#I’m flying to Iceland on Saturday which is like 6 hours and then London on Monday which is like three hours and I’ve never been

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Anyone have any tips for long flights?? Comfort, anxiety, literally any tips/tricks would be much appreciated

[distraxion]

That time I went to New York

Day 1 A beautiful, crisp summer’s morning greeted us as we left for Manchester Airport. So far everything seems to be going ok, despite the following teething problems: My flatmate’s OCD about electricity plugs and water taps. My insistence on getting the best possible exchange rate, despite the psychological cost of visiting 12 different bureaux de change. Our travel companions being an hour late to meet us. Annoying railway staff. Ticket machines that didn’t work. Super cheap and super bad coffee. My failure to remember I had a bike pump in my rucksack, which set off the security alarm. I am now relaxing in Cafe Ritazza, with better coffee and feeling very relaxed about flying. Almost like I don’t have a problem. They gave me a window seat at the back of the plane. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. If you live near Manchester Airport and you hear a high pitched scream around lunchtime... Reykjavik here we come!

Day 2

Sometimes feeling good is good enough. I’m writing at the end of what fees like a very long day. Reykjavik is a great place to be. It’s not somewhere that leaps out at you, like maybe London or Tokyo. In fact, our first explorations of the city left me feeling at least a little disappointed. It’s very expensive (£6-8 for a beer...). Everything closes early in the week. And you need transport to get around. But it’s quietly brilliant. There are parks and paths and places to cycle absolutely everywhere. All the cafes have books to read, friendly chatter and space to relax. The food is some of the best I’ve tasted. Everyone is sincerely polite and speaks great English. The air feels fresh and clean. And the surrounding landscapes are breathtaking. I have to say my favourite thing, though, are the thermal baths. The simple pleasure of swimming, playing and relaxing in geothermal-heated, open-air pools is not one that is easily forgotten. Thank you Iceland for helping me remember the simple things. Tomorrow we set out for New York...

Day 3 Just been for a quick run around Laugardalur valley, and just about to throw some breakfast down before we check out of the hotel and head to The Blue Lagoon for some more thermal pool action. From there, we will head to the airport for the next leg of our journey...New York. Not much I can say about New York that hasn’t already been said, written, filmed, sketched or sung about. Everything about the place seems to have been exquisitely documented at length: Its name changes, occupation by the British, acceptance of immigrants, economic boom (and bust) etc etc etc. It’s a metropolis - it is, in fact, the place that the film Metropolis was based upon. It’s the most populous place in the world, it’s the centre of the universe for so many things...my head is spinning just thinking about it. I’ve spoken to lots of people about their experiences of New York. Their praise of the place is almost universal. It’s rare that you can speak to a dozen people and no-one has anything bad to say about the place. Almost makes one suspicious...

Day 4 Friday morning, somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. The sun is shining. The day is full of potential. With the exception of a death-defying taxi ride from JFK, everything in New York has been plain sailing. Yet it all feels a little dreamlike. I think I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it’s all real. Each street feels like it’s been teleported straight from a film or TV show; new and yet eerily familiar. The names trip off the tongue like a pop cultural roll call: Madison Avenue, Lexington Avenue, 42nd Street, Broadway, Park Avenue. Everywhere I walk I’m bowled over by the sheer scale and weight of things to see and to do. In New York it seems everything is to be eaten, worn or photographed...

Day 5 I always thought Hell's Kitchen was a fantastic name for a place. And now I'm here, I can report it's anything but hellish (status of evil kitchen as yet unknown). So, another day in the USA. Saturday mornings in New York seem to have a much more relaxed vibe. When the weather is good they lend themselves to casual ambling and gawking. I have been taking full advantage. The first stop was 28th Street, to watch some football and meet the New York Whites, a Leeds United supporters club. All six of them. Next a walk through the Flower District. I thought this was just a random name given to the area, but no, it really is the flower district. Everywhere you look huge displays of colour line the sidewalks and fill up the shop windows. After a further bit of perambulation, I made it to the flea market in Hell's Kitchen. There are some real characters here and the whole thing is pretty good fun, except that I was hoping for more vintage men's clothing. Nothing says style like a crappy, old American T-Shirt. This afternoon I've signed up to do a tour of filming locations for The Sopranos in New York and New Jersey (or Noo Joyseee depending on who you ask). And this evening...well I do have a list of The Guardian's Ten Favourite bars to visit whilst in New York. Be rude not to... 

Day 6 WARNING...OVERLOAD...WARNING...OVERLOAD. I'm not sure I can cope with it all. I need a holiday from my holiday. The Sopranos tour was (mostly) excellent, ending up at The Bada Bing to watch some 'erotic' dancing. We even met one of the cast (Vito), although the shine was taken off with the fact he was hawking books and photos out of the back of his car. No shame that man. Went to a load of bars last night and feel much worse for it today. My favourites were a Chinese Karaoke bar called Winnie's and a Lower East Side bar called Beauty and Essex. I'm heading out now to conquer Central Park, and several of the Museums. At some point this headache will ease up. I hope...

Day 7 Another early start, partly due to a confused body clock, partly due to the fact that we have to check out of the hotel. Our last day in New York, and probably the longest day of all in terms of travelling/lack of sleep etc.  Still so many things left to do. I think next time two weeks might be a more adequate timeframe to fit everything into... Central Park lived up to expectations. A real oasis in all the New York craziness. And that’s just the park itself. The Dakota Building, Strawberry Fields, The Museum of Natural History, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Central Park Zoo, three different sculptures (Balto, Alice in Wonderland and the Obelisk), the Reservoir, the Pond, The Pulitzer Fountain, Ai Weiwei's “Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads”, FAO Schwartz... I managed to get round all of these and still miss about twenty other things in the process. Oh, and I had a trip to Roosevelt Island on the cable car, for some unique views of the city and East River. Last night we had a meal on the Lower East Side and I took a walk down St. Mark’s Place. It seems to be a really cool area for bars, live music and shopping. I even managed to find a secret bar called Please Don’t Tell, hidden in a Hot Dog eatery, and only accessible via a phone booth. You have to pick up the phone, dial a number, then a secret door opens and someone lets you in. Class. Today I’ve got to make some decisions about how best to use the remaining time. I’m interested in going on the Staten Island Ferry, and having a look at the White Horse Tavern/Chelsea Hotel, where Dylan Thomas drank and indeed breathed his last. Later I hope to scoot around the Museum of Modern Art, and possibly get in a few farewell drinks at a bar above Grand Central Station.

Day 8 Ah, England, home of the grey sky and the ignorant fuck. I'm just kidding with you. It actually felt really good to touch down on home soil and experience a more familiar pace of life. Manchester feels deserted by comparison with New York. By the time I got to bed, accepting time differences and whatnot, it had been 29 hours since I left the last one on Lexington Avenue. I'm still trying to piece together everything I managed to see during that time. Sleep deprivation affects the parietal lobes as well as the memory. Experiences and the order they came in are confused. I remember...The World Trade Center, Greenwich Village, Dylan Thomas, The Chelsea Hotel...2001: A Space Odyssey...Madison Square Gardens...Museum of Sex...Broadway...MoMA...Andy Warhol...Wassily Kandinsky...The Campbell Apartment...zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Postscript: Zhuangzi dreamed he was a butterfly Back to Earth with a bump. Today I did the zombie walk to work and spent quite a lot of it staring off into space. Coming to terms with it all. So much fun, so much freedom, now very much a fading memory. Trying to make up my mind whether the holiday was a dream and this is harsh reality, or this is a dream and any minute now I’ll wake...up...back...in Crazytown?