rickps | Vacation Day 9 - New York City

People should never drive into the New York Metropolitan area unless they have a strong disposition and the patience of a saint. Old roads that mimic a lunar landscape, drivers that cut and thrust their way through traffic like a surgeon on speed. Horns blare, people use hand signals I don't recall from drivers ed, I was never so happy to pull up in front of my B&B, the Chelsea Pines, on West 14th Street. And this is the city in which I learned to drive! Knowing that I'd never find parking, I parked in front of a hydrant near the hotel, flashers on, raced inside with my luggage, told them I'd be back and zipped back to the car just as a police officer was getting out her pen. I waved that the car was mine, she nodded, shrugged, and walked away. Phew! Another sigh of relief when I returned the rental car, fenders intact to the hole-in-the-wall Hertz lot on Morton Street.

As I settled into my small but perfectly fine hotel room, John/

placesintheheart and Chip/

bearfuz (woohoo, more LJers and fellow square dance cultists) arrived to take me to dinner. One thing I know about the three of us, we're never at a loss for something to chat about. And chat we did through dinner and onto the subway uptown to the theater district. John continued on home to finish packing for his departure the next day to Palm Springs. Chip gave me a quick tour of the theaters I'd be visiting and shared a bit of insider knowledge of the current Broadway scene. A quick hug and I was off to the first of three shows, Spamalot (reviewed separately).