Goodbye NYC

Hello all,Currently in new orleans. I am updating this on an ipad, so have decided i can't be bothered to use the correct capitalisation as it's too much effort with a mild Bourbon St hangover. Forgive me :)So, following the excesses of the margarita cup night, I spent most of the day feeling decidedly peaky - Delhi belly in new York of all places. Well, at least they have flushing toilets here. Spent the majority of the day feeling a bit sorry for myself and hung around the hostel while the owner hovered around my feet. Eventually deciding it was probably a good idea to get moving, I ventured outside. Big mistake. The 32degree heat slapped me in the face as soon as I got outside, like a hot complimentary towel on an Asian airline. I bought some plain tortilla chips & a box of loperamide and went slowly across to catch the ferry to Wall St. I missed the departure by one minute, and had half an hour to wait, so I tried to find a small patch of shade i could hide in. The ferry across the East River (known rather aptly as the East River Ferry), was a gorgeous boat ride across to Manhattan and it was great to catch some breeze. I tried desperately not to chuck up over the deck as we spun round 180degrees from the dock to head to Wall St, and appreciate the view. Everyone else on the boat was in couples, families or groups of friends. I was getting slightly bored of feeling so alone, and idly looked forward to meeting my tour group the next day. Several hours of hot wandering around later, I met up with Joel, a son of one of my mums good friends (yep!) and drank soda water at a university watering hole called The Penny Farthing. Really happy to talk to someone from Britain, we discussed the idiosyncrasies of new York and American life in general. My final stop of the day was to Talitha's flat in Park slope, Brooklyn. I lay on her yoga mat to straighten out my sore back and she fed me plain fish and rice. What a star. Beautiful young people wafted about the place, and I felt pretty old, but they were all very friendly and interesting. We sat on the roof and I was surprised to note that they all smoked, while none of my friends at home do. What's difference a couple of years and a new York address makes eh!One slightly sketchy incident with an older park slope inhabitant later (I believe the dialogue went "hey gorgeous, you wanna go someplace?" which was met with a fixed glare and a hurried pace) I was back on the beloved MTA train back to Williamsburg, where I took a long shower and resolved to feel better in the morning. I did, and so I checked out, with every intention of visiting Ellis Island immigration museum. This predictably didn't happen. I started out making my way down to South Ferry to catch the boat, and got caught up in conversation with some delightful elderly people on their way to Governors island. They were all down for a wedding and were more than happy to chat with me and help me find my way on the shuttle bus to the ferry point. One particularly perky member of their party, the kind of older lady with a fun, mischievous face who has been through some things and seen and done it all, was particularly in favour of my trip. "you're brave, I'll say that much, but good for you." I got my ticket stub and baked as I walked to the red t-shirted city tours rep, as instructed to on my ticket. An unhelpful response. Apparently I was talking to the incorrect red t-shirted man. The incorrect red t-shirted man waved his hand in the general direction of some other red tshirts, and I dutifully followed. Eventually I was able to exchange my ticket stub for an actual ticket, and pausing to grab a jalapeño cheese pretzel (heavenly) and two bottles of cold water, I took my place in the hour long queue for security. America and their bloody security. Having waited in the full midday sun for approximately 40 seconds, I lost all patience with the heat, dust and the moronic red t-shirted men walked out of the queue and called Hamed. He was on Coney island beach, where we could swim and go to Luna park (ancient wooden roller coasters and the like). I said I'd be right over. I ended up on a fantastic beach with some crazy Colombian lesbians and their college friends. For the first time in the last few days, I laughed hysterically, in a state of blissful rapture as I ran headlong into the sea, relishing the cold as it splashed off the sweat, sand and probably most of my suncream. I was probably the only tourist there and this seemed to be where the native new Yorkers hung out on a free day. Families wolfed down pizza, ate snacks and drank beer (in heavily covered cans, this is America after all) from coolers, there were no windbreakers or changing awkwardly under towels while ghost white skin puckered with cold. Nobody had sand in their stale sandwiches, they all ate giant turkey sub rolls and crisps from bags bigger than their heads. Shortly, we were joined by the NYPD's helicopter and several police boats. Nobody knew what was going on and from what I could tell, the police were flying by just to wave at everyone on the beach. They circled the beach lower and lower each time, and each time I thought they might actually be rescuing someone or about to grab a megaphone and tell someone off, these two officers appeared at the door opening, big daft grins on their faces, waving like loons. Police presence on the beach itself was heavy, with officers on sand buggies checkin people weren't drinking in public, which of course they were, heavily. A tough assignment, all they seemed to be doing was checking out the bikini bottoms.This leads me on nicely to butter pecan ice cream. Good God, where has it been all my life? The heat was so intense that it melted all over my hands quicker than I could eat it, but what I did manage to force down I enjoyed immensely. We walked back from the cafe, past a group of people dancing to electro, all out of sync and apparently in hope of getting a few dollars for their efforts. I had to get back to the hostel to check in for my welcome meeting, so I left the gang behind and hauled myself back on the MTA.Of course, as I had to be back by 6, I managed to get the express train by accident and ended up 4 stops from where my hostel was. I thought I had managed pretty well up until this point. There was no welcome meeting at 6, but I did meet some similarly confused members of my group and decided to call the tour company. To their credit, they had warned the hostel they would be late, but being as it was run by morons, they hadnt passed on the message. We decided to grab some pizza and return. I was happy to meet a very perky American girl, Brianna, who was also on my trip and was more than happy to chatter away while we ate with some of the others. Kelly, a fellow Brit, Ellie (also Brit), a few Aussies and an older woman from Italy, Patrizia, who was sharing my room at the hostel, joined us and we all gushed excitedly about the upcoming adventure, but I was sad to note that most of them were on a different tour. However, Ellie and Bri were along for the ride and from that point forward it was generally accepted that we would sit together on the bus. Our tour guide Brandon joined us at 9pm and we finally had the hallowed welcome meeting, which mainly involved a series of insurance forms and waivers of responsibility for the company in case we fell down a ravine etc. We each had to do that dreadful group dynamics thing where we each say one interesting fact about ourselves, which inevitably results in a series of dull facts about owning pet dogs called Smoky and having once met the Queen's eightieth cousin twice removed. Still, that didn't dampen the mood, and once the meeting was over and the jet lagged crawled off to bed, Bri and I sat by Central Park gate to while away the time before bed and managed to make friends with a pair of raccoons that were rifling through the bins. Once the giant rat turned up, we scarpered. Bedtime.