It’s Friday. Let’s Go. (Detour #20)

We left New Jersey, got swallowed into the Lincoln Tunnel and were spit out into Manhattan. It was 5 o’clock on a Friday afternoon, the moment our New York adventure turned into a terror flick. People scurried five deep on the sidewalks, and more bodies spilled into the streets, a squirming mass of knees and elbows and leather bags threading between the fenders. Black Escalades and yellow taxis crawled through the humanity, honking–oh my God, the honking!–and we fought for position in the flow, squirting forward when the bodies parted, when a piece of pavement appeared, straining to hear the GPS’s calm voice telling us, “Turn left,” and “Turn right,” and then, in her happily amazed tone, “Your destination is on the right.”

Thank heavens for valet parking. This first thing we did after tumbling out of the car and handing over the keys was to grab each other for a family hug. We’d survived a Manhattan rush hour, not exactly a Bucket List item but definitely something to tack onto our memory bulletin board.

Manhattan is made to be seen on foot, which may be why it has so many parades. Even the Pillsbury Doughboy wants to stroll down 6th Street, although he does it the easy way by sucking in a big ole lungful of helium and letting his keepers do the walking. With the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade only a few days away, I couldn’t resist peeking at some of our New York photos. Most of these were taken by my husband, who is a far better photographer than I will ever be.

You go for Manhattan and get Italy as a bonus. What’s not to love?

Well, we obviously loved this Little Italy meal. Some people may take their pictures while the food’s still on the plate but by the time we thought of the camera these few empty cups and glasses were all we had left. I don’t remember the name of the restaurant but is it recommended? Hell yeah.

The Trinity Church tower, at the focal point of this high rent block, holds 23 bells according to Wikipedia, but now they’re much quieter than the car horns down below. Some of its high rise neighbors complained that the ringing of the bells was rattling their windows (apparently living at eye level with a bell tower has its challenges) and so the church built shutters inside the bell chamber’s windows to muffle the sound.

Unlike Trinity Church’s bells, the Stock Exchange’s closing bell is heard around the world.

Don’t mess with this guy. He’s watching over my mutual funds.

For some people, the lights of Times Square are the main event, a reason to stay out all night in The City That Never Sleeps. That nickname for Manhattan, by the way, isn’t true. Huffington Post reported last August that the average New Yorker sleeps 6 hours and 47 minutes each night, a few minutes more than the average for Los Angeles and Las Vegas. But never let the truth interfere with a good advertising slogan.

First stop–Little Italy. Second stop–The Hershey’s Store. The perfect day in Manhattan.

Peace.