My last day in Atlantic City was so nice and sunny I didn't leave until late – I was enjoying sitting in the sun on the beach too much. But eventually I made my way to the bus terminal. I inquired about a Greyhound ticket to New York City but apparently all the buses were running off schedule. I got a ticket from another bus company and was soon on my way. The trip was slow – it seems the traffic caused by everyone going home from the Memorial Day long weekend caused congestion. The coach was packed too, some people didn't even have seats! Not pleasant for a long distance bus ride.
I arrived in New York City after 9pm and after I figured out the right subway to my East Village “hotel”, got lost in the Lower East Side and eventually found my “hotel” it was quite late, and I was tired, hot and exhausted.
The “hotel” clerk gave me my key and asked me to go up stairs with my baggage, and leave it up there and come pay - if I like it. I thought this was a very unorthodox check-in process but went with it. I soon realised why.
I climbed up the dingy stairway, opened the locked solid heavy door and came into what seemed like a large hot room with lots of old wooden garden shed doors. Each door was to an individual room, but the individual rooms were all one one large hall separated by thin wooden walls that didn't go up all the way to the ceiling. Instead they had lattice ceilings about a foot from the ceiling of the real door. Each room was more like a small cell, with just enough room for a very small single bed and some space right next to it to dump your back pack. The shared showers (2 for the whole floor) were just additional garden-shed-doored subcells, and the toilets were practically out in the open. Anyone booking this place expecting a real “hotel” would have run for the hills. But I knew I was expecting more of a hostel type accommodation of a different kind, thanks to a recommendation from Brenna, a Melburnian I had met in Niagara Falls. She would be staying there at the same time, had stayed there before, and had assured me that the experience was quite good.
She had based this on the location of the neighbourhood. And she was right. The East Village was a cool part of Manhattan, with small, dark atmospheric bars, nice diners and boutique shops.
I spent most of the evenings enjoying the local nightlife with Brenna and her Austrian friend, or shopping in Times Square, a short subway ride away. The nights in the “hotel” weren't super comfortable. You could hear every time someone in the next three rooms turned over, and could hear people peeing in the toilets on the other side of the “hotel”. But overall for $28 a night in the middle of Manhattan it wasn't too bad, when you think about the fact that it is still a step up from a hostel dorm room.
I later found out that I had a super deluxe room due to the fact that the space next to my bed was almost the same size as the bed (the others' had smaller rooms), I had a TV (it didn't work properly) and I had sexy satin sheets.
I'd been to New York before a few years ago and had done the sights, so most of my days this time were spent just hanging around Manhattan. Walking the streets, checking out the buildings, the streets below them, and the busy people walking down those.
It was a great few days to spend outdoors, as it was sunny, hot and humid. On my second last day in New York, Brenna, Claudia and I caught the subway to Coney Island in Brooklyn to hang out on the beach. On my day of departure I checked out of the “hotel,” had breakfast in a typical New York diner, and stopped off at a barber shop. I was flying to London, where everything is expensive, so it was my last chance to get a cheap haircut. I walked all the way up Broadway to Central Park in the sunshine, lay in the park and took in my final few North American rays. Then it was time to head to JFK airport to fly across the Atlantic to Dublin, and then on to London.
It was the end of my two months of backpacking around North America. I'd started Canada in one of the biggest attractions: world class skiing in Whistler. I went coast to coast on the ground and finished at the world's most amazing attraction, Niagara Falls. I'd been to half a dozen Canadian provinces and half a dozen American States. I'd eaten poutine in Montreal, buffalo wings in Buffalo and Philly cheese steaks in Philadelphia. But most importantly I'd met lots of fantastic people along the way, and feel satisfied that I made the most of having two months to spare.
The carefree backpacking lifestyle had come to an end, but I left with confidence that London – and neighbouring continental Europe – would bring further adventures.
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