After we’d showered and changed back into our regular clothes, we set off for High Line Park. We knew we’d need to get the A or C line to Penn Station. But finding a subway station that was open was challenging. We saw three entrances that were closed and a walked a few more blocks, thinking we could get a taxi. That proved more difficult than expected so we turned another corner and found an entrance that was open.

I’m pretty good at keeping my bearings in NYC. NosyNeighbour is not. We had to walk underground to get back to the spot where the entrance was closed. We boarded the first train that arrived, thinking that both trains would stop at Penn Station, given that it’s a major stop. The C train was an interesting ride. Two stops before we got off, five African American youths boarded, turned on a boom box really loud and started chanting: Look at him, you go bro.

It was happening behind us, and we didn’t want to look at first. Eventually the guy sitting in front of me was watching, so we turned around. ONe of the young guys was holding himself upside down on one of the vertical poles usually clutched by commuters. He was spinning himself around, quite talented. In the space of one stop, they completed their act and were quickly soliciting donations — a nickel, a dime, a kwahta, whatever ya got — with a hat in each hand. Then there were off, waiting for the next train.

Having a fairly decent sense of direction, I knew we’d have to head west to reach the start of the High Line Park. When we saw the sky again, we were just outside Madison Square Gardens, site of the Sens last game this year (boo-hoo). We continued fr a couple of blocks, then headed left. Before we started the climb up the stairs to the park, we stopped at one of the truck vendors for an ice cream cone. There was so many choices: flavours, sparkles, dipped or not. We both chose the twist, and thankfully it wasn’t as big as the one at Costco!

We walked upstairs and sat on a bench to finish our cones, listening in to the conversation of three 20-somehtings beside us:

“… street art is different than graffiti art … a graffiti artist wants the freedom to express and can’t be told to paint a particular wall … what’s the difference between post modernism and neo …”

The two guys went back and forth while the girl tried eating her ice cream cone before it melted.

High Line Park is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The closest would be the old railway beds that were converted into the TransCanada trail. The plants attracted loads of butterflies, and I spent the first 15 minutes stopping to take pictures of them. It’s not the route to take if you’re in a arush, given that old people with walkers and mothers with strollers share the path with couples going for a romantic stroll.

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Once we’d walked the length, we shifted over to Hudson and headed south back to the hotel. We discovered large open cobble stone squares that had chairs and patio umbrellas scattered around for anyone to use. We sat in the shade for a minute to rest my weary feet. Then I persevered knowing that the blisters would break and turn to calluses.