Holidays in NYC
Sorry it's been so long since I've posted, I've been quite busy lately (though none of it was really interesting).
The week before Christmas Sara and I took an early flight to JFK to visit with my dad and his third wife, Karen, at one of his time share condos in Manhattan (across from Carnegie Hall). Unfortunately, this was the first day of the Metro Transit strike so the normally hour long ride took nearly three hours and we arrived in the lobby just when dad and Karen had given up hope of us arriving in time to see the show at Radio City. We gave our bags to the bellman and were off to walk the 5 blocks to Radio City. We made it with about 10 minutes to spare.
The show was their usual Christmas Spectacular, though from the way-back seats, it's not so spectacular. I was glad that we were behind the artificial snow so none of it landed on us, but the view was about what I would see on my 55" TV.
The next day we were limited in our travels because of the metro strike and Karen's artificial hip, we wandered around in a very small area, staying near 5th Ave and Broadway. The Christmas shopping rush was in full swing and I was almost able to buy the perfume my mom wanted at the Bulgari shop on 5th Avenue, but they were sold out.
That night we saw "The Producers" the movie which everyone but me loved. I'm not a fan of musicals, but it was OK.
On the third, and last day, of our trip, Dad, Sara and I wandered down to Rockefeller Center to see the rink and tall tree. The murals inside Rockefeller Plaza were quite interesting, but unfortunately we entered from the wrong entrance and read them backwards; giving the impression that a mighty civilization had deteriorated in a simple agrarian society.
Dad and Karen drove us to Grand Central Station so we could get the bus back to the airport. The transit strike had just ended an hour before, but that didn't do anything to help traffic. It was worse than ever with people trying to leave town for the Christmas weekend. They dropped us off at about 4pm for our 7:15pm flight. We stood in line for about 20 minutes before we got on a bus and went nowhere fast. At one point a lady walked into traffic, and with a heavy French accent asked if we could take her to JFK because she was late for her flight. Our bus driver informed her that he had no empty seats and she would need to buy a ticket across from Grand Central.
When our bus finally got to our terminal at 6:45pm we were sure that if we made our flight it would be as the doors were closing. Luckily no one was in line to get a boarding pass (though one lady cut in front of us saying that she had a 7:15 flight, we got the next agent because we were closer to that agent). There was basically no line for security (the Delta terminal) and our gate was #1, so we didn't have an issue getting to the gate a little before 7pm. And, lucky for us, the flight was delayed an hour.
Leaving the Minneapolis airport was almost as exciting as at 11:30pm the credit card reader that figures out how long you've been parked didn't want to read my card. I must have inserted and removed my card 50 times before Sara suggested that we just back up and try a different reader (my card is constantly giving me grief, time for a replacement). Thankfully the second reader read my card on the first try and we were gone. I didn't relish the thought of trying to find someone to let us out at 11:30pm on Dec 22nd.
The week before Christmas Sara and I took an early flight to JFK to visit with my dad and his third wife, Karen, at one of his time share condos in Manhattan (across from Carnegie Hall). Unfortunately, this was the first day of the Metro Transit strike so the normally hour long ride took nearly three hours and we arrived in the lobby just when dad and Karen had given up hope of us arriving in time to see the show at Radio City. We gave our bags to the bellman and were off to walk the 5 blocks to Radio City. We made it with about 10 minutes to spare.
The show was their usual Christmas Spectacular, though from the way-back seats, it's not so spectacular. I was glad that we were behind the artificial snow so none of it landed on us, but the view was about what I would see on my 55" TV.
The next day we were limited in our travels because of the metro strike and Karen's artificial hip, we wandered around in a very small area, staying near 5th Ave and Broadway. The Christmas shopping rush was in full swing and I was almost able to buy the perfume my mom wanted at the Bulgari shop on 5th Avenue, but they were sold out.
That night we saw "The Producers" the movie which everyone but me loved. I'm not a fan of musicals, but it was OK.
On the third, and last day, of our trip, Dad, Sara and I wandered down to Rockefeller Center to see the rink and tall tree. The murals inside Rockefeller Plaza were quite interesting, but unfortunately we entered from the wrong entrance and read them backwards; giving the impression that a mighty civilization had deteriorated in a simple agrarian society.
Dad and Karen drove us to Grand Central Station so we could get the bus back to the airport. The transit strike had just ended an hour before, but that didn't do anything to help traffic. It was worse than ever with people trying to leave town for the Christmas weekend. They dropped us off at about 4pm for our 7:15pm flight. We stood in line for about 20 minutes before we got on a bus and went nowhere fast. At one point a lady walked into traffic, and with a heavy French accent asked if we could take her to JFK because she was late for her flight. Our bus driver informed her that he had no empty seats and she would need to buy a ticket across from Grand Central.
When our bus finally got to our terminal at 6:45pm we were sure that if we made our flight it would be as the doors were closing. Luckily no one was in line to get a boarding pass (though one lady cut in front of us saying that she had a 7:15 flight, we got the next agent because we were closer to that agent). There was basically no line for security (the Delta terminal) and our gate was #1, so we didn't have an issue getting to the gate a little before 7pm. And, lucky for us, the flight was delayed an hour.
Leaving the Minneapolis airport was almost as exciting as at 11:30pm the credit card reader that figures out how long you've been parked didn't want to read my card. I must have inserted and removed my card 50 times before Sara suggested that we just back up and try a different reader (my card is constantly giving me grief, time for a replacement). Thankfully the second reader read my card on the first try and we were gone. I didn't relish the thought of trying to find someone to let us out at 11:30pm on Dec 22nd.
posted by Mark at 10:54 AM
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