Christmas in New York

When you’ve spent Christmas in New York, you return home sad that it’s over. 

It’s like that fabulous Wham song “Last Christmas” I gave you my heart … and now I feel like you’ve broken up with me. Forgotten about me already. Moved on. I now face a Summer ahead of record-breaking temperatures in the high 30’s, when Christmas was a blissful -9.

I think it shows a certain level of bravery to choose New York City for Christmas. Bravery or “sadomasochism,” according to the Favourite Husband.

The overall feeling as you stroll (well, more of a shoe shuffling waddle due to the crowds) through the high traffic areas, is that of being an extra in a Hallmark holiday romcom. Clearly I’m the feisty love interest and the Favourite Husband the romantic hero. I lost count of the times I said “Oooo that tree’s pretty” and “But I feel like the queue is moving quickly.” Thankfully I also lost count of the number of times the Favourite Husband said, “That seems expensive.” Because Christmas in New York does not come cheap. And why should it.

It’s the epitome of festive frivolity. 

Welcome to Christmas in the Big Apple, equal parts breathtaking, overpriced, and aggressively cheerful. Let me guide you through the glittering chaos, so you can enjoy the most magical time of the year ... or at the very least, survive it.

Day One and we woke to rain, which I’d not put on my wish list. And when I say rain, it was that of Biblical proportions. So much so that we instantly abandoned our first choice for breakfast and instead just fell through the door of the nearest place that was open. Which is why Day One saw me chowing down in a French style patisserie, rather than my envisioned pancake stack. But we were up too early for much to be open and so we sheltered in a warm cocoon of condensation and croissants. Once outside again and now furnished with very subtle “I ♥️ NY” umbrellas to masterfully disguise the fact we were tourists, we were able to get a moody picture through the rain of the Rockefeller Christmas tree without the usual hundreds of visitors all doing the same. Made famous by Home Alone 2 more than anything, the tree is impressive, with this year’s effort standing 75 feet tall. With over 50,000 lights causing more than just a twinkle, it sits proudly above the ice-skating rink, which like much in life, seems smaller than we are led to believe. 

Breakfast and the 428 photographs (that I’m unlikely to ever look at again) of the tree, took us nicely through to 9am when St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5th Avenue opens. Over 5 million people visit St Patrick’s Cathedral every year, but as we are always nerdily early, we found the place almost empty. You are free to light candles, pray, sit and take it all in or explore the exhibits. Including a rather beautiful nativity that was on display, alongside a host of real trees and wreaths. (Quick side bar: Baby Jesus appeared to have vanished from the manger. I hoped he was ok, the empty crib was giving major "we've lost the main character" vibes.)

St. Patrick's Cathedral

Back outside the rain had eased up a little. We watched some of the Saks Fifth Avenue light show, and then decided it was a day for indoor activities, so ventured to the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA.) Along with most other tourists.  It was straining at the seams. Not to disrespect the museum and gallery, but we came to the conclusion that we’re not really modern art people. Too simple and lacking in curiosity.  Us, not MOMA.

We decided to brave the rain again and continue wandering aimlessly like true tourists, with zero plans and maximum enthusiasm.  

There was the Empire State Building (still tall, still pretending it's not jealous of newer, shinier, taller competition,)  the Chrysler Building (Art Deco royalty,) Trump Tower (controversial, it’s the shiny one that looks like it’s a golden monument to ego, straight out of the 1980’s era of excess,) and then, impossible to ignore, that mind-blowingly (currently under renovation) impressive Louis Vuitton building wrapped head-to-toe in what appears to be a giant stack of their own luxury trunks, complete with enormous fake handles, locks bigger than my appetite, and even the rivets etched with the famous logo.  Swoon.

And then, step forward, my first “viral food” stop of the visit, Liberty Bagels. The queue

wasn’t too bad and seemed to be moving quite quickly, which of course I commented on several times to really drum the point home. So much to the Favourite Husband’s bewilderment we queued. For a bagel. And boy was it worth it. I will never look at a supermarket bagel in the same way again. And the array of cream cheeses and fillings and indeed the bagels themselves was, well, overwhelming. Best. Bagels. Ever.

With nutrition levels sated we continued into Central Park next to the famous Plaza Hotel (see earlier Home Alone 2 comment). Central Park is beautiful, and big, 843 acres of big.  There’s the ice skating at Wollman Rink (our pre-booked activity for Christmas Day - yay,) there’s Bethesda Fountain and Terrace, the Boat Lake and House, Bow Bridge, Strawberry Fields - heck there’s even a castle.  Fun facts about Central Park, the main one being it’s a fake, it is nearly all manmade.  The famous Sheep Meadow exists because sheep used to be used to mow the grass, and they were housed in what is now the famous Tavern on the Green restaurant.  Good fun fact for tourists, every lamppost in the park has a four-digit coordinate, the first two numbers tell you the nearest street or avenue and the last two tell you whether it is East or West.  Genius. 

My parents lived in New York in the 1960’s and used to tell the story of how Dad rowed Mum around the boat lake whilst they decided whether to stay in New York or return to the UK. I can’t imagine either of them doing this, but we never see our parents as young and free. Anyway, the outcome was they returned to the UK. Which is still disappointing to me. Clearly denied me the opportunity to attend the NY High School of Performing Arts and dance in leg warmers and hot pants on the roof of a yellow cab. With Leroy. Like Trump Tower, I was probably at my peak in the 80’s, although I’m optimistic there’s still time to shine. 

For the late afternoon we had booked the “Top of the Rock” sunset tour at the Rockefeller Centre, but when we arrived it was raining (quelle surprise) and a storm was passing overhead. This meant we had the opportunity to reschedule which we did and instead we headed to Grand Central Station. This is simply stunning. We had a couple of cocktails sitting upstairs people watching and gazing at the painted ceiling. Turned out we were sitting almost exactly under the one remaining spot that was preserved before the repainting renovations, to give an idea of the filth that had built up.  I can tell you, the contrast is remarkable.  Then it was off to explore the Christmas market, which was nice and not crowded so we could actually breathe and enjoy it, without fear of accidental impropriety with random strangers, before giggling whilst experimenting with the whispering gallery. According to someone clever, the fancy arches above this walkway create an acoustic phenomenon where if you stand diagonally opposite each other and one of you whispers whilst the other listens, they can hear what you said. I got a fit of the giggles when I remembered that the Favourite Husband is already half-deaf on a good day with full surround-sound and a following wind. There was approximately zero percent chance he was going to pick up my delicate wall-whisper. I might as well have been mouthing sweet nothings at a brick.  Oh wait, I was.  To be fair I didn’t hear a single word of whatever he mumbled into the masonry either when we swapped, but don’t tell him that.

Grand Central Station Concourse

Dinner was downstairs at the Grand Central Station Oyster Bar. And it was average if I’m honest. Average and very noisy, not helped by its famous terracotta tiled, vaulted ceilings and a wedding reception.  Still, we had fun. There's something weirdly magical about yelling to each other across the table in a roaring 100-year-old train-station eatery while slurping mediocre-but-iconic oysters. Pure chaotic New York romance. Would recommend for the vibes and the memories, not necessarily for the quiet romantic dinner of your dreams.

Grand Central Station Oyster Bar