New York City

This is my second visit to New York. Last time, I was 14 and on a dance trip. When Steve's NY friend (and my new friend) Jay asked me where I went on my last trip, all I could remember was Times Square and the Statue of Liberty -- where I performed on the brick at Ms Liberty's feet with my tap dance troupe and famously broke a solid metal tap clean in half.

In the 12 hours since then, despite most of them being spent asleep, more memories have started coming back. I remember my dorky friends and I doing a kick line in the middle of Broadway in Times Square, just to say we had danced on Broadway. I know that I skipped the top of the Empire State Building to go shopping in the lobby's Benetton store instead, and although I didn't buy anything at Bloomingdales, I was fascinated by the sheer scale of it. I also remember making friends with a 19 year-old racecar driver at our Jersey hotel and nearly giving my chaperone a heart attack when she found me watching television in his room.

This trip, 20 years later, might be a bit different, although there could be some echoes of the past. We plan to go back to the Statue of Liberty  this morning and to see a show tonight, and I'm already (again) more impressed with the men I saw here in 3 hours than in the last 3 years in Seattle. They seem impressed with me as well, unless their looks weren't "checking me out" as Steve observed, but staring in confusion and horror.

Unfortunately, after more than 12 hours of flying and dealing with other travel hassles yesterday, I didn't have much time or energy. We walked over to Hell's Kitchen in search of dinner, but Jay's first restaurant suggestion was packed, so we continued up the street until we found another Thai place that he could vouch for. I was too exhausted to take note of the name or exact location, so I can't write a proper review here. Steve and I both got "Duck Broth," a sort of rich, slightly sweet, duck pho. It was fantastic, and I would've eaten it for days if my stomach hadn't protested barely halfway through the bowl.

Afterward, we stopped at a bar called (I think) Bamboo 52, which was a decent enough place -- draft beers were only $6, which is actually not bad here -- but just not Steve's or my style. Jay's recommendations seemed too upscale, too trendy decor for us, so we only had one beverage, vowed to find our style of laid-back dive later in the trip, and turned in for the night.

On the walk back to our hotel through Times Square, I looked to the left and said, "I ate at that Sbarro." I specifically remember getting a slice at that that particular large Sbarro on that Broadway corner, not one of the myriad others in Manhattan. It's strange what sticks in the mind and what floats away.

I hope more than the duck broth will be memorable this time. I'm sure it will be.