New York

Four o'clock AM  - not my favourite hour to rise from evading sleep these days, but waking to, yes, "selling my soul" firstly, to my profession, and then arriving in NEW YORK to reap the benefits of such job; the upside outweighs protocol discomforts. I was up early, sipping tea and finalizing packing, finishing off with applying "night make-up" as the morning sun comes up. Sincerely, red lipstick doesn't look appealing in the dawn hours. I did not know exactly what plans I would choose to follow when I got there. After a 14 hour flight how much energy would I actually have?  I'd received a couple emails and invites and had some decisions to make. Over thirty hours to myself, on the company's dime, including a full afternoon, evening and an entire day to roam. The weather forecast looked promising in the wake of a hurricane a few days prior, cancelling flights, and I was ecstatic to have this always entertaining, layover.

The flight was full, demanding and tiring beyond even my experience of holding three jobs formerly in Vancouver, but was successful in that there were no major incidents involving human life. I half mean this morbidly - comical, however, much can happen while in the air. Only once did I have to attend to a screaming lady where I heard the cries and immediately entered the cabin and asked, "who's yelling out, is somebody hurt?" Passengers pointed out a lone woman and I went to my knees at her side, ready to resssucitate her if need be! Such alarm. Turns out she only had a nightmare. Thank goodness! First class had just made me an esquisite latte and I intended to enjoy it! Leave me alone for just a minute.... you vultures! ;) (I was a fighting fatigue after running laps around the aircraft for nine hours and awaiting my turn at the crew cabin "coffins" we attempt to sleep in for a bit.) I brought her peppermint tea and sat with her awhile and didn't leave her until she was calm. I never asked what she dreamed, but wonder now.

Dazed, but accustomed to fatigue, crew and I arrived to the hotel. In New York we reside at the Sheraton Manhattan, perfectly situated between Central Park and Times Square. I must politely brag here and say, it doesn't get better than that! Life is brilliant, the streets are crowded, busy and tempting in every way. A Broadway show perhaps, a walk and delicious dining while taking in the weekend night - life? A pro-sports game or concert of some sort.... A comedy show at Comedy Central? A production at Radio City Music Hall? A cruise around the Statue of Liberty. Maybe a arobatic lesson at the Trapeze Institute overlooking the river separating Manhattan from New Jersey?

Upon arrival and obediently accepting our monetary allowance, as usual, crew offer up options and like clockwork we agree to meet in the lobby at a certain time depending on who we bonded with or who's met before, or who we want to get to know further due to compatibilities. So many operationals, (flights) often involve 28 to 32 crew, from all over the world, meeting for the first time. This is a very cool experience in itself.

Usually, I hang out with the girls, meaning the gays or previously met female colleagues, and of course, anyone who tags along. May I add, I've had the best time with some of my gay friends. Love them! This time I had a few invites, a very straight crew, and an agenda of my own that I wanted to pursue, offered up and emailed to me by my friend, David. I was torn and wanted to do it all. And did!

I had an open invite to, well, the US Open Invitational Tennis. My colleague and supervisor invited me to join him in experiencing the exciting competitions. I did decline going to the U. S. Open, however as I readied myself to meet other colleagues, I played the live action on my hotel room television. I am a complete lover of live sports events of any kind and wondered if I should have went along. At $160 US per ticket, I hoped I wouldn't regret missing the excitement. On the telly, I glimpsed something similar to a football match, with standing fans yelling and cheering, followed by a "golf - like" shush,  and on cue,  the spectators hushed immediately. So civilized.

I chose to join our Captain and a fellow colleague, Adam, from the U.K. The plan involved others but it is not unheard of if people "jam" as we all have different energy levels. We were disappointed that the other three pilots bailed and were sure to let them know how much they missed out the next day. We grabbed a cab and headed to Pier 66. We wanted fresh air, scenery, the non- comittal distance in case we "hit a wall," and the wonderful choice of BEER from taps showcasing varieties from a plethora of micro breweries, famous to the U.S.

So much fun! We arrived to an area near the Meat Packers District and were greeted to a huge line-up to a funky place called, The Frying Pan, on Pier 66. It was Friday night and we expected crowds and a queue. We were let in easily, how very nice! We drank Checker Cab Blonde Ale, shared stories, people watched and laughed. The atmosphere was lively, like a beer festival. A tabled, beer garden of sorts on a pier. A beautiful and lively night. Hours later, when sentences became difficult, we headed back to the hotel wishing we could continue the night, but after a long flight one becomes slightly enebriated within four drinks; we were lethargic and unable to make any small decisions, let alone small talk. This is the inevitable aftermath of the "flight- fatigue". Jet-lagged, but hungry, I bid goodnight to my companions and made my way to a deli across from my hotel. I wanted no more conversation but desired New York cheesecake. I love the deli and they recognize me, or so I think, and they offer me discounts if I eat in, saying things like, "Don't go, you're breaking my heart!" Oh, New York and the accents! I never stay, though. I take all sorts of food and a single serving of wine to devour in my hotel room in front of the most convincing infomercials presented on my television, upon my comfy bed. Shattered, I fall asleep, spoiled and welcoming sleeping alone.

Eight o'clock AM, I arise to a sunny, warm day. My inner clock has no idea what is Am or PM, but I am eager to get outside amongst all that is New York. An amazing, photogetic city, with its architecture, street food rivalling Bangkok, taxi mayhem resembling Hong Kong, and accents confusing me into thinking I was in New Orleans, or somewhere in Italy. All at 9 o'clock AM.

I followed my emailed itinerary with slight deviations. I made my way through Manhattan towards Broadway as it was a nice day to walk. Beginning at 7th and 52nd, I proceeded to the SoHo area where the numbered streets took on names, and ended up in Chinatown. During the five hour excursion I discovered book stores I wanted to stay the entire day in, vintage clothing boutiques, deli's, and famous cafes. I ate and shopped; my bags too heavy and my tummy full I realized I needed to get back to my hotel to rest before my fourteen hour flight home to Dubai. However, I was quite lost and too tired to navigate my way back to Manhattan. Two minutes later I was in a cab, nodding off.

I am now waking, after a couple days rest, surpirsed that I had such jet-lag this trip. After a year of doing nothing but travelling, I find it strange that I am so tired after this particular trip. Though I do not have the luxury to wallow in a spa day or lay by the pool. I am off to Bangkok in an hour!

Yes, the dreaded Bangkok trip - with its bald -tired crew transport bus, stormy, monsoon summers and vaulted highways!