Christmas in New York - Day Two
- cazphillips2
- 4 hours ago
- 5 min read
Day Two and we were up and at ‘em early again. No rain today, but definitely chilly. I was thrilled about the weather because I had two enormous suitcases of winter attire in desperate need of air time. Traveling light? Not in this lifetime.
We headed to Carnegie’s Diner for breakfast. I boldly ordered the pancakes with a side of bacon, and the Favourite Husband had steak and eggs, as you do. The portions are insanely enormous and subsequently there is huge wastage. You see most people taking their leftovers home with them, but as we were heading off on an adventure, we didn’t think it would be a good idea to turn up to Madison Square Gardens with half a breakfast in tow. The Favourite Husband was relieved to find that he could have a half decent flat white, whereas I made the mistake of just saying “a coffee please.” This put me at the back of the sophistication train and I was stuck with endless refills of turgid filter coffee. It did, however, mean I was able to use, and reuse on a frequent basis, my best New York phrase based on many episodes of Cagney and Lacey from my teenage years, “You wanna kwaffee Cwistine?” The Favourite Husband refused to answer me. Initially it was, he said, because his name isn’t Cwistine, but now I get the feeling he’s not finding it quite as hilarious as I do. Odd.
I am a fan of little, tiny things that are usually big. (Not to be confused with downsizing, which is rarely necessary.) Alcoholic miniatures, for instance—because how else are you supposed to survive your child’s sports tournaments? Miniature dachshunds, or cake pops, same principle: big vibe, tiny package. So, imagine my delight that the maple sauce for my pancakes came in its own miniature bottle. Too darn cute. It’s the kind of detail that makes me consider starting a tiny-enthusiast fanbase of which I could be Chairperson.
It took me half an hour to eat approximately one eight of my pancake stack. Poor effort, but it was only day two, I could improve; I had time, I had enthusiasm, and I had a very patient stomach.
Reluctantly we left without our doggy bag and with full tummies set off for Madison Square Gardens. Because we were off to our first ice hockey game. I cannot recommend this enough. Despite not having a clue what was going on, other than needing to score goals, and that the puck was not a fairy from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, this was so much fun. Upon entry we immediately headed to the shop and purchased suitable headwear, the Favourite Husband a baseball style cap that bizarrely made his head look even bigger than it already is, and for myself, woolly hat number 48, since I clearly travel with a full wardrobe of hats to cover every possible season and potential emotional state and one can never have too many.
The stadium was (unsurprisingly) packed full of New York Rangers supporters, who all sounded like they'd stepped out of the cast of the Sopranos, and they were loud. The Rangers scored first, whereupon all the fans were upstanding and singing their “goal!” chant, which was bewildering to us laymen. But I was ready for it the second time around and joined in with much gusto; demonstrating my lightning-fast adaptability, proof indeed that day drinking does wonders for ice hockey literacy. And I hadn't realised how much fighting there is, outstanding. We didn’t stay for the entire game, mainly because they apparently last six to eight centuries, but it was super fun.
We headed to Hudson Yards and the High Line for a wander, and because the 21,000 steps we’d managed yesterday was a record set to be broken. The High Line started life as a freight railway line, elevated above the streets of the city to protect pedestrians from trains and more specifically, train wrecks. Then the 60s–80s happened, trucks crashed the party, and freight trains said, “Thank you and goodnight;” eventually vanishing faster than my motivation to diet.
It wasn’t until the mid-2000’s that the idea of a public park took seed (see what I did there?) High Line Art was founded in 2009 and continues to this day with installation art along the route. The finished project has resulted in a 1.45 mile long public walkway with plantings, park, public spaces and art, even events are held here. Hey, it’s a party in the sky. Except not today. Today it was freezing and pretty bleak. But on a side note, you can't tell me you don't need a giant pigeon in your life.
We came off the High Line at the Vessel. The Vessel is a honeycomb design building of interconnecting stairways, which can be accessed by the public to explore and enjoy the panoramic views of Manhattan and the Hudson River. We decided not to go into the Vessel—the stairs looked like a commitment I wasn’t prepared to make, and the Favourite Husband whispered something about a sore knee that sounded suspiciously like a preplanned excuse. But ever the considerate wife, I went along with his utterly plausible defence.
As we were long overdue a refuel by this stage, (You wanna kwaffee Cwistine?) we wandered into a shopping centre. A shopping centre for the extremely wealthy as it turned out. The Favourite Husband stretched to a latte for me, because nothing says indulgent like a shot of caffeine. And before you could say “oh look at that Cartier shop, I need a bangle,” he whisked me out of the nearest exit as if the fire alarm had gone off. I didn’t complain too much because I knew what our next port of call was; another shop. But not just any shop, this was Fishs Eddy. Another queue much to the Favourite Husband’s chagrin, but I waited patiently, because patience is a virtue, and was not disappointed. I tried explaining (again with my virtuous patience) why we needed a pilgrimage to the homeware heaven of comedy mugs and spatulas, but he looked more exhausted than usual, so I just sighed and avoided eye contact.
The only thing I’m still kicking myself for was that I didn’t grab the Trophy Wife mug. Clearly it was made for me. Opportunity lost dammit. (I did leave with a shopping bag full of Nuu Yawk style mugs and tea towels, so not an entirely fruitless jaunt.)
From Fishs Eddy we stumbled into Union Square Gardens Christmas Market. Bryant Square Christmas Market yesterday was akin to me trying on last year’s jeans; snug, some would say claustrophobic, and most definitely uncomfortable. This one was marginally less so. I really hoped to find a spiced eggnog but had to settle for a variety of delicious empanadas. A weird pivot from eggnog, but successful all the same.
Then it was a further battle through the crowds, past Macy’s and more fabulous Christmas window displays back to the hotel and a rejuvenating cocktail to discuss our plans for tomorrow.
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