Kerry-go-round! Exploring Southwest Ireland

My recent visit to sleepless New York made me long for a destinfation completely different. As if by magic, due came the getaway to Ireland I had been planning for about a month! The timing was simply perfect.

Also the location in Ireland could not have been better chosen: County Kerry. Situated in the southwest of the country, it has been praised repeatedly in Irish folk songs – for its slow pace of life, green pastures and traditional – if not bluntly rural – setting. In short, it wasn't exactly New York. Given my mixed feelings about America’s buzzing megalopolis, I welcomed that.

The plan was to spend the weekend in the town of Killarney, within easy reach of Kerry airport. The town is conveniently located for such famous tourism spots of Ireland as the Ring of Kerry, Dingle peninsula and the Gap of Dunloe. The Ring of Kerry is a famous circular trail in County Kerry. It stretches for some 180 km around the Iveragh peninsula and is one of Ireland’s major tourist attractions.

Having been unconditionally obsessed with Ireland in the past, I had visited the proud nation twice before. During my first visit, I travelled around for about a week, stopping in Dublin, Cork, Cobh, Blarney, Galway and the Cliffs of Moher. My second visit to Ireland was focused on Cork, Cobh and Blarney and Kinsale.

Unfortunately, I did not make it to Iveragh then. Or it was perhaps a blessing, as, given Ireland’s whimsical weather, I would have probably missed out on most views. The famous Cliffs of Moher, for example, appear on my photos more like a thick cluster of first-class fog in torrential rain than cliffs per se. And, as much as I loved the wonderful Galway, its first association in my mind will always be – you say, the Galway Cathedral? Nope – raincoats and more raincoats. I had not been particularly lucky with the weather during my first two visits to Ireland.

And I was giving Ireland a third chance. A third chance not to be missed!

First impressions

I rarely enjoy packing more than before a trip to Ireland. Firstly, the country shares the three-pin plug obsession with the UK, and I do not have to worry about converters. I can also forget about stocking up on food to last me through the "pay-for-your-food-yourself-please-sir" low-cost flight, as Ireland is not that far from England. Further, I can skip revising a foreign language, as the Irish commonly use English – albeit not in its most understandable form. What regards traffic, the Irish, too, stubbornly drive on the left. Going to Ireland from London is almost like taking a domestic flight!

The only thing I have to worry about is using a different currency: the euros replace the pounds. But even those two have almost become equivalent these days.

Kerry airport amazed me with its size. With barely two boarding gates, five check-in desks, a single luggage belt and a shared hall for departures and arrivals, it took me exactly one minute to march through. I briefly stopped to show my passport to a controller, who just about acknowledged the fact. With a sizeable Latvian minority casually hanging around Ireland these days, the Irish must be well used to our passports.

Kerry airport during the rush hour. I had my back pressed against the wall, too.

I had about an hour to spare at the airport before catching my bus to Killarney. The airport was not exactly the finest arena for entertainment, though. I first decided to check out some brochures about Ireland at the tiny information stand in the hall. The information stand had two choices of brochures. One was Algarve; the other Alicante. I basically gathered that a visitor to Ireland could do no better than promptly taking a flight elsewhere. Rather conveniently, the flight schedule was sitting right next to the glossy brochures, too.

I then decided to take some photos around the area. First came the Irish flag flying nearby, of which I took about a hundred photos. I then spotted a herd of cows grazing in the fields and snapped them, too. My third point of attraction was a lone raven dancing in the skies overhead. Finally I gave up and just sat down on the bench. Being in any sort of rush in Ireland did not seem to be an answer.

Killarney

At last in Killarney, I asked a man at the bus station for directions to my B&B. He promptly filled me in with detailed instructions, the most understandable of which by far was not to "talk to men with the horses, as they'll try to take money off ya". Intrigued, I further asked that respectable gentleman where North and South were, for my orientation with the printed Google map.

Shocked, he stared at me. "Did you really just ask me that, young lady? Don't you see where the sun is?" I looked above. There it was, shining up in the skies. I looked at my watch. It was noon. Sharp. Perhaps I really should spend less time on Facebook these days.

Having dropped my luggage at the cutest B&B ever, I returned to town. I fell in love with pretty little Killarney at first sight (view the full Flickr photoset here). If New York was largely an oversized version of everything else, then Killarney was the direct opposite: everything here was tiny. Little stalls, little shops, little doors and little signs. In short, absolutely irresistible.

I spent a good few hours taking photos around town – and about four hours more in Killarney National Park just a short walk from the centre. The town looked well cared for, and not too overcooked for tourists. The number of B&Bs was impressive, though. Killarney apparently boasts the largest number of hotel beds in the country, second only to Dublin. The hotels compete fiercely to survive and therefore all offer reasonable rates bundled with free wi-fi, hairdryers, full breakfast and complimentary coffee-making facilities. I didn’t complain.

Killarney's colourful facades

Feasting in Killarney National Park

Near St. Mary's Cathedral, Killarney

Now there's a risky character!

“USA! USA! USA!”

My plan for the evening was an absolute winner. The FIFA World Cup 2010 had finally kicked off, and England was playing the USA! There was no way I could miss that match – especially in Ireland, not the most neutral territory for either team.

The pubs in Killarney were a multitude, but most were pitch-dark like tombs and with room barely for a handful of people to breathe. I spent a while selecting the pub for the night – until I found Scotts. Located in a historic building facing a newly developed street, it had a large glass door and plenty of outside space. There was a big screen inside and England players were already lining up for the game. It was perfect. I had found THE Irish pub in Killarney and was ready to watch the football!

It had been a while since I last dared step into a pub on my own. I got myself a pint of cider (Bulmer's, of course) and wondered how a solo girl would feel watching football among so many loud inebriated males. I needn’t worry, however; the first problem was sorted in exactly 20 seconds. Perhaps helped by problem number two, I was spotted by a guy called Greg and offered a VIP seat next to his group of friends. The friends numbered about 20 and had all come down from Shannon for a stag night.

After a brief look around, I realised I was sitting next to the cutest guy in the pub (and possibly the whole of Killarney). Lucky me! Greg turned out a seriously cool conversationalist, too. I barely noticed the football as the two of us immersed in a deep discussion covering, in no particular order: (i) the geography of Ireland; (ii) William Butler Yeats's poetry; (iii) the symbolic meaning of the Irish flag; (iv) “Angela's Ashes”; (v) Irish mythological characters; (vi) Gaelic language; (vii) the Easter Rising of 1916; (viii) Catholics and Protestants in Ireland and (ix) the IRA.

Excited by my knowledge of Ireland – acquired during my flaming obsession for that country as a teenager and lovingly preserved to date – Greg hurriedly pointed a couple of friends whose relatives were apparently once members of the IRA. Unflustered by my confused look, he then confessed that his grandfather was in fact a member, too. Was that easy or what. In case anyone there is still after the IRA, make sure to dress up as a (pretty) girl and walk into the first pub on your way! I'd also recommend carrying a huge camera for a bit of diversion.

What more amazed me was that work didn’t appear once in our conversation. Not one question about what I was doing for life! When I meet new people in London, on the other hand, the “where do you work” often precedes the "what's your name". People are classified by what they do; what they are underneath the job title matters less, if at all. In Ireland, I was just a Latvian girl with a camera. My work, my education and other social stigma acquired over the years were suddenly less relevant. I loved the feeling.

"Excuse me, sir. Would you mind me taking a photo of your Guinness?"

My attention intermittently switched to the football match. I was not being particularly loyal to my country of residence – and could not have fitted in better with the Irish. England’s misses were welcomed with sighs of relief and whistling. The US goal though was greeted with utmost joy; the lads hugged, high-fived their nearest neighbour, ordered multiple rounds of drinks and loudly recited "USA!" The atmosphere was great. Coming to that pub to watch the game was the best idea of the month! With that in mind, I fell asleep that night. The Ring of Kerry was waiting.

Kerry-go-round!

My morning awakening could only be sweetened by, ahem, a pill – for headache, as last night's five pints of Bulmer's still reminded of themselves. I briefly checked my memory card for any off-licence photos. There was no evidence of irresponsible behaviour. What about my mobile phone? “I had a great time with you last night”, said one of the messages. “You’re a sound girl”. Sound, eh? The best compliment I have ever been given! I set off for the Ring of Kerry tour in an elevated mood.

Seven hours of the tour went by in a flash. We made several stops along the way: among others, Cahersiveen, Waterville, Sneem and two panoramic lookout spots, the Coomakista Pass and Moll’s Gap (view the full Flickr photoset here). My best memory was a shepherd's demonstration of the different breeds of sheep and trained shepherd dogs somewhere between Killarney and Cahersiveen. The dogs looked right experts at assembling, guiding and sub-grouping a flock of sheep. Impressive! I must be wasting time with my financial models in London. Why bother when I'll never master the professional excellence to match this respectable gentleman, a shepherd for many generations? Respect.

Sheep demonstration during the Ring of Kerry tour

That kind Canadian lady, Ring of Kerry tour

Sheep demonstration again

Waterville beach

Coomakista Pass, the Ring of Kerry

The weather in Ireland was as bad as a teenage girl – changing mood every 7 minutes or so. From rain to bright sunshine, from umbrellas to short sleeves, from low-hanging black clouds to spotless skies – Ireland just couldn't make up its mind. In the end, we all gave up and just nodded obediently to yet another whim of a spoilt little princess.

Our final incident was a "traffic jam" Kerry-style. The Ring of Kerry is known for its narrow roads, which make it difficult for two buses to pass when coming from opposite directions. Bus drivers are therefore instructed to move around the Ring of Kerry in a counter-clockwise fashion – while private cars often choose to go clockwise not to end up trailing behind buses. Just before we returned to Killarney, however, we faced not one but TWO buses moving towards us. About a dozen of cars were already caught up in front of us. Trying not to look left (where a steep slope smoothly led on to a lake), we eventually left both buses safely behind. They'll know better next time.

A "traffic jam" in County Kerry

An Chríoch ("The End")

It was time for me to return to London. My flight was around 10pm, but there were no buses to Kerry airport after 6pm. A taxi ride would have been expensive; arriving to Kerry early by bus with four hours to spare there seemed boring to tears. Luckily, a lady at my B&B recommended an alternative route: there was apparently an evening train to Farranfore, a mere 1.3 km walk from Kerry airport. A bit of research revealed that Farranfore station was in fact the ONLY railway station in Ireland which connected to an airport! If you can call that runway in the middle of a cow field an airport, of course.

Killarney Railway Station

The thought of walking 1.3 km to the airport with my bag amused me to bits. I don’t think I ever reached any airport on foot – but nothing could surprise me in Ireland anymore. When I got off at Farranfore station and walked on, I even noticed another traveller behind me, rolling a bag and obviously heading the same direction. I couldn’t have been totally crazy to walk. And it wasn’t raining, either!

By the time the boarding began, the skies had mostly cleared up. Before entering the plane, I glanced back. The sun was setting quietly behind me, lighting up the few remaining clouds with its soft pink glow. The ground, still wet from earlier showers, echoed the sunset colours. Gentle wind was stroking my hair and cheeks. The night was setting in.

Goodbye, Ireland. I will be back soon.

New York, NEW YORK! Oh, and DC.

Compared with my previous getaway (to Iceland), the preparations for the US trip went by surprisingly smoothly. The famous volcano gracefully held off erupting. The British Airways strike didn’t bother me, as I was flying Mr. Branson’s pride and glory, Virgin Atlantic. US visa requirements had been waived for Latvian citizens a couple of years ago – and all I needed to worry about was ESTA, a short online travel authorisation. Having submitted that, I was given a full go-ahead for the US.

The initial plan for my long-since-planned 6-day break was to visit New York. I must have been the only person in the world who hadn't visited this must-see of a place – and a real embarrassment for not making a single trip while studying in Washington, DC, for two months in 2004. That was in fact the last time I had visited the US.

Six days were nothing for a megalopolis of the NY calibre. After a bit of thinking, however, it seemed close to impossible to limit my visit to New York and not see the numerous friends who had ended up in DC over the years. Around 340 km apart, the two East coast cities were within tolerable reach, too.

Needless to say that I absolutely had to plan a visit to DC. Being a train freak, I decided to take the Amtrak train and allow two days in the US capital to catch up with buddies. For the rest of the time, New York would set the scene for my exploratory pursuits. I had taken note of a dozen telephone numbers for various US friends and was ready to go. I have to add here that I hadn't used a single day of my annual leave allowance since Christmas, and was absolutely yearning to get away for longer than a mere weekend. Let alone a business trip.

Let the journey begin!

As slow as the time was passing, the day of my departure did come. Excited beyond words, I showed up at London Heathrow airport – barely believing that I was finally heading somewhere OUTSIDE Europe. My excitement was however briefly dampened as Virgin Atlantic refused to check me in, reporting an ESTA problem. I had to feed a pound coin to one of Heathrow’s hungry internet terminals and resubmit my travel authorisation form online. Apparently, the two letters before my passport number identifying my citizenship ("LV" for Latvia) which I had forgotten in my first application were to blame. I solemnly promised to honour both the L and the V in the future. Sorry, Vaterland!

Bureaucratic obstacles hadn't finished at that, as I was searched twice before boarding the plane. The second search (just in front of the boarding gate) was particularly thorough. After having to taste my bottled Coke in front of the officer and demonstrate my lens-cleaning liquid in action (the presence of my camera helped), I was finally allowed onboard. My cross-Atlantic journey had begun!

The 7-hour flight went by almost spotlessly. I had applied my secret strategy the night before and skipped bedtime altogether – in an attempt to fall asleep instantly on the plane and reduce the jetlag upon arrival. It worked only partly though, as I was too tempted by the onboard entertainment to shut the systems off immediately. After the “I Love You Phillip Morris” movie, however, the tiredness took its toll. I woke up (almost) fresh in New York's JFK airport, waltzed through passport control (Heavens be praised for this hip visa-free regime), picked up my skinny luggage and jumped on a shuttle bus to the city. There is a public transport connection from JFK airport to central New York via subway – but, on my first visit, I paid about USD 25 for the more expensive door-to-door service. Just to be on the safe side. I silently swore to take the subway for my return trip.

First steps in New York

In Upper East Side’s East 85th St, I reunited with Irina. It had been seven years since we saw each other last – on a summer programme in Prague – and a lot of catching up was due. Chirping tirelessly, we walked (via Starbucks, of course) to Central Park, my first introduction to New York. I was decidedly impressed by the sheer size of the location and the number of joggers zooming by. I'm not a runner myself and generally do not understand how anyone could voluntarily pack themselves into a pair of shorts and sprint about happily. It seemed that jogging in New York's Central Park was part of the city's lifestyle though. Some people were even reading books while walking briskly; others rode bicycles and walked their dogs. It was an active little piece of greenery inside what looked to be a massive city – judging by the skyline view across the Reservoir.

New York's Central Park

After a quick drink at Central Park’s Boathouse Cafe (great location) with Irina, I rushed downtown to meet Maria for dinner. This was to be my second big reunion of the day, but this time "only" after six years. After some great Cantonese food at Phoenix Garden, we spent a while wandering around New York's Grand Central Station and the magnificent Times Square. I was absolutely silenced. New York was shining, stunning and inspiring! It was nearly 11pm, and it didn’t look like anyone was planning on sleep at all. The shops were open, yellow taxis were zipping past leaving the glow of their red backlight trails, tourists were crossing the streets in every direction – and massive adverts were waving, winking and making themselves seen to us in every possible way. Wow! I had not seen anything like this in my life – and decided to move to the city as soon as possible. With this thought in mind, I went to bed that night. London was no match to New York at all!

Grand Central Station

The bustling Times Square

Fifteen hours on foot in New York

My jetlag prevention strategy seemed to have worked, as I woke up at my usual hour – around 7am – the next morning. My stomach was rioting though. It was well into lunchtime in London, and I ran off to town to get some food. My plan was to try a different typical-ish US breakfast for every day of my stay. It was Thursday morning, and I started off with a mini salmon bagel from Agata & Valentina chain – and a latte from Starbucks. The latter coffee chain is generally my utmost pleasure in life. I am known for saying I would never move to a city which didn’t have a Starbucks. I am also known for rating Sofia (Bulgaria) higher than Belgrade (Serbia), only because the former had a Starbucks and the latter didn’t. Yes, my coffee standards are very low. May my Italian friends forgive me.

I could barely believe when I summed up my breakfast bill. It looked at least 20-30% more expensive than its London equivalent. New York was not shaping up to be a low-cost city break. What I as a European found additionally confusing was that prices in most places were quoted before tax. The rates in the US differ by state, which makes it sensible to headline them pre-tax. I never quite figured out, however, why some establishments (like supermarkets) still chose to quote their prices AFTER tax. In the end, I got entirely disorientated how much I actually owed to pay – and relied on the honesty of the establishment instead. Naïve, I know, but what can a European do.

My mission for that Thursday was to walk myself into oblivion and take as many outdoor photos of New York as physically possible. I had not really planned much other than spending some quality time with Nikie. For everybody’s benefit, Nikie is what I call my precious photo camera.

Compared to the overwhelming emotions of the previous night, daytime New York made a slightly different impression. That of a massive, noisy, battered and uncontrolled city bursting at the seams with life. The urban noise was simply impossible to get away from. The same yellow taxis were diving out of every direction, as were private cars, cyclists, skaters, tourists, bankers, buskers, beggars, traffic lights, neon signs, subway stations, pigeons, warnings not to feed the pigeons, Sex And The City 2 posters, “I ♥ NY” t-shirts, Chinese cornershops, hotdog stalls, bridges, ferries, Irish pubs, NYPD boys (and girls) – all melting together with growing intensity, like a snowball rolling downhill. I could hardly keep up with the activity around. The three-odd years of living in London did not seem to have prepared me for the New York experience in the least. This beast was something utterly new – and I was not sure I preferred it to my cosy old London.

I had a fantastic time hanging around the city and absorbing its steaming life, though. During the fifteen hours I spent on my feet, I covered a good chunk of central Manhattan. Having started with Greenwich village, West village, the World Trade Center site (aka Ground Zero), the financial district around Wall Street, Battery Park and South Street Seaport – I proceeded to the famous Brooklyn Bridge, walked across, spent some time observing New York’s skyline from Brooklyn – and walked all the way back to Manhattan along the Manhattan Bridge.

Brooklyn Bridge

9/11 Memorial tile

I then descended onto the rather impressive Chinatown – and, while admiring the food prices, decidedly below the surrounding areas – did not even register how I ended up in the so-called Little Italy. For a short while, I was surrounded by loud “ciao, bella’s”, sausage stalls imaginatively called “Godfather Sausage”, at least two “Benito” restaurants (naming your restaurant like that should be made illegal, if you ask me) and fridge magnets preaching the sort of “Not only am I perfect – I am Italian, too!” The abundance of clichés was fantastic! Too bad I never passed a truly Irish part of town – or Russian, for that matter. Or Jewish.

New York's Chinatown

New York’s ethnic mix was generally something unprecedented. I came across Jews, Irish, Afro-Americans, Puerto Ricans, Jamaicans, Chinese, Koreans, Greeks, Indians, Italians, Russians and Heaven knows which other nationalities – within a short walking strip. London was certainly very similar to this, with one difference. Somehow I have noticed a lot more Arabs in London than New York – with Edgware Road firmly in the front rows. Perhaps I simply wasn’t fortunate enough to come across a truly Arab area in New York. Or they had chosen to settle elsewhere in the US. Or they had just chosen to settle elsewhere.

By early evening, I could only confirm the presence of my two feet by bending down and touching them. While every next step seemed more difficult than the previous, my programme for the day wasn’t finished – and I headed off to the Empire State Building. After the destruction of World Trade Center towers on 9/11, the Empire State Building is once again the tallest construction in New York and was hopefully going to offer some breath-taking views.

After multiple security checks, I finally reached the top – only to be told that, due to adverse weather conditions, no-one was allowed to the open-air viewing platform. Wondering which “weather conditions” could cause such drastic measures, I glanced outside. The blackened skies all over New York were shivering in uncontrolled thunderstorm, criss-crossed with dramatic lightnings. Intensely scarlet sunset was fighting its way through an opened patch in the clouds. The end of the world never looked so near!

As scary as it looked at first, the apocalyptic scenery soon yielded to a more subsided rain and eventually cleared up. We were allowed to walk out. I spent over an hour at New York’s highest point, listening to love confessions of a teenage couple who had only met that night and were promising each other to stay “together always”, watching a Jewish father catching his youngest son’s kipa, blown away furiously by the wind, convincing a security guard that I wasn’t actually hitting on him (he wasn't even my type; what gave him THAT idea?!) – and taking endless pictures of the bustling city. Finally I understood what U2 meant in their 1988 “Angel of Harlem”: ‘New York like a Christmas tree, tonight this city belongs to me…’ New York was at my feet, shining, blinking, breathing – with a myriad of multicolour lights. A Christmas tree – I haven’t heard a better comparison to date!

View from the Empire State Building

View from the Empire State Building

At last my first full day in New York was over. I collapsed into a coma sleep – Washington, DC, was waiting for me the following day!

Off to Washington, DC

Inspired by the same U2 song, I started the next day with a walk via Central Park and Columbia University to the famous Harlem – New York’s utmost Afro-American residential and cultural area. I was too much of a chicken to venture out too deep, but spent a good hour around East 125th St. Overall, Harlem left a positive impression. The place must have gone a long way since being a hotspot of crime as recently as in the 1980s (Bill Clinton even has an office in Harlem these days). In the streets, people were generally talkative and easy-going; very few objected to being photographed. I was particularly impressed by the number of hair – yes, hair, not hair-dresser – shops everywhere, selling anything from hair care materials to wigs. As famously described by comedian Chris Rock, hair is rather an obsession among Afro-Americans, who spend hundreds of dollars trying to make theirs straighter and silkier.

All smiles in Harlem

Having left Harlem, I headed straight to New York’s Penn Station to take a train to Washington, DC. Rail travel in the US is not as popular as in Europe – but I could not miss an opportunity to take a train on the other side of the Atlantic. While I had paid around USD 50 for a ticket from NY to DC (a Chinese bus would apparently get me there for less than half of that), the price for a 340 km rail journey was still acceptable by European standards.

Penn Station turned out the direct opposite of Grand Central Station I had visited two days before – more of a rundown labyrinth of platform exits with ceilings hanging closely overhead, and massively overcrowded at that. I fled to meet a friend outside the nearby Madison Square Garden, and returned briskly to jump straight on the Amtrak train. The latter looked well kept and pleasantly old-fashioned. The 3.5 hour journey went by in a flash, and there I finally was – back in Washington, DC, after six long years! It was worth waiting for.

I headed to Bethesda to join my kind hosts, Sarah and Fred, for dinner. As much as I had wished to start exploring the forgotten streets of DC right away, I had absolutely no strength left even to think. Fifteen hours of uninterrupted walking in NY the day before were partly to blame, too. I shamelessly went to bed at 9pm, aiming for an early rise the following morning – and numerous rendezvous with friends duly scheduled throughout the day.

A reunion day in DC

Up at 6am, I set off for central DC. The city’s contrast with NY was nothing short of striking. Unlike NY’s subway, the DC’s metro was spacious, with even a kind of carpet covering the train floors. The automated door-closing message was amazingly polite (“Please step back, door’s closing”, followed by “Please step back to allow the doors to close”). Besides, unlike NY’s subway on weekends, DC’s metro was just empty, period. I felt like being in the countryside, not in the US capital – and could barely believe DC seemed so rushed and fast-paced to me – a green East European teenager – six years ago.

I first spent a few hours exploring DC’s federal sights. From the Capitol to Lincoln Memorial, from Georgetown to White House – everything seemed familiar and new at the same time. I walked over to Georgetown University's Village A, where, six years ago, I used to wake up, go to work and type my essays during the nights. A lot has changed since. I had greatly missed DC.

The Capitol

Washington Monument

Lincoln Memorial

I spent the rest of the day running from one coffee to another. It was difficult to believe that so many people from diametrical parts of my life somehow ended up in the same city! Many thanks to everyone who had time to meet me – with an extra thanks to those who kept me up to date with the Eurovision results. It was the first year I had missed the Song Contest in about 15 (read a related blog story here), but, God knows, I watched it in spirit. My absolute favourites of the night, Denmark, did not win (Germany did), but were inarguably the best and landed in the top 5. Accomplished, I called it a day. Goodnight, DC!

Final days in the US

After catching up with more friends at Union Station before my train, I had left DC (the full Flickr photoset for DC can be viewed here). New York welcomed me with the familiar rush of an oversized city; even more so courtesy of the long weekend. Pushing my luggage through a thickly packed subway, I was thinking about my friend Irina. Having badly fallen down the stairs in Central Park and hurt her foot, she had been staying at home motionless for a couple of days. I helped her to limp slowly to the nearest Starbucks. Irina did not have private insurance and was terrified by the cost of a medical examination. I initially found it odd – until the US medical care system was popularly explained to me. Apparently, most US residents have some sort of private insurance and are not willing to contribute to an all-inclusive public healthcare system. To add to this, most doctors have a frantic fear of being sued for this or that misdeed and barricade themselves with all kinds of insurance from all sides. All of the above makes medical services close to unaffordable for the general population. Needless to say that, after spending almost three years in the Nordic countries – famous for impeccable public healthcare – I struggled to understand the US system. I think no-one really does, anyway.

At that point, I was getting homesick for London and wished I could finally sleep in my own bed. I began noticing the less glamorous bits of New York, too. Take the rubbish in the streets. No, not necessarily scattered around, but neatly packed in massive American-style plastic bags and piled up on the pavement. Maria had told me before that special trucks would go around collecting those during the night. It must be difficult running a massive city New York is, with all its 20 million residents. Mr. Bloomberg clearly has an uneasy task on his hands.

Or take the other bits I noticed. A warning “Rat Poison” sign a few steps from the City Hall. Street drainage pipes opening onto subway rails – the humid smell seemed to be an inalienable park of New York’s underground network. Beggars hopping on and off the subway and telling the same compassion inducing stories. I was secretly ready to make a home run for London but had another day to spare in the craziest – and the most amazing – city on my memory.

It was lucky I had this extra time. After a one-hour boat tour of the harbour, where I had taken some shots of the city’s skyline and the Statue of Liberty, I positioned myself on Brooklyn Bridge in the hope of a scenic sunset. My hopes could not have been better fulfilled! The sunset was among the best I had ever photographed, and I would wholeheartedly recommend the location to other aspiring urban photographers.

The Statue of Liberty

New York's skyline from the West

Sunset from Brooklyn Bridge

Goodbye, the US!

The next day was my final day in New York. After negotiating a pistachio muffin (at USD 2, finally an affordable breakfast option) and a final cupful of my Starbucks paradise, I realised that Metropolitan Museum was NOT open on Mondays. Since I rather dislike museums in general and art museums in particular, it was in fact a lucky coincidence. Instead, I occupied myself with what I really do best during travels – hanging around random streets, photographing random people and eating local junk food. I also spent some great time with friends in Meatpacking District’s (apparently a trendy area for drinks and things) High Line Park. Built on the stretch of disused elevated rail, it was only completed a year ago. I wouldn’t necessarily call it the city’s most exciting park (it took us roughly 15 minutes to cross it, all that in very limited shade on a hot day), but beggars can’t be choosers.

Off I went to the airport. As promised, I had taken the subway– which ended up being a combination of three trains (4, L and A) and an airport shuttle, altogether taking just over 1.5 hours. The Broadway Junction station will always stay in my mind – I must have been the only white person there. After sitting helplessly on a delayed plane for two hours, I departed for London. The full Flickr photoset for New York can be found here.

Broadway Junction Subway Station

What I find surprising is being seen as a globe-trotter by friends. A globe-trotter whose last long-haul flight before New York was in April 2007! It had only recently struck me that my world discovery had been far too focused on Europe in general – and certain European areas in particular. For example, I have covered Greece in fine detail and visited a number of unintuitive destinations in former Yugoslavia with rather irrational frequency. Having lived in Sweden and Finland, I have also frequented certain Nordic locations. Given the size of the rest of the world, there is clearly a lot for me to work on. From now on, I will put more focus on long-haul flights and faraway destinations.

Here’s to the next one! Stay tuned.