heart’s content for almost nothing. Don’t ask me how it works because I haven’t got a clue, but I spent $8 (just over £6) for the entire trip to New York and it gave me a tonnnnnnn of data. So much I could use my phone all day, on the Subway, googling things like ‘best burger brooklyn’ or ‘best sandwich west village’, and never once had to worry about my phone bill. I think it’s a bit like paying for a prepaid Sim in whatever country you’re going to, except in Airalo’s case it’s an ‘esim’. You can basically hop on to a network in that country and take advantage of the roaming costs there rather than being stung by your British mobile provider. By using it I might have sold all my data to an enemy state, but does that matter that much for SIX QUID? I’m going to use it every time I go away. Download the app before you go. If you’re technologically challenged ask someone to help you set it up.
Nonsense of the week
I’m afraid to report that the quest for a neck pillow continues. On various people’s advice, I bought the Trtl pillow before going to NY. Here’s the blurb for the Trtl neck pillow: the ‘Trtl neck pillow is scientifically proven to hold the head and neck in a better ergonomic position than a traditional travel pillow.’ According to the website, you wake up ‘refreshed’ and it’s the pillow for travellers ‘who want a real sleeping experience.’
Got that?
Here is a picture of me this morning wearing the trtl neck pillow*.
It’s a plastic brace wrapped in a metre or so of fleece that you wrap around your neck and secure with a bit of Velcro. The idea seems to be that you can then rest the side of your face on the plastic brace and it’s almost as good as being at home in your bed. Hmmm. Before we even took off on Tuesday night, my head had broken free from its fleecy grip and lolled forwards multiple times (who remembers the Ab Fab episode where Patsy talks about Eddie’s head wobbling around ‘like a bladder on a stick’? That was me). Maybe it works better for some (longer necks? Shorter necks?) than others, but I wouldn’t wholly recommend.
I refuse to give in on this important matter. The entire neck pillow industry cannot be built on cards, can it? If any neck pillow manufacturers reading this fancy sending me theirs to review, I’d be delighted.
*I forgot to take a photo of me wearing the neck pillow on the plane, although that’s probably just as well because I paired it with an eyemask and earplugs. Did I tell you this was a romantic trip?
HAHAHAHA do you know what I did think ‘does he look familiar?’ What a moron (me, I mean!)
I feel like I've tried ALL the neck pillows. I definitely felt like I'd been scammed with the TRTL one. The best I've found - though I think I'm destined to never happily sleep unless at least almost horiztonal - is one called Sleep Life that is memory foam covered in fake suede; it's bulky and clips together at the front so you can attach it to a suitcase. It does not deflate or fold down so it's not the easiest to travel with but give proper support.
Can I ask which bakery in Brooklyn please? :-)