The New York Chronicles

I’m typing at my hotel desk in Manhattan, looking out my window thirty floors above the city, watching a light snowfall, the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building lit up as a backdrop. Yes, I’m definitely never going to retire. How could this ever get old? Today, I had a pastrami on rye and a slice of cheesecake delivered from Katz Deli. I went to mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, walked back via Bryant Park, watched the ice skaters, and took pictures of masked statues to post on Instagram. With international travel nearly at a halt, I’ve been flying almost exclusively domestic. And there’s no better domestic trip than New York. Well, except for New Orleans, but that’s another blog. This blog is dedicated to my other favorite: New York City! 

New York and I go way back, to the beginning of my career. In the 90’s we stayed at The Helmsley Hotel. Remember her? In those days, we flight attendants loved to shop in Chinatown on Canal Street. The shops sold designer knock-offs, and they were always getting raided. Once while shopping for “Rolex” watches, the shop owner suddenly rolled the metal door shut and covered her mouth with her finger -signaling us to keep quiet. She then snuck us out a secret backdoor where we emerged into a fast-food restaurant. That was fun, but probably my favorite memory of those early layovers was the New Year’s Eve we ran down to Times Square to watch the ball drop.

I also associate New York with my brother, Michael. He and I used to meet there and hang out. The first time we met up in New York was to see John Leguizamo’s one-man show, Freak, on Broadway. It was about his life growing up, and it was very funny and poignant.  

I remember eating well on that trip. Our first meal was at an upscale diner across from Lincoln Center. I ate an omelet garnished in caviar with a glass of champagne while watching snow dust over the city. I felt like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. It was a very New York moment. Another New York moment was when we got the $100 bill at a Mexican restaurant. Of course, it was a very nice restaurant, but neither one of us (two Mexicans from Texas) had ever paid that much for Mexican food.  

That night, my brother and I went to a club. We wanted to dance to “east-coast rap.” But it almost never happened. Michael had fallen asleep, and I had a terrible time waking him up. I literally had to drag him out. ME! To give you a little context: My brother is the partier. I’m the nerd. But that night, I talked him into going out. And recently (over 20 years later) he thanked me for doing that. 

When Michael and I would travel together, I was in charge of the flights, and he was in charge of the room. On the first trip, he booked us a nice suite in mid-town Manhattan. On our next trip… we were in Queens. 

That second trip was a pilgrimage to Yankee Stadium -right before they tore it down. The problem was, we were in Queens. And it wasn’t a very nice part of Queens. Our first clue… when we checked into the hotel, the receptionist sat behind a bullet-proof window. And when we got to our room, we were greeted with poo in the toilet. I said, Michael, “There’s poo in the toilet!” He said, “Well, flush it down.” Second clue… returning one night to the hotel, we were standing on the street waiting for the bus and I noticed there weren’t any women around, just men.  I nervously pointed this out to Michael to which he replied, “There’s a woman over there.”  I looked.  “Michael,” I said, “she’s a prostitute.”     

Despite our accommodations, we had a great time. We went to a game, took a stadium tour, and drank at the neighborhood bars outside of Yankee stadium. I’m sure Scott (our other brother) will remember us drunk- dialing him trying to talk him into buying the family farm. 

Before we left town, we stopped by Ground Zero. We must have gone not long after 9-11 because it was still a clean-up site. They had built platforms over the pits so people could view the site and the work effort.  

Incidentally, years later, I returned to see the memorial and museum. I went with a flying partner. Neither one of us wanted to go alone, but I lost her there. I ended up experiencing it all by myself, searching, and then finally making the decision to leave without her. In retrospect, that somehow seems appropriate.  

Besides my brother, I have loved sharing the city with my kids. Before the pandemic, my son was coming with me on my layovers. We mostly visited shoes, but we also spent time with designer clothes and vintage T’s. We waited in line to get into exclusive shops like Bape and Off White. We stopped by Supreme, but couldn’t get in because apparently, you have to make a reservation just to stand in line. I was even scolded by their security guard for taking a picture of the outside of the store! What?  

However, I did manage to squeeze in some culture. Because that’s what I do. I dragged my son to a Broadway show, Hadestown, which I think he liked, but will never admit. 

Before I took my son to New York, I took my daughter. We used to read Eloise when she was a little girl, and I told her I’d take her for tea at the Plaza when she turned six. (The character, Eloise, age six, lives at the Plaza Hotel.) I made good on that promise, but not until she was ten. On that mother/daughter trip, we not only had tea at the Plaza but we also went to Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, attended a Broadway show, ate a gigantic, authentic, (and expensive) deli sandwich, toured the city on the hop-on-and-off bus in the rain (one of us in a poncho), and watched a taping of the Today Show, where my daughter was hoisted onto the shoulders of a very strong lady. We walked back and forth behind the camera making sure we got on TV. And my daughter was ecstatic when Kathy Lee winked and waved “hello” just to her.   

This year, because of Covid, most of the professionals and the tourists are absent, so the city feels a little grittier at the moment. But, I still love it. I love just walking around. New York has great outdoor space, which I guess is essential if you live in a small apartment in a big city. Even this year of the global pandemic, Bryant Park opened a skating rink and a Christmas Market. Rockefeller Center had its skating rink open, as did Central Park. Resilient New Yorkers figured out how to do outdoor dining in the snow. Central Park, beloved by New Yorkers and tourists alike, is beautiful and well-used year-round. And another high light is the high line. The High Line is a park, actually, more of a path, reimagined from old, abandoned train tracks elevated above the city streets. It’s a great urban hike. And in the summertime, a perfect place to get a snow cone. They shave the ice by hand from a solid block, then pour syrups over it with interesting flavors like rosemary hibiscus. It’s a sophisticated snow cone. But in New York City, would you expect anything less?

I also love to spend my layovers visiting museums and New York has some of the greatest. The Metropolitan Museum has my absolute favorite painting, Madame X, by my absolute favorite artist, John Singer Sargent. Recently, there was an exhibition of his works in charcoal at The Morgan Library. Wow! I had never been there before. It is gorgeous and my new favorite museum in New York. The Morgan Library and Museum is the former residence of J.P.Morgan housing his art and rare book collection. Another wonderful “baron museum” is the Frick Collection. This museum is the art collection and former mansion of industrialist, Henry Clay Frick. Not surprisingly, it’s located in a very posh area of town on the upper east side. The last time I visited, while walking back to the subway, I saw a maid out walking a dog. She was dressed in a bonafide maid’s uniform: a striped dress, bow tied around the back of her waist, sensible shoes. She looked like Alice -for those of you who get the Brady Bunch reference. I couldn’t stop staring and imagining the “apartment” that dog lived in. Now that’s real money, not Housewive-of-Orange-County money, but real, old Money$$$ 

Of course, New York is all about the performing arts… Broadway, comedy clubs, jazz clubs, and some of the country’s greatest dance companies. Sadly, the pandemic has darkened all of the houses, but they’ll be back, and I’ll be ready. I can’t wait to go to a Broadway show again. And the ballet! 

I’m all about a bargain. But I warn you reader, do not buy an obstructed-view ticket. A few years ago, I bought a partial view, box seat to watch The American Ballet Theater dance at the Met. Partial view? I couldn’t see a thing! There were two rows in the box.  Luckily, no one else was in the back row with me, so I was able to stand up and “dance” back and forth trying to catch a glimpse of the real dance. During intermission, one of the ladies in the box asked me if I’d read the Times that day. I said, “no.” She excitedly informed me that “So and So” had unexpectedly announced her retirement and this was her final performance. It just so happened that the two ladies in front of me, (obvious regulars with their opera glasses) had only come to watch her dance one final time. After the first movement showcasing the retiring ballerina, they left. So, I moved into their front-row box seat for the rest of the performance, which included Misty Copeland’s performance! Because that’s what I’d gone to see.  

Although I love The American Ballet Theater, even dearer to me is The New York City Ballet. Not long before the shut-down, I went to Lincoln Center to watch them perform Balanchine’s original choreography to Stravinsky’s music, his contemporary and friend. Exquisite! His choreography still feels fresh, modern, and relevant. Afterward, I bought the greatest souvenir …autographed ballet slippers! They sell the ballerinas’ used slippers. Principal dancers are $100 and the core $25. You know I like a bargain, so I bought a core dancer’s slippers: Kristen Segin, who I had not only witnessed dancing that day, but had also passed on the street walking to Lincoln Center. 

To close these chronicles, I have to end with another “Michael memory” because it’s quintessential New York, and it captures, reflects, and showcases everything awesome about the city. A friend once said, “New York is the greatest of the great and the worst of the worst.” I agree, but I don’t want to talk about the worst. I want to take a minute to focus on the great, namely, the incredible concentration of talent. In New York City, talent is displayed on the walls of the museums, in the studios of the designers, in the kitchens of the restaurants, and on the stages of the theaters. I’m convinced that’s the source of the city’s energy: raw creative talent. And if not talent, at least, aspiration. Because people come to New York to make something of themselves. It’s a city of artists, immigrants, and dreamers. And I offer the following anecdote as proof.

On one of our trips, Michael and I decided to drop in for a midnight seating at a jazz club. Turns out, it happened to be the drummer’s birthday. Who was the drummer? I couldn’t tell you because I don’t know anything about jazz. However, I can tell you that he was one of the city’s finest, and thereby, the world’s finest. I knew this not from his playing, but from his circle of friends. As the set unfolded, other jazz musicians started to trickle in. Famous musicians finishing up their own gigs around town were stopping by to celebrate and sit in. In walks Branford Marsalis. Then comes Wynton Marsalis. Those were just the two I recognized. But the parade continued on this “average” Thursday night. And that’s my point. There’s nothing average about New York City. It’s simply the greatest of the great. (And worst of the worst, but I don’t want to talk about that.)      

New York During The Pandemic Chronicled In Pictures: