Greetings thrillseekers!
Morning Two of Dusty's excellent NY adventure has started well. Despite last night's prodigious eating and drinking and late-night finish, I'm feeling remarkably fresh and alert. Something about the vibe here doesn't let you wallow in a post-binge stupor for too long...
Anyhoo, it's 8am, Sunday 31 March and I'm sitting in my funky single Pod bed, ready to tap out my next update.
Day One (yesterday) started with a late breakfast of muesli (or 'granola' as they like to call it in the US) in Pod51's courtyard, admiring all the Beautiful People staying here. If you ever decide to stay at Pod51 (and I recommend it highly), be warned. This place, and its inhabitants, are so painfully hip they need an anti-inflammatory. I'm not sure I fit in, even with my stylish French gumboots 'n all...
Next stop, Top of the Rock, the observation deck of the Rockefeller Centre. The day was sunny, bright and crystal clear - perfect for the 360 degree views of the city. Even with my iPhone, I managed to take some great snaps. Not sure I feel like doing the same thing at the Empire State Building now...
Wandered through Saks, Fifth Avenue and got a taste of what a proper department store should look and feel like. Beautiful stock and attentive staff. The anti-Myer/David Jones...
Mooched around the city with Red K for a bit, then wandered up to the Guggenheim Museum for the Saturday evening special entry deal. Wow. It's smaller than I realised but the architecture still packs a punch - a great introduction to Frank Lloyd Wright's work ahead of the visit to Fallingwater next weekend. An exhibition of modern Japanese art (the Gutai movement) failed to light my fire, but the Picassos and Cezannes of the Thannhauser Collection were extraordinary.
After a quick hotel stop to freshen up and change out of my stylish French gumboots for something a little more formal, I met Red at Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle for a cocktail. Madeline's creator, Ludwig Bemelmans, painted the sweet mural that adorns the room. I would have loved to check it out more closely and take photos but the bar was full of nice rich people having a good time in their martinis and didn't need a tourist crawling over them to get a better look at the walls.
The Carlyle is a beautiful old-style, old-world luxury hotel (built in the 1930s) but the guests are shiny, newly minted coins... I got out of the cab and let a small Russian man with two strapping 'ladies' in hooker pumps, who might have been twins get in. Ewww... I'm not exaggerating when I say he came up to their waists. Think Tyrion Lannister proportions but with none of Peter D's charm, good looks or wit. Again, ewww.
Late dinner at Aquavit, a modern Scandinavian place in Midtown topped off an excellent day. Four courses of beautifully prepared and plated morsels (including a stunning rabbit) accompanied by Swedish pear cider. Fabbo. Not cheap, but an exquisite dining experience.
The plan to join Red in the Australian Bar to watch my beloved Maggies smack down the 'Roos live was scotched fairly quickly. I was exhausted and too full of good food and booze to stay up any longer. By the time I got back to my Pod it was officially - Time For Be-e-e-e-d.
Thanks to those of you who posted comments and replied off-line to my first update from NYC. More soon.
Go Pies!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday 31 March 2013
Saturday 30 March 2013
"I am leaving today"...
Greetings family, friends and loved ones from Pod51 Manhattan, New York, New York, the hip hotel with the smallest, chicest, cutest, teensy-weensyest rooms in THE WORLD!!!! How small is it? Remember the near-final scene in Chopper? Eric Bana's charismatic nut-job watching himself on TV in his cell? The room in which I am sitting and writing and which the charming Eastern European housekeeper is attempting to clean while I sit at my desk and tap this out is SMALLER THAN THAT CELL!!!
But I don't complain. And you know why - 'cos I'm in NEW YORK!!!!!
"How was the flight in Dusty?" I hear you all ask. All I can say is Alan Joyce will never make his way to my Christmas card list. Why? Well, the flight out (QF93) was delayed by first 90 minutes, then two hours, then three hours, which meant there was no theoretical or real chance of catching the connecting flight (QF107) to New York. What would I do? What were my options?
Red Karpitz, my man on the ground in New York advised me of my options via email. Red's email advice, in combination with Muddy Karpitz's loving and soothing words and the assurances of the only nice Qantas ground attendant at Tulla that the next flight would be held back for those of us travelling on to New York calmed me down marginally. We boarded QF93 three and a bit hours later than scheduled and were informed during the flight that QF107 would be delayed for us. I would not miss my connection. Phew. I would, however, land in New York almost five hours later than expected, after endless queuing and waiting.
It's been 9 years since I've travelled abroad and now I know why. There is so much waiting and queuing and my reserves of patience are limited.
All this would have been easier if Qantas was a half-decent service. Folks, it ain't even an eighth-decent one. It is RUBBISH! Perfunctory service, shit food, no decent or generous booze offerings and brittle, insincere flight attendants. "I really am sorry I'm so dumb I can't get the entertainment to work but I thought Touch Screen meant I should actually touch the screen, arsehole". Compare with those national airways from those unapologetically undemocratic stinkingly rich oil countries and there is no contest. I'm flying Oil Air next time. Anywhere.
Alan Joyce, if I should see you in the street I will most definitely smack you upside the head with these vagabond shoes. Really. Fucking. Hard.
But enough bitching about Qantas. I'm in NY remember?
Red K met me at the airport and in keeping with his natural tight-fistedness, made us take the AirTrain into Midtown. Cheap and efficient >$10. I now have a Metro card that can be topped up for use on the Subway. Awse.
Took us an hour all up to get to the Pod. Chucked my luggage in the tiny room (I was upgraded to a single with ensuite. This is until Iona Chef gets here on Monday, after which she and I get the double bunks with shared facilities. For now, I can fart with impunity. Did I mention I'm on the twelfth floor and the windows actually OPEN!??) and we made our way to the Shake Shack in the Theatre District for some much-needed sustenance. This place has an amazing reputation. Duly justified. The double Shackburger was delicious and the Peanut Butter Shake sublime. I almost wept.
Briefly chatted with some lovely Kiwi and English girls who shared our table, then wandered back to the Pod, walking through Times Square, taking in the Rockefeller Centre, St Patrick's Cathedral and assorted other familiar spots and getting familiar with the lay of the place before the serious sightseeing begins. There are so many people about at 1am on Good Friday, it's astonishing. Accents, colours, shapes and sizes all jockeying for space and attention in this amazing metropolis.
It's about 10:30am on Saturday 30 March. I need to shower, dress, hit the streets and forage for breakfast. Plan is to do Top of the Rock (see NY from the top of the Rockefeller centre), and the Guggenheim Museum today. Tonight, cocktails at Bemelman's Bar at The Carlyle.
Love to all. Signing out. Look out for further updates soon.
But I don't complain. And you know why - 'cos I'm in NEW YORK!!!!!
"How was the flight in Dusty?" I hear you all ask. All I can say is Alan Joyce will never make his way to my Christmas card list. Why? Well, the flight out (QF93) was delayed by first 90 minutes, then two hours, then three hours, which meant there was no theoretical or real chance of catching the connecting flight (QF107) to New York. What would I do? What were my options?
Red Karpitz, my man on the ground in New York advised me of my options via email. Red's email advice, in combination with Muddy Karpitz's loving and soothing words and the assurances of the only nice Qantas ground attendant at Tulla that the next flight would be held back for those of us travelling on to New York calmed me down marginally. We boarded QF93 three and a bit hours later than scheduled and were informed during the flight that QF107 would be delayed for us. I would not miss my connection. Phew. I would, however, land in New York almost five hours later than expected, after endless queuing and waiting.
It's been 9 years since I've travelled abroad and now I know why. There is so much waiting and queuing and my reserves of patience are limited.
All this would have been easier if Qantas was a half-decent service. Folks, it ain't even an eighth-decent one. It is RUBBISH! Perfunctory service, shit food, no decent or generous booze offerings and brittle, insincere flight attendants. "I really am sorry I'm so dumb I can't get the entertainment to work but I thought Touch Screen meant I should actually touch the screen, arsehole". Compare with those national airways from those unapologetically undemocratic stinkingly rich oil countries and there is no contest. I'm flying Oil Air next time. Anywhere.
Alan Joyce, if I should see you in the street I will most definitely smack you upside the head with these vagabond shoes. Really. Fucking. Hard.
But enough bitching about Qantas. I'm in NY remember?
Red K met me at the airport and in keeping with his natural tight-fistedness, made us take the AirTrain into Midtown. Cheap and efficient >$10. I now have a Metro card that can be topped up for use on the Subway. Awse.
Took us an hour all up to get to the Pod. Chucked my luggage in the tiny room (I was upgraded to a single with ensuite. This is until Iona Chef gets here on Monday, after which she and I get the double bunks with shared facilities. For now, I can fart with impunity. Did I mention I'm on the twelfth floor and the windows actually OPEN!??) and we made our way to the Shake Shack in the Theatre District for some much-needed sustenance. This place has an amazing reputation. Duly justified. The double Shackburger was delicious and the Peanut Butter Shake sublime. I almost wept.
Briefly chatted with some lovely Kiwi and English girls who shared our table, then wandered back to the Pod, walking through Times Square, taking in the Rockefeller Centre, St Patrick's Cathedral and assorted other familiar spots and getting familiar with the lay of the place before the serious sightseeing begins. There are so many people about at 1am on Good Friday, it's astonishing. Accents, colours, shapes and sizes all jockeying for space and attention in this amazing metropolis.
It's about 10:30am on Saturday 30 March. I need to shower, dress, hit the streets and forage for breakfast. Plan is to do Top of the Rock (see NY from the top of the Rockefeller centre), and the Guggenheim Museum today. Tonight, cocktails at Bemelman's Bar at The Carlyle.
Love to all. Signing out. Look out for further updates soon.
Sunday 17 March 2013
"Start spreading the news..."
Heads up, people - in less than two weeks I'm on my way to New York NY, the city that never sleeps and I suspect never brushes its teeth or changes its nether-garments too frequently either.
For around 12-14 days, I will be glam-packing my way around Manhattan, New Jersey and Brooklyn, with a two-day side-trip to Pittsburgh/Bear Run PA for my Frank Lloyd Wright pilgrimage/nostalgia/childhood-obsession fix.
I will be variously accompanied by my 23-year old niece Iona Chef, my adopted son/baby bro Red Karpitz, his good friend Tiffany Lamp and assorted Aussie expatriates whose timing couldn't be better. It's like they knew I was coming.
Be prepared for pithy observations and pissy tirades. Stay tuned for some witty missives and dismissive wit. There may even be a photo or three.
Next dispatch - Pod 51, Midtown East end March.
For around 12-14 days, I will be glam-packing my way around Manhattan, New Jersey and Brooklyn, with a two-day side-trip to Pittsburgh/Bear Run PA for my Frank Lloyd Wright pilgrimage/nostalgia/childhood-obsession fix.
I will be variously accompanied by my 23-year old niece Iona Chef, my adopted son/baby bro Red Karpitz, his good friend Tiffany Lamp and assorted Aussie expatriates whose timing couldn't be better. It's like they knew I was coming.
Be prepared for pithy observations and pissy tirades. Stay tuned for some witty missives and dismissive wit. There may even be a photo or three.
Next dispatch - Pod 51, Midtown East end March.
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