Escape from New York

Just because we had a flight home later, it didn't mean we couldn't cram in some more stuff before we went.

We breakfasted in local coffee shop. It was a great spot for people watching. Manhattanites, on the whole, are a fairly dour bunch. Conservatively, but expensively dressed, perhaps with a facial expression that makes it appear as if someone has smeared a streak of shite under their nose. They mixed with hulking construction workers, all hands like shovels and no neck, or hipster types working a bicycle couriers.

After the previous days marathon walking session, we and our feet were beaten. So we boarded the Subway, up Manhattan to the Metropolitan museum of art on central park. Their entrance policy is a bit weird. In theory, its entry be donation. The suggested donation however is $25. After conforming with the girl at the ticket desk that we didn't have to give anything if we really didn't want to, we offered them $3. I didn't feel remotely bad about either, after tipping everyone for seemingly every damn thing I did for the whole holiday, the least the USA could give me was a swatch at their museum.

It is a pretty incredible museum. We didn't have much time, so we hurried through an amazing exhibition of Civil War Era photography, including many by Alexander Gardner, who was the subject of a BBC documentary "The Scot who shot the American Civil war". Then we visited and collection of William Eggleston prints, we included several of my favourite pieces by him. The modern photography section was also superb, including some great work by Gregory Crudson, Stephen Shore and Philip-lorca diCorcia. Less pleasing was the "Punk: Chaos to couture", a fairly badly put together attempt to illustrate the links between hi-fashion and punk rock. Before heading off, we took a quick look up on the roof at the impressive views of central park.

We took our final meal at another mexican near the hostel. As ever, it didn't disappoint. All these fish tacos will be missed when I return home. As we made our way back to collect our bags, I spotted a fellow photographer of some repute. Riot didn't believe me when I pointed him out, so she marched into the coffee shop and questioned him. Turns out I was correct, it was indeed he. So Riot obviously had to get a quick picture with him.

There was one last brutal walk with back packs towards a subway station we could get direct to JFK from. Riot was flying differently from me, so we said our good byes on the sky-train and headed to our differing terminals. Trying to remain upbeat on a long homeward journey isn't easy. I resolved myself to knocking back in flight booze and sleeping pills to try to blot out as much of my flight as possible.

[Pic: NYC and Central park from the roof of the Metropolitan Museum]