Every time I travel hungover, I tell myself I'll never drink again. Sunday was no different. I planned on leaving my going away party on Saturday evening by midnight, but that went straight to hell when the host noticed I wasn't doing any shots and went to lengths to rectify that. By the end of my night, closer to 2:00 than 12:00, I had puked in three different zip codes and ended up spending even more throwing up into a trash can near by bed.
My plane was scheduled to leave at 10:00, which meant I needed to be up at 8:00, and when my alarm went off I was still hammered. Luckily I packed the day before, so I grabbed a soda and headed out the door with my parents and girlfriend.
The plane ride up wasn't too bad - I sipped club soda and slept off the rest of my drunk, grateful for the ibuprofen my girlfriend packed me when I wasn't looking. I landed in JFK on time and began the long journey into Manhattan.
This may be how your move to New York starts. If you're smart, you'll have drank more responsibly than I, and you'll have opted not to lug 70 pounds of luggage without wheels. But JFK is where most major American airlines go through. If you've never been, JFK is a great airport because each terminal is independent from the others, and there's a train service, named TRAIN, that runs between each of them and ends up either at the Jamaica station for the Long Island Rail Road, or the Howard Beach subway station. I planned on taking the LIRR into Penn Station to get to Manhattan, because the Howard Beach subway option takes about three times as long to get to the same place.
The problem is the TRAIN train that goes to Jamaica doesn't go to Howard Beach, and in my less than effervescent state I stumbled onto the Howard Beach TRAIN. I realized something was wrong when I was five miles out of JFK, so I had to get off at the stop before Howard Beach, turn around, and find a mini-station where both TRAIN trains ran.
I eventually made it to Jamaica station, paid my $5 to get through the turnstiles (the TRAIN costs $5 to ride - they just charge you at the end rather than the beginning), helped some Indian dude buy LIRR tickets, and cursed myself for the first time for bringing so much goddamn luggage onto a train. I had a military-style duffle bag, a travel bag, and a huge laptop bag slung over me, and the turnstiles that bar your entry to the station weren't really designed for someone carrying that much. So I had to manipulate myself like I was walking through a jungle gym with an extra 100 pounds to deal with.
Getting onto the LIRR train wasn't much better, but at least the cars are designed to accommodate people with luggage. I could sling my duffle bag up on a luggage rack and only have to deal with my laptop and travel bag for the 30-minute ride. This was the last part of my day I'd consider pleasant.
Once I got into Penn, I had to walk over to another train, which was about a quarter mile underground from where the LIRR stopped. From there I'd change to the shuttle at 42nd street to get over to Grand Central, and then jump on the 6 train to get to my hotel. This was hellish. Absolutely hellish.
The New York subway system is my second favorite mass transit system in the States. (Washington DC's gets the edge, just because they have LED signs in the stations to announce delays.) It's fast, clean, and cheap. But they're in no way designed for a dipshit with his life on his back, trying to squeeze through rapidly closing doors and not pin someone against a wall when he forgets which bag is slung over which shoulder. The stairs are just the perfect height to make each step a mini-squat exercise. And since the different trains' tracks tend to be at least a hundred yards and couple stairways away from each other, I probably walked a mile underground, just to change trains.
The underground stations are also hot. It was 70 here today, and the stations were probably all in the 90s. I had a light wool jacket on, in addition to shlepping all my crap around. By the time I was waiting for the 6 train, I was dripping with hangover sweat.
Moral of the story: Once you're in Manhattan, take a cab if you've got a lot of stuff.
However, now that I'm here, I'm just a ball of excitement. I'm still nursing the hangover, but I've already made some plans for tomorrow and eaten Italian food. I've even gotten a dose of multiculturalism. In the restaurant, the people eating to my right were British, and to my left were two beautiful French women.
This is awesome.
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