Coffee, sightsee, coffee, sightsee

Another week, another batch of visitors. This is how we spent our time:

Monday

Our standard welcome: homemade mac & cheese and a walk in Central Park.

Tuesday

We set off early and breakfasted in S&P Lunch , a 1928 diner in the Flatiron district, that looks and feels every one of its 97 years. We took our seats at the counter, alongside a host of solo diners, mostly in suits. Watching the suits, perched at the bar, eating quickly while reading their phones, I could picture all the people who had sat almost identically - grabbing a bite before work and reading the news - in those exact spots, every day for nearly 100 years

I ordered pastrami & eggs with home fries, toast and coffee and it was one of the most New York feeling moments I’ve had.

S&P Lunch

We took the train from there to Fulton Street, coming up above ground to see the World Trade Center station, the Freedom Tower and the 9/11 Memorial. Then onwards by train to High Street in Brooklyn, where we stopped for a coffee in Vineapple on Pineapple Street. The rhythm of our day is coffee - sightsee - coffee - sightsee. We walked around Brooklyn Heights, admiring the brownstones, the peace and quiet and the views of Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty from Brooklyn Bridge Park. After the obligatory photograph on Washington Street in Dumbo, we crossed back to Manhattan, on foot across the Brooklyn Bridge. Back on terra firma, we got the train to 42nd street for our final coffee stop but this time in the grand surroundings of Grand Central Station.

Wednesday

A few people have said to me after reading these posts: where do you get your energy? See, I don't write about the days that I do feck all. After a full day of hosting yesterday and after a slow morning at home with coffee and Breads Bakery babka, I sent the visitors off with really detailed directions of how to get to the Highline, along with information on what they could do there (Chelsa Markets! Little Island! The Whitney! Hudson Yards!)

After a day recuperating, I was ready for a night in the Theater District. Dinner and a show, the show being Real Women Have Curves in the James Earl Jones Theatre on 48th street. We dined in Frena on 10th Avenue beforehand, sharing warm bread, hummus, baba ganoush and whipped feta, zucchini cakes, grilled octopus, brazed oxtail tortellini and shrimp.

Real women Have Curves is set in a clothing factory in Los Angeles in 1987, owned and run by Mexican immigrants. Though set almost 40 years ago, the themes of exploitation of undocumented workers and migrants living under the constant threat of immigration knocking on their door are sadly all too pertinent today. Other evergreen themes include the pressure on women to look a certain way, the dreams of first generation migrants being tempered by their obligation to their families and menopause (addressed in a hilarious song called “Adios Andres” - Andres being what the family matriarch had called her period). While a poignant and thought-provoking show, it was also fun.

Thursday

Breakfast in Old John’s Diner with John Oliver sitting in the booth behind us. I had eggs sunny side up with a side of sausages, rye toast, coffee and juice. The visitors had caught the Broadway bug and went to see a matinee of The Great Gatsby.

Friday

Our visitors joined us for Family Friday at school and they came with great enthusiasm (because they are not miserable, like me). Today, we were learning about France from a nuclear family of four, all wearing matching Breton striped sweaters. They told us that these sweaters are called “marinières”, are traditionally worn by sailors and have 21 stripes to represent each of Napoleon’s victories. Seeing them and how cute they were, I regretted not dressing us all in matching Aran sweaters for our turn. I could have told the class how they are traditionally worn by fishermen and that every family has a different pattern so that if a body is lost at sea and later found, you could identify who it was from the pattern on their jumper, even if the body was by now too decomposed to recognise. Happy Friday 3 year olds!

After Family Friday, we popped out for another diner breakfast where I had the French toast because, having just learned to count to ten in French, I was in the mood.

It was a quick breakfast because like I said, I’m never not in my kid’s school, and I had to be back at 10:30 to chaperone the Kindergarten field trip to the library, (not to be confused with the recent field trip which included a walk past the library or with the upcoming field day. We also have three more Family Fridays, a community breakfast and two graduations).

The doctor wasn't chaperoning this time and I took my chance to ask his unchaperoned son where his dad worked and he said “the hospital” and when I asked what he does there he straight away replied “He’s a doctor”. I searched his eyes for signs of coaching-slash-trauma but I think he was just able to answer normally now that he was no longer under the pressure of a wider audience and his father’s ego.

The librarian read the kids a story and the story included mention of the ‘5 second rule’. When the 5 second rule was explained to them, I had a flashback to the Irish equivalent of the 5 second rule. How I, and all of my classmates, dealt with food which had fallen on the floor all through primary school. Can you think what I'm going to say? We blessed it! Food would fall on the floor and instead of “Five second rule!”, someone would say “If you bless it, it’s OK”. And then you’d see a 6 year old, standing with a fallen biscuit in their left hand while they administered the sign of the cross over it with their right hand - clearing it of all germs before they ate it.

Saturday

I thought we’d had all types of requests from visitors for the different worlds making up New York City but we had our first request for modern dance. After a quick search, I found a show by Parsons Dance, in The Joyce Theater in Chelsea. David heard “modern dance” and selflessly offered to stay in with the kids that night.

I’m so glad we had visitors because I never would have found myself at modern dance otherwise and I would have missed out on this sensational performance. We live near the David H. Koch Theater, home of The New York City Ballet, and whenever I see the ballerinas around the place, they always look sad and starved. Not so in The Joyce Theater where the dancers on stage were powerful! Joyful! And vital! It was completely captivating. I had a moment of extreme gratitude to be living in New York, where we could decide that day to see modern dance and then be sitting in the audience, witnessing a most mesmerising performance, just a 15 minute train ride away.

Sunday

Manhattan, from the top of Bear Mountain

We took a tip from Sophie Colgan’s ebook, Navigating New York, and headed for Bear Mountain State Park. After the one hour train ride from Grand Central to Peekskill, we stopped for coffee and croissants in the most delightful train station cafe, before we Ubered the last 15 minutes of the journey to the State park. I never doubted that I had city kids on my hands but getting out of the car, the 5 year old hesitated and worriedly asked “Are there bees? Will a mosquito sting me?”. When the 4 year old came out behind her, she stopped on the threshold of the Uber and looking up and out said “Is this nature?”