Beginning in Honolulu, a 4-day stopover in New York City seemed the perfect place to prepare for our 5-week European adventure about to come. Traveling lighter than ever before, barely more than a carry-on and laptop (yes, for 5 weeks!) we were on our way. New York satisfies on so many levels, and we’d take full advantage of our 3 or 4 days there before crossing the Atlantic. New York would be about food, glorious food, enduring the masses of humanity, electrifying our souls, and visit Broadway.
But my heart was still heavy from what apparently turned into another friendship-failure the previous Labor Day, when we magically-appeared on the front porch of our (then) dear friends Frank and his wife, Renate, on the eve of their annual Labor Day party.
“Surprise!” we yelled as they opened the door. “Oh shit” is what was volleyed back in our direction. Figuring this was simply a mixture of elation and surprise, we navigated our way into their home and freaked-out for a little while.
It’s not every day you fly from Honolulu to Long Island to surprise a friend. We thought it was the single kookiest thing we did all year. For them, we can’t even guess what was going through their minds.
We intended to help them organize for the following day’s Labor Day fest, then head into the city for a couple weeks, seeing them as often as possible. After all, this was truly an unplanned moment in all our lives. No expectations, no obligations… just fun and love.
Everything seemed fine and happy, for the most part, but something (something BIG) changed, because that beautiful, deep, loving bond called friendship seemed to have disappeared (for them, not us). So, after pleading with them, singularly and via group-think, to find out WTF went wrong, basically nothing was offered up. Nothing, nada. It was almost a freeze-out. (I’ve been told since that surprises are for YOU, not others. — But could that really be the issue? I may never know).
After several years, great times, and some deep dark times, all of a sudden, wow, they didn’t wish to be our friends any longer. I hurt, really hurt, for months, over this. Still stings to think about it. Not knowing is worse than hearing the truth. So, they’re gone for the time-being, from being a constant-connection, to now, the source of a blinding freeze-out. Ouch. How I miss my friends.
Ok, so here we are, still in the Big Apple, readying ourselves for yet another “once-in-a-lifetime” adventure (of which there will be many). From the Newark airport, we hop aboard the train into Penn Station, grabbed a couple MTA Transit cards, and Uber over to the Hyatt Place Mid-Town, a great little place if Mid-Town works for you. Great staff, free breakfast… `nuff said.
Except this; last time we were in New York (the aforementioned Labor Day Friendship Massacre) I got hives every day of our stay at the Hyatt. Yes, me, the C.F.G. (the Chief Food Guy) has some sort of food allergy (perhaps a shred of shame here), unable to pin it down for years on end. But every day, getting the hives, had to be something I’d eaten at breakfast, right? And, BTW, the free breakfast at the Hyatt is a buffet, so fuhgetaboutit, there’s no way I can identify the culprit, since I eat like a starving banshee when offered an unlimited horn-of-plenty.
I carry an Epi-Pen (once again, a shred of shame included) because that’s definitely not the way I want to go out, or to be remembered. Getting hives, itchiness and feeling feverish is just the first step toward a full-blown something-to-be-worried-about reaction. Thank God it’s never really gotten much worse than that, except that one time.
Anyway, the point is, if you ever see me go down, grab my Epi-Pen and ram it, hard as you can, into my thigh, and call 911. We’ll laugh over it at dinner later that night, God willing.
But here we are and we’re not about to waste one single moment dilly-dallying about, 
so we make our way to grab a Malecon coffee touted by Genie Joseph as one of the best), said to attract all the city workers in-the-know about the best and cheapest coffee in town. It was indeed very good, and very inexpensive. A good pick-me-up indeed.
Time now for a quick nosh, so off to the Halal Guys, one of our favorite places we’d been dreaming about.
They used to have several stands around town, serving the best chicken and lamb pita plates in this or any other hemisphere. Now they’ve moved up a bit, adding a few brick-and-mortar locations to their portfolio. Tender, juicy, rotisserie-style meats, with onions, tahini, tomatoes, salad, a drizzle of hot sauce…oh! And for like next-to-nothing, the absolute best deal in town. Score!
So, okay, belly’s full… later that first night we had tickets for a Broadway show, “A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder” (which won best musical in 2014) that the audience enjoyed, as did Lin (my gal), and Joanne, our friend, who lives on the Upper West Side, a true lover of the Arts.
My thoughts? I slept. Like a baby. Two-hundred bucks a seat, and I slept through the freaking show. At least I wasn’t one of those snoring guys we’ve all encountered. With full disclosure, though, I had been warned by more than a few friends that attempting to see a Broadway show the same night after arrival in NYC might not be in my best interests, especially since I do love my Ambien and Xanax cocktails (which help me with any pre-flight jitters).
Agenda for the next morning is to awaken early, enjoy breakfast, or should I say, “survive” breakfast, then do the Little Italy and Chinatown thing. It’ll be great good fun!