Manhattan in Manhattan – David Bullard
I’m told the best way to fly to New York is via either Shannon or Dublin airports in Ireland as US immigration procedures are all completed before your flight leaves and you thus avoid the horrendous queues on arrival. It’s worth considering.
My first visit to the Big Apple was years before 9/11 and its resultant paranoia but even then the queues were long and the immigration staff gruff and unwelcoming. Americans that everyone else in the world wants to live in their country. So you can protest until you’re blue in the face that you’re only there on holiday or visiting relatives but they won’t believe you. They’ll keep questioning you until you finally crack and admit that you eventually want to become an American citizen but maybe not during this particular visit. Then, with a bit of luck, they’ll let you through to meet your luggage. But only after you’ve signed a form that asks you if you have ever been associated with any terror organisations hostile to the US. Obviously it’s a good idea to write NO in the box and hope they believe you.
All this officialdom is exhausting enough but so is geting into Manhattan. Public transport with suitcases is a terrible idea in any city but it’s a really bad idea in New York. If you’re staying in a top hotel they might send a stretch limo for you (and add it to your bill) but failing that you’ll need a cab and hope you find a driver who speaks some form of English. Don’t expect any help with putting your cases in what they call the trunk. And don’t expect an empty trunk either. That’s the place the driver leaves his tool kit, old magazines and discarded items of clothing. So you may need to wrestle your case into the remaining space while the driver sits calmly in the cab. Then you can sit back and enjoy the ride as the amount on the meter rises and you wonder whether you changed enough currency at the airport.
Everyone in New York expects a tip and you cannot carry your own luggage to avoid tipping. It’s a Federal offence. Spare change no longer works so you need a wad of low denomination dollar bills to press into the hands of flunkeys. If the tip isn’t deemed good enough you’re likely to have it flung back at you and experience a stream of abuse.
The sheer stress of wondering whether you’re carrying enough money to tip all the people who will open a door for you or serve you a Starbucks coffee should send you rushing to a good hotel bar for some peace and quiet. Americans may get a lot of things wrong (like unwinnable wars, debt and political correctness) but they definitely know how to fix a drink. Which is why I made straight for the Peacock Alley bar at the Waldorf Astoria hotel. It’s been refurbished now but back in 1987 you sat in the art deco lobby of the 5th Avenue entrance to the hotel next to Cole Porter’s piano and beautiful women bought large drinks and snacks. What to order? Well, a Manhattan obviously. A generous splash of bourbon, a lesser splash of red vermouth, a couple of shakes of angostura bitters in a chunky glass with ice and maraschino soaked cherries. Pure New York. Now that is worth a generous tip.
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Posted by WhiskyMag
on Feb 1 2012. Filed under Bullard's Dram.
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