New York: At Night

When your high school buddy/college roommate is planning to get married, an epic pre-wedding bash must go down. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my friend Whitney's wedding (it was amazing by the way, but more on the Ruidoso weekend in the next blog post). Being a party-throwing specialist, the duty of arranging a legendary bachelorette weekend rested upon me. After a flurry of e-mails with fellow bridesmaids and a rigorous debate about the desired location, we all agreed on New York City.

There’s a vibe in NYC that keeps you electrified. A buzz, a current, a momentum you can’t feel anywhere else. I used to think that was bullshit, but a couple nights in the city for the bachelorette shin-dig changed my mind. I’m still not a Big Apple convert; my favorite cities remain to be London (Big Ben), Toronto (Big Tower), and Paris (Big Museum)…no big apples in sight. But I’ve warmed up to the city that never sleeps…it might be lukewarm, but that’s still better than ice cold.

Last time I hit the streets of NYC was the summer of 2007, so it was due time I returned to get my decent pizza fix. On Friday we all swarmed the city at various times from various directions. A delayed flight in Minneapolis due to a broken plane (yikes!)* got me in around 6 p.m. so I headed straight for the taxi line. I chose to fly into LGA on account of the cheap $230 flight I booked via Expedia.com and its proximity to our hotel. One $25 cab ride later and I found myself at the Eastgate Tower Hotel.

*props to Delta, who not only gave each person a $100 voucher due to the inconvenience, but also provided us with free wine once we finally made it to 32,000 feet.

A small lobby and an old-fashioned interior had me worried at first, but then I laid eyes on our two-bedroom suite booked for around $340 per night: a kitchen, large living room with full dining table, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. For eight girls, we had just enough bed space to be comfortable. And the best part? Location, location, location! We were a brief walk away from Grand Central Station and had we all worn sensible shoes, we probably could have walked to Times Square.

After a quick post-plane make-up check, we hopped on the subway for $1.25 one way. If you plan on using the subway throughout your stay, invest in a multi-trip metro card for the duration. But also keep in mind that taxis? Not that expensive. Really…they’re not. Especially if you’re on the subway, realize you’re going in the wrong direction, and need to use up another one-way ride. Mistakes like that can add up, whereas taxis know where they’re going (usually).

Times Square screams consumerism. There’s glitz and glamour and a whole lot of electricity pumping through the veins of the heart of NY, and it’s all worth it for the utterly stupefying scene. Once the sun sets, wander around in awe among the throngs of people. You can spot the tourists straight away—they’re the ones with their mouths open and heads up, staring at the modern age in all its ridiculous glory. Stop in to the Times Square Visitor’s Center and catch a glimpse of the not-so-massive-in-real-life New Year’s Eve ball.

Tickets to a Broadway show were close to sold out, so we spent $30 on an improv comedy act at HA! LMAO (163 W 46th Street)—well, somehow I got in for free, but don’t count on sneaking in with a gaggle of girls who already pre-paid. There are tons of criers along Times Square shouting at you to attend (here’s a hint to shut them up: say you already went the night before and it was hilarious). It was surprisingly funny, albeit brief, but the best part was the $10 long island iced teas with at least $20 worth of booze inside. We appreciated the improv guys calling on our bachelorette to join them on stage, but due to the family-friendly atmosphere, the content was fairly tame. If you want to rock a riskier comedy club, I recommend a late-night show that isn’t afraid to drop an F-bomb when necessary.

Per the advice of one of the stand-up comics, we hit up Bourbon Street (346 West 46th Street) a few blocks off Times Square. The joke was on us because this wannabe-trendy bar looked like a hyped up TGI-Friday’s with louder music and a restaurant vibe. We did an about-face and wandered a bit aimlessly through the streets of NYC (during which we encountered delicious pretzels, nice old ladies, and plenty of amused stare-downs considering Whit was in her bachelorette veil).

Just when we thought our meandering was fruitless, we stumbled upon the coolest place to be in New York City; a new, hip bar? No. A crazy dance club? Nope. A fusion of the two? No way. It was the FDNY at 51st Street and 3rd Avenue. We only wanted directions and ended up staying an hour; what a sight to see: a massive group of dolled-up gals in heels chatting with real life NYC firefighters. Passersby were taking pictures of us, as we snapped pictures of one another sliding down the pole and posing on the truck. One of the guys even walked us over to a nightclub and got us in past the huge line. Now that’s service.

The night led us to Bar 515 (515 3^rd Avenue), a crowded bar with decent Cape Cods and a forgettable atmosphere. The most memorable part about this place was the bouncer—a guy who grew up 10 miles from my hometown and played basketball with my brother. It’s amazing what you can discover with a little chit-chat while checking ID’s.

Joshua Tree (513 3rd Avenue) next door was far more raucous, with a rockin’ 80’s theme and plenty of sing-along dancing to go around. It was that perfect balance of bar and club, in that I didn’t mind being there and the bouncy girls that joined me seemed to hit their dance quota for the night.

We got a late start the next day, had our caffeine fix at a Starbucks up the street, and then headed to the MET. Here’s a tip: it’s free to get in, but there is a $10 suggested donation for students; and in cases such as these, I’m always a student. Funnily enough, I saw the same exhibit the last and only time I was at the MET, and that was the Egyptian mummies in 1995. But it’s always a pleasure to wander through the MET.

After receiving some cultural points, we hurried over to the event of the day: the Sex and the City Tour. It had everything you would expect: a long line of trendy girls, a peppy tour guide, and stops around NYC that were featured in the TV series and films. It included a free cupcake and there were discounted cosmos at “Scout,” a bar seen in the show. If you’re a die-hard fan, I’d recommend it. If you’ve only caught a glimpse of SatC, skip it and save your $40 for a cute pair of shoes (Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha would all approve).

Back to NYC nightlife. The main event ended up being the most disappointing; we had 10 p.m. reservations at Lucky Chengs (24 1st Avenue), a drag-cabaret-dinner show. Oh yes…all three, wrapped into one. There were hoards of people up front and we weren’t seated until 10:30. Being there were ten of us, we were forced to select from a family-style menu of mediocre, heart-burn-inducing food. The “show” itself consisted of a screeching transvestite reiterating expletives and lacking any wit. They primarily relied on audience participation and awkward lap dances ensued. Lucky Cheng’s is not for the faint of heart. It’s also not for a boozed-up bachelorette party, apparently. An exorbitant bill confirmed suspicions that this place is a huge rip-off and should be avoided like the diseases one might find in their lackluster bathroom.

Surviving Cheng’s called for a major change in atmosphere, and we got one at Ella (9 Avenue A) in the East Village. A long, narrow bar up top and a small, crowded dance room below brought about an interesting mix of people. Up the street, we came across One and One (12 1st Avenue), another bar/club combo that could appeal to all tastes within our party. While there, I met up with Alana and John, two friends I grew up with in Morris, NY. It has become somewhat of a tradition to rendezvous in the city, and I appreciate their effort to find the random bar I happened to be in.

Only in NYC can you meet friends at 2 a.m. and proceed to bar-hop into the morning hours. There are two sister bars on 1st Avenue that are worth checking out; one is called Karma, the other is Sutra. We tried the latter and discovered it was also a hookah bar, allowing for a quieter, more relaxed ambiance.

But truly the best experience came in the form of late-night NY-style pizza. There’s nothing else like it the world over; I wake up in the middle of the night craving the cheesy, crusty, carb-loaded stuff topped with pepperoni that overflows with pools of grease. If you’re the type to dab your slice with a napkin to soak up the extra oil, don’t waste your time on NY pizza. If you like to load your pie down with buckets of toppings, rendering it more like a glorified stir-fry, skip NY pizza. If you find Domino’s and Pizza Hut pay homage to truly authentic Italian cuisine, NY pizza is not for you. Any of the aforementioned faux pas are insults to New Yorkers.

By 4:30 a.m. the streets grew a bit quiet, but there was still a palpable buzz. People roamed the roads and occupied taxis flew by in a whir. We hailed a cab and jumped in; my outdated logic of carrying around stockpiles of cash was debunked thanks to the handy credit card swipe machine in the backseat. Oh, technology. You rock.

As I made my way into the dark hotel room, I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was jazzed. Electrified. Completely and utterly enamored. Had I just fallen in love with New York City? No…it’s not possible, is it? I’m an upstater through and through. We don’t like the island to the south, it’s not our thing.

But I knew I was in trouble when I even enjoyed my time at La Guardia airport. That just borders on insanity, but it was true. The lines were organized, the crowds tame. The workers even smiled in my general direction from time to time. Reading the New York Times at an airport Chili’s never felt so relaxing—not a word commonly used in conjunction with NYC airports.

The whole two-day trip was a bit of a blur, and that’s probably why I enjoyed it so much. I didn’t have time to notice all the things I typically hate about NYC. The key to a successful trip? Keep it short. One day too long can ruin a good city; I’d rather not have enough time and crave more than have too much time and never want to return.

But no matter what your opinion is on NYC…that buzz? Can’t be denied.