The Twinkling City

It’s real, New York is real. After a butt-numbing yet nice flight spent in animated conversation with my neighbours, I crashed the house of some old friends. 24 hours of travel left me looking and feeling positively dead but that was easily fixed with a strong cup of tea, a good night’s sleep, and a hot shower. So I was feeling human again when I hopped on the train to New York City on Saturday.


I am a fortunate girl, because my friend from Finland is also in New York at the moment and she came to pick me up from the train station. We spent our afternoon drinking coffee, gawking at the skyscrapers, and giggling at the wonder of being in this small universe, immense city that is New York.
During the day, the streets are a river flowing with a mass of people that never stop moving. Walking down 7th avenue, Times Square, is like going on a ride at an amusement park. You are pulled along by the current of the city as skyscrapers shoot up all around to unfathomable heights in pure solid concrete, lathered in lights. It doesn’t make me feel small down on the ground; the world just feels big and exciting and full of places to explore.

I’ve decided that I like New York best at night, when it starts twinkling. A million stars light up in this metropolitan galaxy and you walk beside, above, and below their splendour.

My friend happens to be a tap dancer. She took me to a dance studio on Broadway and it was absolutely beautiful, like from a movie. All high ceilings and mirrored walls and elegant girls. One of those places with an inconspicuous, narrow doorway on the street that opens up into marvellous spaces on the inside. And, surprise of the century, all the dancers were impressed by my first time ever tapping… All I know is I had a great time hopping about the studio.
We grabbed a few dancers along to finish the night with some city wanderings along Broadway. A happy day.

Sunday I spent getting acquainted with suburbia and the great New York culinary experience. This household has just about the cutest Sunday morning tradition of fresh hot bagels for brunch from the shockingly pink corner diner. Utter carb-filled bliss. For dinner, the cheesiest pizza I have ever laid eyes on. Worth every greasy calorie. Finally, let’s not forget that New York is on the coast.

The beach was windy.




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