We arrived at The Knickerbocker Hotel, New York. Husband is working here next week, and I have tagged along for a weekend of tourism, and then I will study in the hotel room while he goes off to his client. Today has been very long—I woke at 5am, and it’s now midnight, bright and sunny in NYC. I am tired and feeling old. I remember the days when I could fly out to meet him when he was working here, and we’d go out for steak and red wine, and wander through the city before going to sleep. Now I can barely manage to order a room service pizza. It’s still a fun place to visit though.

The hotel is modern, and minimalist. There are very few drawers, or coat hangers, or walls, The wall bit is inconvenient. There is a sliding glass wall to close off the bathroom area, with glass-walled cubicles for the shower and toilet. Not much in the way of privacy. We arrived and ordered room service, which they said would take 25 minutes to arrive. That was plenty of time for a quick shower (always feel yukky after a flight). I quickly stripped off, leaving clothes strewn around the room because I was trying to be quick, and went behind the flimsy glass wall into the glass-sided shower cubicle. It was a good shower, lovely hot water, one of those soap dispensers on the wall (which I don’t especially like but it smelt nice so I used it) but nowhere to put your own shampoo because ‘minimalist’ means no shelves or soap dish, just a big empty cubicle. I was just shouting about all this to Husband when the doorbell rang. Room service was faster than expected. That’s okay, I thought, Husband will open the door but you can’t see into the bathroom from the doorway, no need to panic, he’ll thank the man, receive the food, shut the door.

But no. Husband opened the door, then stood back while the waiter wheeled a trolley into the room. I watched them (in horror) through the glass sides of the shower cubicle. The waiter (poor man—who wants to see their granny in the shower?) put the trolley in the middle of the room, and left fairly promptly, while I was desperately trying to cover my embarrassment with a towel. There was no hiding—the bathroom area has huge mirrors, brutal in their honesty—on every wall which isn’t glass. Great for beautiful young bodies, rather depressing for older women trying to hide from unsuspecting waiters. It was not a great moment. Need to discuss shower protocol with Husband.

Saturday 12th September

Slept well, woke about 3:30. Our favourite diner (The Flame Diner on 9th and 58th) is open 24 hours, so we walked there. New York is great in the early morning, it’s as light as day with all the huge billboards and screens, like walking through a television salesroom for giants. The air is warm in September, no need for more than a tee shirt (with a cardigan for the air conditioning inside). We entered the diner, slid into a booth, a waiter appeared with menus and glasses of iced water… I love NY.

After breakfast, we wandered up to The Met (The Metropolitan Museum — which in English we would call an art gallery). I have happy memories of here. When we lived in NJ my children were small and I would sometimes take them into the city. Before visiting art galleries, I would always show them pictures of the art first (our local library had some lovely art books) and they would each choose one picture. Then, when we arrived at the gallery, we would find each of the chosen paintings, and because they were so much bigger, and brighter, and because they knew something about it, when the children saw ‘their’ painting they were genuinely interested. Then we would go home (because 3 paintings is enough, when you have young children). I do remember one fun visit when as we climbed the marble staircase, my 4 year-old shouted: ‘Look Mummy! There’s Socrates drinking the hemlock!’ And everyone nearby turned in amazement to see who the child prodigy was! Anyway, that was a long time ago, and this time I was with Husband. Although I think 3 paintings was about his limit too.

We then went for lunch in another diner. I had a BLT, and a slice of New York cheesecake, which is fabulous and not sweet or lemony or rich, and I have only ever found it in New York. (Other places claim to serve it, but it’s never the same.)

Hope you have a good day too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x