Here it is, the third installment of the New York odyssey. Catch up here and here if you've missed anything.
The third day of our little trip was probably my favourite. We started the day with a lovely walk through Central Park in the morning sun. The obligatory photos were taken, see above, but the highlight for me was C asking me to hold the camera while he went to the toilet. Apparently he 'didn't want them to take photos.' Them being potential rapists, obviously. You can take the country out of the boy, but you can't stop him thinking all city dwellers are crims.
Next up was MOMA which was fabulous but absolutely enormous. Art art art. Even I was a bit 'arted out' after six floors of the stuff but I did get to see a couple of my all time favourite pieces. Work by Giorgio Di Chirico that I actually based my Art GCSE final project on, which was quite special actually. Seeing the paintings, not my Art GCSE. Of course, with greatness you always get absolute crap. The below being a prime example...
Ugh
By the time we dragged ourselves out of MOMA it was about 3pm and our stomachs were weeping with fear that they'd never again be fed. So we did the only sensible thing for two British people abroad to do. We ate in a place called the Manchester Pub. Seriously, you might as well give me a union jack t-shirt, some socks and sandals and a knotted handkerchief. As it turned out though, the food was really really nice. Pulled pork (snigger) sandwich for C and buffalo wings for me. Cue a curious look on C's face when they arrived and this little gem of a quote 'I thought you were having buffalo wings' before the realisation dawned that buffalos don't have wings. Bless.
My own version of Where's (the) Wally?
A meander down to the Chrysler Building and a walk through Grand Central Station later and we found ourselves at the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was beginning to set as we started to walk across and the views were amazing. My feet were not feeling so amazing, however. Three days of walking around Manhattan had taken their toll and I was, apparently, walking like 'someone with special needs'. Any guesses as to who said that?!? Quote master general himself, of course. Still, i powered through and we made it to DUMBO where we watched the sun set behind the skyline. We then attempted to go to Grimaldi's for pizza but, with a queue around the building, we made the decision to get the subway to Greenwich Village and go to John's. This was swiftly followed by Pinkberry frozen yoghurt. At which point I declared 'it tastes a bit like yoghurt'. Mong.
A confession: our feet hurt so much by the end of each day that we had to use foot soak when we got back to the apartment. In the kitchen sink. Does that make me us OAPs and/or vile?
