Anything But The Poutine

First of all, isn't it thrilling that my blog is back?  If you didn't know it was gone, then ignore this entire paragraph. If, however, you were aware that the internet was missing my blog and you are glad to see it back, then I would like to say “Thanks for reading, Mum”.

It might be February now, but that's not going to stop me from writing about the Christmas and New Year's period. You see, my mother-in-law very generously paid for a hotel for my wife and I to stay for three nights in New York City. The plan was to get there before New Year's Eve so that we could see 2010 in style.

Of course any blog post that I write has to be filled with neurotic fear about travel and border crossings, and this one is no exception. We arrived at Bay Street Bus Terminal in Toronto with our tickets clutched in our hands like Willy Wonka's golden tickets. Okay, that's not entirely true. They were safely stowed in my wife's handbag so that I couldn't lose them. What is entirely true is that we arrived at the bus terminal early. We were early enough that we sat around for a while to kill time. We didn't realise that the queue for our bus was already forming. By the time we did, and by the time we marched to join the back of it, the line of people had snaked around the building and was almost onto the street. There was no way that we would fit on to one bus. Apparently a lot of people had been attracted to taking the bus to New York instead of the plane because airport security personnel at the time, were treating all passengers as though they might be hiding explosive material under their balls. If Osama Bin Laden is still alive, it should be possible to hear him laughing in his cave. Perhaps that is the current tactic being deployed at the Afghanistan-Pakistan border.

We waited in the queue as other people filed past us like shackled and disbelieving prisoners of war, on their way to join the back of the line. Every five feet or so they would ask “New York bus? New York bus?” as if almost willing the line of people to be going somewhere, anywhere different to them. Eventually the bus pulled away, to the horror of the hundred or so people who weren't on it. The horror was short-lived because another bus pulled into it's place. This second bus was not one of the fancy “premium” ones. No. The premium ones had more leg room and free wifi. The second bus had a cubicle inside it where you could find a seat with a hole in the middle that you could shit into. I hoped we could get onto it because I feared that the third bus (if there was one) would be the human-equivalent of a hamster wheel.

Distraught as we were about not getting wifi and more leg-room, at least we eventually got onto a bus. We began our journey to New York City about 45 minutes later than scheduled. We became more delayed when the bus was pulled over by the police, for reasons not explained, near Niagara. Of course shortly after Niagara comes.... the border!

As I have stated multiple times, I really dislike border crossing. Crossing in the UK and Canada is usually alright. I've got a British passport and a Canadian Permanent Residence card that has seen more action than the average Tesco Clubcard. The only time I've had trouble entering Canada is when I forgot to declare that I had a litre of wine and then I told the border agent that it was in my case. I got shouted at. Crossing into the USA is a slightly different story where I'm usually faced with sarcasm, belittlement, downright rudeness and, invariably, to enter The Land of the Free, it costs me $6. The $6 is for the enjoyment of giving my fingerprints and having my photograph taken. Say cheese.

It took two full hours to get through Homeland Security, including the two buses that were there before us. I had to write down the address we would be staying at in New York for my visa-waiver form. I wasn't sure what the name of the hotel was, let alone exactly where in New York it was. Once arrived, we would call my mother-in-law for directions. When neither my wife nor I could remember, the lovely homeland security official told me “We need at least a street, New York's a big place”. In typical esprit d'escalier I wish I had told her that I knew it was a big place because my country had named it for them when we conquered it. Probably best that I didn't.

We left the border crossing and tried to sleep during the rest of the journey. It was incredibly uncomfortable and cramped. The bus was further delayed when the stops at Buffalo and Syracuse were longer than scheduled due to drivers pissing around. Just as I was beginning to think I would rather have my balls checked at an airport, I woke to see a pretty sun rising over the hills somewhere south of Albany. I remained awake for the rest of the journey as we arrived through the stop-start sea of yellow taxi-cab traffic of New York City.

Most of our time in New York was spent exploring around mid-town and we must have walked over 20 miles on our first day, mostly traversing various parts of Central Park looking out for anything we might recognise from Home Alone 2. The American History Museum and The Guggenheim Museum both had ludicrous queues, so we just walked. And walked. And walked. And went back to the hotel and slept.

Much discussion was held prior to arriving in New York regarding what we would do on New Year's Eve. There are a lot of people insane enough to arrive in the afternoon, find their spot, and spend the next 8-10 hours aggressively guarding it. I'm not one of those people, especially when you consider that there are no toilets. The first of the psychopaths started arriving around lunchtime, covered in home-made plastic rain coats fashioned from transparent bin liners that served to protect them from the sleet and soaked pavement.

Rather than spend the evening surrounded by 1 million people urinating into their adult nappies, my mother-in-law, wife and I walked around the fashion district and took our time looking into shop windows – something more difficult during the daytime because of the mass of people. The police had closed off access to Times Square from two blocks away in all directions. It got a bit frustrating trying to get near enough to see fireworks, or hear cheering. On one particular corner, the police were annoyingly telling people to keep moving because people were blocking the street. Perhaps we were, but by no means as effectively as they were.

Despite Times Square being oversubscribed, we still had a good time. At about 11.40pm, we were stood at the corner. I tried to remain inconspicuous, all the better to hide my nationality from the residents of New York. While the police were yelling at everyone, my mother-in-law kindly pointed out to some 'youths' that I was British. I mimed to walk away in embarrassment, but it was too late. They asked me to “say something British”. One of the girls asked me if I like New York City. I told her that I do.. except the police. That got a laugh, especially the guys. One of them, while he wasn't telling everyone how drunk he was, then repeatedly yelled “Yeah! Fuck the cops, man!”.

The police began yelling directly at us at around 11.45pm, so we ducked into a bank for a few minutes and joined other New Year's revellers seeking asylum from New York's finest. About 2 minutes before midnight, we snuck back out to our corner. There was no way of telling the exact time. People were looking at phones and watches. We saw fireworks fire upwards in the distance, which we knew would go off seconds before midnight. Midnight seemed to pass by without anyone being brave enough to be the first to shout “woo!”. Maybe at 10 seconds past midnight, a few muted celebratory “whoops” went out, and then everyone went home. Everyone flooded into the streets, people cheered, cars hooted (although cars blowing their horns is the usual soundtrack to NYC) and police car sirens filled the air (see previous brackets). The atmosphere was good, people were singing and dancing and I think that if I would have spent the entire evening fighting for a spot in Times Square, I would have gone home as a miserable masochist.

The rest of our time in New York was spent visiting various flagship stores (M&M's store, Hershey's store, clothing stores and, of course, Macy's), The American Natural History Museum and its amusing “Pay what you can” entry fee and Ground Zero (a very cold building site – still).