NY Day 6 - Planes, trains, big yellow taxis, cafés and even more music

The last day of any holiday is inevitably about travel and people often say the worst part is the time killing that needs to be done between checking out of your hotel and going to the airport. I don't mind that bit. It represents a slowing down, taking stock and remembering. 

Luckily, we were in a great hotel and so were able to leave our bags and mop up the last few things we hadn't seen. 

We hopped on the subway to Grand Central Station. If you ask me what my favourite part of New York is I might say the subway. It's full of characters and life and it's a bit dirty and unloved but the mosaics hint at a hidden beauty. Grand Cental Station is so beautiful. I wonder if Liverpool Street looks that breathtaking to visitors. The whispering gallery is fun too, although it made the LSH sound like an announcer on the subway. We took a trying-not-to-look-tired-selfie.

From there we went to the UN building, the flat in Breakfast at Tiffany's, which is for sale, sat in a park (central reservation  to us) and listened to opera, sirens and traffic noise. We had lunch at Serendipity - wonderful Tiffany lamps to look at and trendy burgers and frozen hot chocolate to sup.

New York taxis are brilliant too. The rumour that drivers don't speak English very well seems to be true but they all smelt much better than fiction would have you believe and boy, can they nip into gaps that most of us wouldn't consider. Our driver, on the way back to the airport didn't look anything like his licence photo, as he was at least 30 years older than the person pictured. The LSH was a little worried by this, as he also noted that the photo ID was renewed on a yearly basis. I think that maybe being a New York cab driver ages you very quickly.

I don't even mind planes. I like sitting at the airport and watching them take off and land. I don't mind standing in queues to shuffle, barefoot past aggressive security guards, rolling their eyes at novices who ask, pointing at their sandals, "Are these shoes?" (This wasn't us) or don't put their hands above their head in the x-Ray scanner (not us either) When we got to the airport the lady explained that we didn't have the seats we'd carefully chosen and she would be printing us new boarding cards. We'd been moved to club class, which isn't the seats where you can lie down but seats with enough legroom so that you can actually get into a brace position if you were going to crash, proper cutlery glasses and slightly better food.

The only thing I really object to is the swollen ankles.