27 January

Today the dawn came into the sky in Washington before I emerged from bed. At 7:50 I arose and packed. This procedure comes about because I have found that occasionally when packing I panic over not being able to immediately find something and break into a sweat (always hot, never cold, and always AFTER I have had a shower. Now I pack, lay my clothes and other gear I will carry out, check that everything is present (and none lost, for if I don’t leave anything I must have it, even if it is not immediately obvious) and then perform my ablutions.
Consequently at 8:30 I settled my account and left my home of three days, the Days Inn, at 4400 Connecticut Avenue NW Washington. I can recommend it, for the value for money and the staff. I then realized that I would have to cross Connecticut Avenue, for although there was a Metro entrance on each side, the one on the same side as the hotel had steps down and an escalator up. The other side had escalators down and up, far easier now I was back with my backpack and my suitcase. Seasoned Metro traveller I was, I got my single trip off-peak ticket and, after a short wait, was whisked off to Union Station.
Here again the forces of commonsense had been defeated and there were five steps up to the station concourse from the Metro area. I rued the fact with a fellow traveller, and then we discovered we were both heading to New York on the 10:20 Amtrak service. I went to have a late breakfast at McDonalds and, true to form now, found they had listed, soft drinks, not soda. All my preconceptions about differences in language were being demolished one by one. At this stage of course, despite all preparations made in detail, I couldn’t find the address and reservation number for the hotel I was staying in in New York. Out came the computer and I brought up the web site I had saved and wrote down the address and booking number. When I got to the waiting lounge, I found my fellow traveller already ensconced and we chatted. At about 10, we were called for boarding and I had all my ID and everything ready. We were only asked to show our tickets and, after the security of the last few days, my flabber was well and truly gasted. We boarded and sat together and so I met Max, semi-retired, from San Antonio. During our conversation about my travels, Max gave me his card and offered to show me around San Antonio. Again, like with all the others I have met, we found we had many things in common. Our coach-class carriage had power sockets, so I plugged my laptop in and inflicted Max with photos I had taken since arriving here (I must make up a little slideshow of Australian photos so I can torture other unsuspecting friendly people along the way). After he had been beaten into submission, he retired to program his new mobile phone while I returned to taking photographs along the way. The train stopped a number of times with electrical problems so were did not meet our scheduled 1:20 arrival time. As we crossed the river. I asked two girls about the arrival time and how we arrived and another passenger heard me say “Australia” and he told me he is studying at Melbourne University this semester. I tried to give him a picture of Melbourne and its proximity to the University and all things peculiarly Australian, but the available time frame of five minutes defeated me. Just before 3 the train pulled in and we left it and Max and I, both strangers in a stranger city, went to find out what each of us respectively could do to do to find our ways. A less than helpful Amtrak Information officer sent us to a far more helpful New York City Information Desk. Here we both got useful information and I met a fellow Australian who was going to nearly the same place I was. Max headed off successfully in his direction.
We headed off for the East Line on the subway and I was able to get us both tickets, having worked out that the machines were not too different from the Metro machines. As we waited, I found out Miki had just come back from Europe and lived in Sydney and was from Dubbo. I got hints on how to best see the Open Plains Zoo there, as I was explaining to her about the lions and how you can photograph family or friends within a few centimetres of a lion there.
We boarded our train, got off at the correct station and lugged our cases up steps only to find out at the top that we could have taken an elevator (lift – see, I’m becoming used to the American terms already!). We headed off in different directions only to end up both heading in the same direction again. As I speculated whether I would be able to find the hotel, I looked up and there it was. WE parted and I went in.
Check-in was simple and painless. I had already had the account billed to my credit card, so they only needed ID and a card impression. In the lift I found myself with a Russian, who assured me I would enjoy the TransSiberian. The room was comfortable and, unlike a tortoise, I divested myself of my backpack and suitcase. After a little familiarisation, I was out.
The first order of business was to get a charger for the iPod (let me not forget anything so vital next time). There was a STAPLES over the intersection so I could get that easily. I then discovered that there was a subway station right outside the hotel (memo to self – catch the subway there at Lexington and East 51st to get to the station to catch the train to Chicago).
As it was now after 4, I determined that being in New York was a walk in the park and so I should – up 51st to Fifth Avenue, make a right and in a few minutes I was there. It was so familiar from everything I had seen on TV and in films, so I felt at home. I wandered along and through, past the Zoo and the lake and up to the reservoir after passing the back of the Metropolitan Museum. It was starting to get dark, so I decided that any city after dark, on foot, was not a good idea unless you are a native of the area. I headed back along Fifth Avenue, from a street in the 80s back to 51st. During that walk I found that the most useless sing in the world was the red “Do not cross” sign at intersections – New Yorkers don’t even look to see what the sign says’ they just cross if they can’t see a car within a hundred yards.
Walking along 51st I called into a little Diner to get some food. The cook heard my accent and asked if I would like chips with the burger. He was from Puerto Rico, but had been in New York since the age of four. The chips tasted just like chips from a fish and chip shop – perhaps I should have shown him how to make potato cakes. He reinforced the warning about being about on the streets on foot after dark and rued the fact that it was so – few people make it dangerous for the majority, and most are just plain nice people.
Back at the hotel I thawed out as I typed this and got the photos ready to post. I found out that the hotel is part of the Hilton chain, so I’m contributing to Paris’ ability to be spoiled. Also, I have to go to the lobby to get free wireless Internet, but for the price I’m paying, in New York, I can’t complain.
After I go down and post this and the photos (I’ve got the system – I download the photos then start typing while that’s happening, go back and name them, then shrink them and continue typing while they process, then hopefully everything is ready when I’ve finished typing.
So ends the first half-day of two half-days and one full day. Tomorrow is the full day and I’ll see how much I can cram in.