A trip to the city that never sleeps
The first and last time I visited New York
New York, September 2000 (age 21)
Halfway into the Saturday night performance of Les Mis at the Broadway Theatre in New York, I suddenly feel hot and queasy.
I turn to my mum and sister, who are sitting next to me. ‘I’m not feeling well,’ I whisper.
‘Shh.’ Mum points to the stage.
‘This is rubbish.’ Sarah gives me a look of disgust. ‘I can’t believe you’ve made me watch this.’
I take a deep breath and fan my face with the programme, trying but failing to cool myself down. I can feel beads of sweat on my forehead, then comes the dizziness and, just as the cast are launching into another song, I have an overwhelming urge to vomit.
‘I’m going to get some air.’ I’m on my feet, squeezing past the people in my row. ‘Sorry, so sorry.’
Out in the lobby, it’s brighter and cooler. I take some more deep breaths and glance around, desperately searching for a toilet.
‘Can I help you?’ A guy carrying a dustpan and brush walks towards me dressed in his theatre uniform.
‘Where are the restrooms?’ I ask.
He points his brush at the doors into the theatre. ‘Back in there.’
‘Is there one closer? I’m not well.’
He shakes his head. ‘No, sorry.’
When I don’t move, he continues talking. ‘In there, walk to the back of the theatre and they’re on the other side of the building.’
‘I’ll not make it...’ I bend over, holding my stomach with the pain. The nausea is like a rising tide.
‘Are you okay?’ he says.
‘No…I’m going to be sick.’ And the words are no sooner out than I’m vomiting all over myself and the beautiful theatre.
‘Lady! No!’ The guy drops his dustpan and brush, takes a key from his pocket, and unlocks a toilet cubicle that has been next to us all along. He opens the door and shoves me inside.
I am appalled at what’s happening but unable to stop. The sick just keeps on coming. I go from being ridiculously hot to being so cold I can’t stop shaking.
In the theatre, the cast are singing ‘Do You Hear the People Sing?’ and then there’s huge applause. The show is over. Not only have I missed it, but I’m so unwell, I’m not sure I can leave the safety of the cubicle.
Thankfully, I’ve stopped vomiting, so I crouch next to the door, trying to muster the energy to move. The sound of footsteps as people leave is loud, and then it goes eerily quiet. If I don’t make a move, I could be locked in all night.
There’s a knock on the door. ‘Lady, are you alright in there? Do you want me to call 911?’
‘No, no. I’ll be out in a second.’ I splash some cold water on my face, take off my cardigan, which is covered in vomit, and rinse it out. Then I do my best to clean up the toilet before opening the door and stepping out.
The place appears to be deserted; there’s no sign of my mum and sister, just the guy from earlier.
‘Sorry,’ I say, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. I rush out onto the street, expecting Mum and Sarah to be waiting for me. I glance up and down, trying to find them.
‘Hey lady, put a sweater on,’ a man calls out.
I scowl at him, hold my sick-covered cardigan to my chest, and walk away, the aroma of vomit trailing behind me.
I am not good with directions, but I make my way down Broadway to Times Square and find our hotel without taking any wrong turns.
Mum and Sarah are waiting outside. Mum looks frantic, Sarah just bored. ‘Where have you been?’ Mum rushes up to me.
‘At the theatre,’ I say. ‘I’ve been sick all over Broadway.’
‘What do you mean?’ She looks me up and down, her face changing from worry to horror as she notices the state I am in.
The pain comes again, and I grab my stomach. ‘I’m not well. Food poisoning.’
‘It must have been the burger you had earlier,’ Mum says.
‘We all had a burger,’ I say.
‘Ours was well done, yours was still alive.’ She links her arm through mine. ‘Will you be okay to get the train back tomorrow? Do you need a doctor?’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I say, not sure I’ll be up to travelling anywhere.
‘I thought I’d lost you,’ Mum says. ‘Imagine losing a daughter in New York. What kind of mother does that?’
We head to our room, where I change out of my clothes and shower, before lying down to rest.
Mum gives me a glass of water, which just makes me sick again. ‘This is horrible,’ I wail.
‘So was the show,’ Sarah says. ‘It went on and on.’
For the rest of the night, the pain in my stomach is so intense, I struggle to sleep but, by morning, it eases. Although I am weak, I am determined to manage the journey back to my auntie’s house in Boston.
As the train pulls out of Penn Station, I can’t help but feel disappointed that our big trip to The Big Apple ended with me being ill. It was supposed to be a special holiday for Mum’s fiftieth birthday, Sarah’s eighteenth birthday, and my twenty-first. It’s been amazing, but I know I will remember it for all the wrong reasons—mainly the pain, the embarrassment and making a spectacular show of myself on Broadway.
In the 24 years since our eventful trip to New York, my mum and sister have both returned. Mum visited a few years later for my cousin’s graduation and Sarah visits as often as she can. She fell in love with the city, so much that it’s become part of her DNA.
I was so traumatised by my behaviour on Broadway that I’ve not even thought about another visit. It wasn’t until last summer, when Sarah and my brother-in-law took my niece, Olivia, for her first trip, that I felt the pull of New York City.
Every day they would send photos of the sights. Each picture brought back memories of my brief visit all those years ago.
I remember my sister and mum marching me around every shop in the city. When I said I’d like to see a press photography exhibition, Sarah gave me the familiar look of disgust. She followed me into the gallery, but rushed me out, saying, ‘we are here to shop!’.
She bought a suitcase downtown, and I dragged it uptown, filled with all her new purchases. At the time, I remember thinking that one day I would come back with someone who liked similar things to me, someone who didn’t insist on spending every waking moment in a clothes store, someone who was not my sister.
Seeing the photos, I decided I would like to go with my husband and that ‘one day’ might be soon. But life got busy. Before I knew it, it was Christmas, and I’d hardly taken any time off work. I forgot all about New York until last week, when Olivia returned, this time with her dad.
She took some fantastic pictures and again, all my memories resurfaced. For the first time in 24 years, I really wanted to be in Manhattan, experiencing it for myself, not through my family’s photos.
I texted my sister. ‘Where do you stay when you go to New York?’
Within a second, she was on the phone.
‘You’re going to New York?’ I could hear the excitement in her voice, and hoped she didn’t want to squeeze in another trip with me. I couldn’t bear all that shopping.
‘Maybe,’ I said, keeping all the excitement from my voice.
‘When?’
‘Not sure.’
‘We’re going again. Olivia loves it. She’s caught the bug.’
‘Do you remember our first visit?’ I asked.
‘How could I forget?’
We talked for ages about all the things we did: the shopping centre under the World Trade Centre, shopping at Century 21, shopping at Macy’s and Bloomingdale's, visiting the Empire State Building, Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, seeing Saturday Night Fever, taking a horse and carriage around Central Park, bumping into Ricky Martin in Times Square. It’s like we were there only yesterday.
Les Mis and the food poisoning incident didn’t even get a mention.
‘Did we do Fifth Avenue?’ Sarah said.
‘What’s on Fifth Avenue?’
‘The posh shops.’
‘We wouldn’t have done the posh shops. We were students.’ My student budget wouldn’t have stretched to posh shops. I wouldn’t do the posh shops now. Only bookshops.
‘We walked past them,’ Sarah said. ‘Window shopping.’
I laughed. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘I remember buying a lovely top in Macy’s,’ she said.
‘I remember the hotel breakfast buffet,’ I said. ‘It was delicious.’
By the time we said goodbye, I was more excited than ever to book a trip.
New York City is calling.
I've been just once, and did very little in the main city as I was staying with family in Brooklyn and it was also super hot. However, 2 great suggestions from my local cousin: the High Line walk, which is a park/ trail on a disused elevated railway with lots of plants and art (https://www.thehighline.org/#), and a boat tour. The boat tour is easy and cheap and gives good views of the city and of Ellis Island.