Walking with coffee (cont.)

More pictorial evidence of the wrongness of walking with coffee.

Although, on further consideration... if Britney Spears can manage to walk and sip, maybe I should be capable of it too.

Just a regular bucket of Joe

In London when I meet someone for a coffee, I order an americano. My coffee arrives in an oversized tea cup, is good and strong, and I drink it sitting down. Usually at a table. Simple.

Here in the country which presumably invented the americano, it is not so simple.

I learnt this the first time I innocently said 'yes' to TLOML's suggestion that we 'go and grab a coffee'.

My americano arrived in a paper cup the size of a bucket. And then TLOML lead the way out of the Coffee Bean, to walk slowly down the street. I was confused... and then aghast.

I am not used to the American tradition of walking with a coffee, I just can't do it. I'm too malcoordinated to walk and sip. Especially when I'm drinking from an enormous paper bucket.

As I result I learned that, when TLOML asks what I wanted to drink, I need first to ask him 'are we walking?' If we are walking, I'll have a shot of espresso which I can neck while he stirs his sugar into his latte. Only if we are sitting do I dare to order a longer drink.

But which longer drink? No more horrid weak americanos for me. I might as well be at a coffee morning drinking Nescafe red mug. And the size: 12oz of coffee is the norm here - 3/4 of a pint. It's too much!

My solution is to order a double espresso with a splash of water. Which makes me sound like a bit of a fusspot. And to make myself sound even more of a tosser, I have to put on a bad American accent so that I am understood, and request a 'double expresso, splash of warduh'.

Still, I stood with a colleague ordering coffee at the Big Corp cafeteria today. He asked for a large coffee, half decaf, half regular, and ice on the side. I don't feel so silly anymore...

The seven hour city walk

"If you stay in Beverly Hills too long you become a Mercedes," said Robert Redford. And if you stay in Malibu too long you become a Bentley, or a Chrysler cruiser, depending which end of the '27 miles of scenic beauty' you live. (We were at the Cruiser end, fyi).

So - in case you hadn't noticed, dear reader - I'm just loving walking everywhere in New York.

Fortunately for me, TLOML is too. He's a big believer in the digestive benefits of stretching your legs after eating or drinking too much, which is license to drink and eat too much of course. And going for a good city yomp has become a nice alternative to strolling along the beach.

Since that's how we roll now, a couple of weekends ago we struck out with our legs as our vehicles.

We walked along the Hudson to Battery Park City, about 3 miles away at the bottom of Manhattan. There we marvelled at the many buggies and toddler playgrounds and decided we knew exactly the kind of people who lived there (and admitted we may be such people one day).

We headed East, across the bottom of Tribeca. On the edge of the Financial District we rewarded ourselves for our 60 minute walk with a coffee at Kaffe 1668, a place which takes itself and its coffee extremely seriously in a totally unconvincingly irreverent way.

Then on to the oldest bit of New York, where furs were traded and fortunes made and lost. There I pointed out some old churches to TLOML, who feigned faint interest. We walked along Wall Street, and I took a lot of photos, although I wasn't really sure why. Probably the same reasons tourists take pictures at Piccadilly Circus, even thought it's basically just an overcrowded intersection with London's worst branch of Boots.

Our legs were aching now, but we tackled the length of Pearl Street which took us into the heart of Chinatown. We schlepped along East Broadway, TLOML drooling at the poultry hanging up in the windows while I thought of Eraserhead.

Our stomachs were starting to growl. So we headed up the Lower East Side to St Mark's Place and a great little bar for a Polish beer, followed by some well deserved yakitori. After we'd eaten, we placed three additional orders. A record.

Not sure we had walked enough, we then walked home past the Flat Iron and along 23rd Street.

This allowed us to go via Eataly for a gelato. Whereupon we agreed for the fourth time that we don't really like Eataly. Too busy.

By the time we got back to Rabbit Hutch Towers we'd covered about 7 miles in 7 hours. On reflection we thought that sounded like a pretty lame pace. But oh! Our feet did ache!

The lesser known Sky Line park

The High Line extension opened this week. The High Line was an elevated freight railway, which ran along the piers and warehouses of Chelsea and the West side - right through the middle of buildings to avoid darkening the avenues below. It used to go into the biscuit factory which is now the Chelsea Market, probably delivering butter and sugar and rolling pins, which was surely work of national importance.

After making a final delivery of frozen turkeys in 1980, it fell into disuse. Nature took the railway over and created something much prettier and quieter, but somewhat less useful for butter and sugar deliveries.

In 2009, as the local news anchor put it, in a rather Day Today-esque turn of phrase, 'what was once just the dream of a bunch of activists' became a reality: the High Line Park was opened. Between 21st Street and Gansevoort Street those crazy activists replaced the weeds you see above with pretty grasses and concrete slabs and little water fountains and public art.

It was a cool little park but rather on the short side. You could get from one end to the other in about 10 minutes flat. It was handy for us on our saunter back from the Chelsea Market but that's about it.

Until this week... when the extension opened. It runs past our block now, and all the way up to 30th Street now. I'm not quite sure when we'd ever go to Midtown but just in case... we no longer need to cross a single street to get to 30th Street.

The new bit is really good. It has a big patch of lawn and you get up close to the backs of residential buildings, in a way the first stretch doesn't really do.

Rabbit Hutch Towers is just out of sight on the right of the redbrick building

Also, we now have an icecream van parked right on our block most days. Most convenient.

 

The other, less exciting impact, is the arrival of a flood of tourists. West 23^rd Street was always relatively free of out-of-towners but the High Line attracts them like wasps to orangina. Most of them are probably off to get in the way of actual shoppers by taking photos of fruit at Chelsea Market’s Manhattan Fruit Exchange. Grrr. "Off my land, tourists!"

TLOML and I saw one chump yelling into his mobile, Dom Joly style, ‘I’m in the Skyline Park! No, the Skyline!’

We smirked at each other like the smug New Yorkers we have already become.

Yeah, maybe the onslaught of tourists isn’t such a bad thing. It's always nice to have someone to make you feel superior.

New traditions

Your happiness is not really determined by what happens to you, but about how you respond to what happens to you. My glamourous entrepreneur friend tells me so, and she is one of the wisest people I know.

So having been wrenched from paradise, aka Malibu, we can either bemoan the absence of the sound of crashing waves outside our window and the almost-always perfect weather... or celebrate living in one of the most exciting cities in the world within a stone's throw of a dozen incredible places to eat and drink. We could miss the spacious two bed flat with all that room for all our crap, or make the most of the zen experience of living in a Rabbit Hutch.

It's all about adapting, and finding some new traditions to replace the old ones.

For grocery shopping, instead of driving to Ralph's and treating ourselves to a Malibu FroYo, we walk to Chelsea Market and reward ourselves with a fancy gelato. Instead of a late night scotch on the balcony, we stop by our new local for a night cap. And the drive up to Malibu Seafood for a quick tuna burger has been replaced with a saunter down 9th Avenue for a slice of Gotham Pizza.

Some of the other adjustments we are making, and happily so, include replacing our balcony overlooking the beach with a rooftop deck with wicked views of the Hudson River and Midtown.

From one nice deck...

...to another. I know, life's tough eh?

I've replaced my contemplative constitutional walk along the beach with a stroll along the High Line and through the West Village. Instead of running on the track at the pampered Pepperdine campus, I make like a New Yorker and run by the river. I still get to look at water and rocks, just different ones.

My old walking route.

My new waterside view. I think these ghost piers are really cool, and looking at them is almost as calming as gazing out at the Pacific. Almost.

The closest I now get to a beach.

But who needs a beach to stroll along when you have the High Line?

Yeah, it turns out that 'what happened to us' in the move to NY ain't all that bad...

Walking with the reds

Feeling vaguely gloomy last weekend, I decided to take my mean reds for a walk to the Financial District. For what does any sane person do, when they're feeling a little sorry for themselves? Find someone else to feel sorrier for.

I strolled down Hudson River Park, being overtaken by dozens of New Yorkers on their reguluation runs, cutting inland on Vesey Street to head to the World Trade Center Site. I couldn't find my way to the viewing platform, from which you can see into the construction site. About a year ago TLOML and I stayed in the Hilton which overlooks it, and gazed down, speechless (which is rare) by the scale of it - the size of that great big void. This time, just walking around the hoardings, and looking up at the new 1 WTC (thank goodness they decided against the South Park-esque Freedom Tower), was enough to get a sense of the size of the loss.

Walking is not only a brilliant way to get around NY, and a good way to score points with myfitnesspal.com. It is also just perfect thinking-without-thinking, looking around and contemplating, chilling with your ipod time. I wandered home through Tribeca, Soho and the West Village and arrived back 2 hours later feeling thoroughly restored.

The Financial District. Satisfyingly as I imagined.

Dominoes in the doorway to Sushi Hana, Tribeca

Charles Lane, a snicket between Washington Street and the river. Cheered me up no end, since snickets are such a rare sight in NYC.

A good lesson in karma.

Run New York, run!

The running regulations of NYC are little known outside the city, but rigidly adhered to by its residents.

The regulations:
1. Residents who live South of 30th Street, West of 6th Avenue, are aged 25 to 45, and have a BMI of 18-25 you are legally required to move at pace up and down the Hudson River Park twice a week.
a) Residents with a BMI over 25 will be required to go for a week each year. (They're the ones who look like they only run for a week a year).
b) Residents with a BMI below 18 must go twice a day, to show the rest of NY how it's done.

2. Running and cycling are the designated modes of movement.
a) Speed walking or buggy-pushing is an acceptable alternative but you must provide a Doctor's note proving your inability to run.
b) Wild cards can be purchased at Lottery stores allowing you the chance to win a week of inline skating or funcycle rights.

3. Adherence to the regulations is governing by the Hudson River Park police. They are an elite squad of runner watchers, and will stamp your 'I've run' docket, for audit purposes.

Given the hordes of people lolloping around Central Park I assume a similar scheme is in force Uptown. The running police haven't found me yet... yet another reason to avoid NY residency status...

A lady's guide to walking

Walking is, without a doubt, the best way to get about New York.

More so than any other city I know, NY lends itself to being explored on foot. It's nice and flat, the pedestrian crossings are actually pedestrian-friendly, and the grid system makes it super easy to navigate. (Yesterday I was stopped by a woman standing within clear eyeshot of the 33rd and 34th Street signs asking me which way to 35th Street, and I actually thought she was kidding.)

Walking also makes the city seem accessibly small. Which I suppose it is. The usual rule of thumb is 'a block a minute' but my long legged friend Arthuros claims to be able to cover 4 blocks in 3 minutes. I saw that as a challenge, and set out today to get from Rabbit Hutch Towers to the Met in an hour and a half. That's 59 blocks North, and 5 long avenue blocks East of me.

Reader, I did it, there and back, and I have the aching legs to prove it.

I learned some valuable lessons in the process. The big challenge on such a walk is keeping cool. I did not want to meet my favourite New Yorker for a tour of the McQueen exhibit, all clammy and dishevelled. So, here are my four golden rules for staying frosty as you roam Manhattan:

1. Seek shade at all times.
Before 11.30am, stick to the East side of the avenue; after 1.30pm, stick close to the West side. (Going out between 11.30 and 1.30? Get a cab.) Streets are tricky, as they don't get much shade. Look for blocks with construction work going on and get under that scaffolding, where the pavement hasn't seen sun for weeks. It may smell of piss but you will find it to be a cool shady sanctuary you never want to leave.

2. Avoid hot things and sweaty people.
Under no circumstances, when waiting for a light to change, should you stand near large red faced people, or hot dog trucks. Those things are throwing out heat like an Aga. Stand well clear.

3. If you can't be cool, be near coolness.
Your best bet is a shop with aggressive aircon. The stretch of 5th Avenue in the 50sh and 60s has lots of lovely posh stores pumping out cool air in delicious waves every time the door opens. St Patrick's Cathedral is like a magical ice block made of stone. Walk slowly slowly past these cooling opportunities.

4. Wear backsweat-friendly clothes.
This is a tricky one, for fashion retailers don't tend to promote their clothes as backsweat-friendly. But think about it. That hot pink silk top you think of as so cooling? That's going to tell the world you're sweating before you even know it. Reconsider polyester. It may be highly flammable but it does not change colour when it's wet, which makes it your friend in a hot city.

A Machine for Living

New York is truly, to steal Le Corbusier's phrase, a machine for living.

It's not like London where some streets seemed to happen by accident, and the many inconveniences of living in a large, populous city are tolerated with a bit of stiff upper lip. Or like Los Angeles which is just a big impractical sprawl - but no-one minds because the weather is gorgeous and everyone's so jolly good looking.

New York is brilliantly designed to be dense, and efficient, and it works. The street grid systems is the most obvious example, and I love how easy to navigate that makes Manhattan. I've also come to appreciate the way you get a green man every alternative light change: in London you can watch a set of lights change 4 times before you get to cross. It's no-one's fault, it's just London was invented before anyone meant to live in cities, and one-way systems were the stuff of a mad man's dreams.

As for those cool puffs of steam that escape the pavement and look all uber New Yorky: it's true! They really are the output of a city-wide underground heating system. Installed in the 1880s, at a time when a city London gent would have his maid light the gas lamp so she could see well enough to put a proper polish on the grate.

The next block from our rabbit hutch is filled with a massive fortress-like building which we called The Castle, until I investigated further. It's actually London Terrace, a 1930s apartment building that was the biggest in the world when it was built, comprising 1665 apartments, an acre of gardens, a building-wide intercom system, a free page-boy service, a roofdeck furnished like the deck of a grand ocean liner, and doormen dressed like London Bobbies. I suspect Mandel, the guy behind all this, was of the 'if you're going to be a bear, be a grizzly' school of thought.

(Unfortunately London Terrace was completed to neatly coincide with the worst years of the Great Depression: Mandel went bankrupt and threw himself off the top of the building. Untimely death and financial ruin aside, it was an impressive achievement.)

It's not just the grand scale and the feats of engineering. It's the little things, like umbrella stands in doorways, and coat checks (non-existent in LA). Or the number of people - myself included - who use an old-lady shopping trolley, for practical reasons. The whole city is just imminently, unashamedly practical, it seems to me. It works.


That said, it's pouring with rain outside. I had planned to go on a nice long walk today. But they haven't yet installed the city-wide rain shield. One day...