9/11 Memorial

During my planning of our summer holiday to New York City I had decided to include a visit to the 9/11 Memorial.  Initially I hesitated.  Who wants to spend a happy, carefree summer day in a place that is shrouded in so much agony, pain, grief and suffering?

When we drove into the city from JFK airport it became clear to me that we would.

The skyline of Manhattan is one of the most AWESOME sites in the world.  No matter how many times I see it, I am inspired and mesmerised.  It doesn’t matter if it is day or night, cloudy or crystal clear blue.  The sheer enormity of it quite simply takes my breath away.

Before this summer, my last visit to NYC was a business trip in September 2000.  My husband was in Princeton, New Jersey for a business trip as well so we overlapped the weekend and a couple days either side and partied like we partied in 1999.  Both on expenses accounts, we ate at the best restaurants, drank cocktails and champagne, and saw a few tourist trail highlights.  Mostly, we shopped til we dropped, literally.  We could do that back then:  loads of disposable income for a figure not yet ravaged by the demands of pregnancy and the lethargy of age.

After suitably exhausting our credit cards in the shops on the ground floor of the World Trade Centre, my husband suggested we go to the top floor and enjoy the view.  Being the expert of all things New York, I informed him that a better view was to be from the top of the Empire State Building.  I’d been to the top of the World Trade Centre before during my 35^th birthday celebrations and preferred the less crowded view from midtown.  He reluctantly took my expert opinion and we left.  I promised we would come back some other time.  We never made it back and my promise was broken.

I remember standing outside and looking back up at the buildings and being amazed by their sheer size.  They weren’t beautiful buildings but, holy moly, they were big.   They had a buzz about them.  they looked like they would last forever.

Life took over.  We discovered I was pregnant in October 2000 which put an end to my gallivanting about the globe.  Our next trip was to introduce our newborn son to my family in Texas, Colorado and Missouri in late August/early September 2001.  We were exhausted by the end of the trip and eager to get home.  But fate had other ideas.

Flying out of Kansas City on 9 September, we were delayed due to bad weather in Chicago.  There’s always something going wrong in Chicago.  Don’t fly through there if you can avoid it.  Don’t get me wrong:  I love the city of Chicago but as a hub for flights, it sucks.  Big time.

We eventually arrived in Chicago and raced through the airport just in time to see the door to our boarding gate being closed.  I begged.  I pleaded. I cried.  I made Sebastian cry.  Marc yelled.  But United Airlines would not allow us to board that plane  I whipped out my platinum frequent flyer card (this was back when it meant something) and gave them one of my evil eye looks.  It worked.  Sort of.

The airline staff were very apologetic but they kept going on and on about security requirements and our baggage and blah blah blah.  At one point, they had to pull the airplane back into the gate and remove one piece of luggage because the passenger associated with it had never boarded the plane.  But would they let us on the plane?  Nooooooooo!

We were given vouchers for a hotel at the airport and dinner.  We were even given some nappies for Sebastian.  We made the best of a bad situation and went to the hotel and enjoyed a romantic dinner for 2 (pretending that Sebastian wasn’t sound asleep in his car seat hidden under the table).

On September 10 we boarded the plane with the airlines every assurance that our baggage was on the same flight that we were and would arrive at Heathrow at the same time that we did.  This was a very important point as Marc was scheduled to fly back to Princeton, New Jersey in just a couple days.  His days of gallivanting around the globe hadn’t ended.  We needed his suitcase and most of the contents in them to make the return journey with him.

We landed at London’s Heathrow airport on September 11, 2001 at 6:30 in the morning Greenwich Mean Time (GMT).  At 9:30 am we finally gave up arguing with the airlines about our lost baggage.  United Airlines had absolutely no idea where our luggage was.  We had been assured that they were on the same airplane as we were.  Then we were told they were still on the ground in Chicago.  As the last flights had left Chicago for the day we were promised that our bags would be delivered to our home the next day from the first flight out of Chicago

Defeated we headed home.  We had a doctor’s appointment to get Sebastian his second set of immunizations.  As we parked the car outside the doctor’s surgery, we fleetingly heard on the car radio that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Centre buildings.  As we waited in the queue, I joked with Marc that some flight controller was going to lose his job and we discussed how those buildings had been designed to withstand an airplane collision.  The immediate anxiety associated with my child being jabbed by a large needle took over and we forgot about it.

Upon leaving the doctor’s surgery we heard that another plane had crashed into the other World Trade Centre building.  And this wasn’t some light aircraft.  These were passenger jets.

When we arrived home, I ran inside and left Marc to get Sebastian out of the car.  I turned on CNN and could see both towers before me with smoke coming out of them.  I turned to Marc and said “We’ll never get our luggage back. And you certainly won’t be going to the US tomorrow.

Over the next few hours we watched horrified as people jumped from the burning buildings.  We watched the firefighters rush to and enter the towers.  It was difficult to believe that we weren’t watching a film.  I kept hoping that Bruce Willis would appear or that the broadcast would be interrupted with someone telling us this had all been a mistake and Hollywood’s next blockbuster had accidentally been premiered simultaneously, on every news channel in the world

I kept trying to ring my family.  All the circuits were busy.  No one from the UK could ring the USA.

And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, the South Tower collapsed in on itself.  I fell to the floor of our living room.  It seemed to happen in slow motion.  There was a knock at our front door.  Our neighbor, Karen, had arrived to just say how sorry she was.  Marc let her in and she wept with me on the floor.

Then the North Tower collapsed. And then the smoke and the debris filled all the cameras and we could see no more.  There was no more to see.  It was all gone.  All of it.  All of them.

Another plane was reported to have flown into the Pentagon and mysteriously another plane had crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.  No one knew how many planes had been hijacked and it took a long time to discover the heroic actions of the passengers on that flight that crashed in Pennsylvania. 

At 5 pm (GMT) there was another knock on our door.  A man in a taxi was delivering out luggage.  No one knows where our luggage had been.  And at that moment, I really didn't care.

The airspace over the USA was closed.  Planes all over the world were grounded.  The world to stopped.  The world cried.

Hospitals in New York prepared to treat thousands of injured people but they found so few that the hospital emergency staff was stood down.  Donors of blood were sent home.  The dead do not need blood.

Thousands were reported missing.  Thousands were never found.  In all nearly 3,000 people died in the towers.

I felt helpless.  I felt hopeless.  I wanted to come home.  and I wanted to run away.

I still can’t watch footage of the planes flying into the buildings, or the people jumping out of the wreckage, or the buildings collapsing to the ground without crying.  I can feel my heart race as I recall the terror of those moments and the disbelief of what I was seeing.

There was a part of me that needed to see it to believe it.  As I approached the area where those giants of buildings used to stand I could not only see their absence.  I could feel it.  I could feel the sadness.  I could feel the pain.  It still feels and looks like a bomb site.  I suppose it always will.  I suppose it always should.

As I stood at the fountains and read the names, my tears started to flow.

When I tried to explain to my children what had happened here, my daughter looked up at me and with disbelief she asked, “But, mummy, why would anyone fly airplanes into buildings on purpose?”

Why, indeed?  How do you ever explain that level of hatred to a child?  I still struggle to understand the hatred of a terrorist. 

When we read the names, I tried to explain, that many of them were firefighters who had selflessly entered these burning buildings to save other people.  “Why would anyone go into a burning building to save other people when they might get hurt themselves?” 

Why, indeed?  I struggled then to explain the heroism and the sacrifice of the people who tried to help the helpless. 

When I explained that there were new buildings being built here, she asked me, “Won’t someone just fly more airplanes into them?” 

And then I struggled to explain hope.  For without hope, there can be nothing else.

Day 1 NYC

Our first morning in New York City started earlier than most.  I find with the jet lag you might as well rock with it and get started.  No sense trying to hang about in bed when there is a whole city just waiting for you.

We had to go from midtown all the way down to Tribeca for breakfast.  I know, I know, this sounds like lunacy.  Well, yes, it is.  But it is also the place you go for the best meal in town at just about anytime of the day. 

I first discovered Balthazar's way back in 1998.  My friend, Kerry, and I decided to stop off in New York for a long 4 day weekend before I went on to Denver for my sister's baby shower and she went on to Florida for, well, whatever you do in Florida.  Besides, it was my 35th birthday and where else do wild and crazy single girls go to let their hair down and celebrate? 

My birthday dinner started off by us being seated in a corner table right next to the windows with members of the Kennedy family sitting to our left and Cher across the room.  Steven Spielberg was also in the house but he didn't have as good as a table as we did.  I ran into Madonna when I went to use the loo.  But most importantly, and this is an important point, this place introduced me to a life long passion for white burgundy.  I think Kerry and I drank the place dry.

This morning the children were promised the breakfast of a lifetime and no one was disappointed.

The youngens ordered waffles with berries and maple syrup. The husband had a ham and cheese croissant and I had Eggs Florentine made with spinach and artichoke.  Given that it was our first morning of the holiday we decided to start as we meant to go on and ordered a couple mimosas to set the tone for the remainder of the day.

The fly in the ointment was we didn't seem to get our mimosas with our breakfast.  About halfway through I started looking round for my drink and the owner of the restaurant caught my eye.  He rushed over and asked if he could help.  I explained our wee little problem and he immediately delivered the 2 most perfect mimosas ever made,  Even more perfect as he decided they would be on the house.  Now I ask you, could this day get any better?

Suitably carb loaded, we headed further downtown.  A leisurely walk across one of the most under appreciated parks in the city, Battery Park, we headed for the ferry port to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. 

As we rounded a corner, there she stood, so majestic, regal, composed, elegant, and unwavering in the promise she has made to hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of immigrants since 4 July 1876.  Abigail was so excited she was shaking and jumping up and down.  She couldn't speak except to say almost in a whisper, "There she is, Mummy."  I thought, I wonder how many other small children have hung on to their mothers hand with that excitement running through their bodies and said those exact same words.

The queue looked worse than it was although the sun was beating down and we had been warned that it might rain.  There was no sign of rain.  Nor was there any sign of our sunblock.  At the price of the tickets ($18 adult, $12/child), I had hoped they would throw in the sunblock.  But no.  Luckily, the ferry came equipped with just about everything a person could need, including sunblock.

We took up prime position on the bow of the boat and doing our best Titanic impression took endless photos and video.  With all four of us running various devices I reckon there was no angle of Lady Liberty that we didn't capture.  Trust me though, she looks great as a result of exceptional lighting and that bone structure, I say!

The park rangers were running a scavenger hunt which the children participated in and even got a badge to prove it.  We grabbed a cool drink and the requisite souvenirs (T-shirts, mugs, key rings, hats, etc) and headed for the ferry to Ellis Island.

I'd been to Ellis Island the first time I was here and was so impressed with the quality of the museum I could hardly wait to share my enthusiasm with the children.  They were struggling with it.  But we persevered.  I was less impressed with the museum this time.  It seemed difficult to navigate and was not clearly marked.  But standing in the Registry Hall, we all shared a moment.

I asked Sebastian if he could imagine the people that made a decision like those immigrants did; a decision to come to a foreign land with nothing but what they could carry in a trunk, speaking only a foreign language and having very little money.  Never knowing if they would ever see their families again, if they would die on the journey.  He said they must have been brave.  I recalled the words of the Star Bangled Banner:"...home of the brave..." and thought, yep, they must have been.

This was a unique opportunity to teach my English/American children about the history of the United States of America.  Let's face it, they don't learn much of it in the English educational system, not that I'm complaining.  There's a lot of history to learn and America teaches very little English history.

Once we got our feet back on Manhattan we headed for some lunch and picked Adrienne's Pizzabar on the pedestrianised Stone Street.  You gotta try this place, if you haven't before.  Wow, Amazing pizza!

We then headed to Wall Street.  I was thrown for a loop when Sebastian asked me to explain what purpose of the stock exchange.  I mumbled something about gambling and carried on walking.  It was a wholly inadequate answer but I'm not sure I have a better one.

Next, we headed to the 9/11 Memorial.  I knew this was going to be tough.......

The Big Apple Returns

This used to be my favourite city.

 Marc and I spent a good deal of time here BC (before children) and loved every minute of it. We were travelling for business, on expense accounts with buckets of disposable income. We were young(er) with no real responsibilities or cares. We played in the city until the wee hours of the morning and suffered few regrets. And then children, marriage, mortgages, school fees, and all the associated pressures seemed to shift into the top priority slots. Frivolous holidays in New York? Who can afford that? Besides, what could the children possibly find entertaining in a city full of the most expensive hotels and restaurants ot to mention the top notch bars and nightclubs?

Ok, so I wasn't fully committed to finding the answers to those questions. Until now. And let me tell you, I have now found answeres galore.

So, where did I start with the planning for this holiday? Simple: I started with them. A simple question such as "What would you like to see, eat, do, and learn when we go to NYC?" was more than adequate to get this party started.

Abigail's answer was simple: The Statue of Liberty. She then elaborated by informing us that she thought someone would discover her on the streets of NYC and ask her to do modelling. I smiled. Funny, I used to think that myself......still do in my dreams. Sebastian's answer was a little more complex (of course, it is). Seb wanted to know why NYC was significant in the history of the USA and why it remains the most vibrant city in the world. Oh God, this was going to require some research.

Or maybe not...... I decided to let the city speak for itself.

We arrived Sunday night and the first thing Sebastian said after the taxi dropped us off in mind numbing heat and humidity was that he thought the city stank. Yep, there is a stench about it this time of year. Or most times of the year.

After a refreshing shower we headed out the front door of our hotel, crossed Central Park South into, you guessed it, Central Park and walked towards Columbus Circle. We saw some super fit black men doing a break dance/acrobatic performance. It was set to get dance tunes and the children loved watching it although Abigail did seem to find more than a little amused by the comment that seeing a black man running in Manhattan without a police officer chasing him was very unusual. Abigail caught a Chinese woman apparently hypnotising a Chinese man whilst sitting on a park bench. We caught a cab and directed him uptown. Way uptown. To Harlem.

Many of you might be thinking at this point, I done gone and lost my mind. Nope, I was hungry and there ain't no place better to fix an aching, empty belly than Harlem. Me was going to get me some soooooouuuuuul food.

The yellow cab drove us all the way up to 110th and barely stopped to collect his fare and kick us to the curb. We walked into the restaurant and was told to sit ourselves down just anywhere we liked, as long as someone else wasn't sitting there. Well, that's simple enough.

Their homemade lemonade was declareded by the children to be the best lemonade in the entire world and children have drank a lot of lemonade. We ordered ribs, fried chicken, cornbread,cornbread stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and green beans. Abigail went for the catfish fish fingers. And chips. We can bring a girl all the way to NYC from England and she orders fish and chips. What can I say?

We ate until we thought we would explode. Or the jet lag would leave us a lumps of lard huddled in the chairs. When it came time to ask for the bill, 2 slices of cake (1 chocolate, 1 red velvet) were delivered all packaged up for us to take home with us. Gratis. Free. Complimentary. No charge. They had such a great time listening to us and were so charmed by the children's English accents and manners they gave them cake. Get them! The children were so pleased with themselves, they wouldn't go to sleep. Abigail thought this might be better than being discovered as a star in the making.

We finally collapsed into our beds, shattered from a long day our travel and the early excitement of a city just waiting to show us what it had to offer our new demographic despite the humidity. Maybe, NYC is still my favourite city.

EDITOR'S NOTE:  My iPad is to blame for the lousy state of this article when I first posted it.  It wouldn't let me do any formatting.  Sorry, if you had to read it like that.  I will do my best to do my duty to ensure future technology challenges are beaten down.  Into the ground!