Well today was a million times better than the last couple.
As my mate Pete texted me: sounds like I got all my travel disasters out in one go and only good stuff to come. Too true.
Some advice on getting around in Manhattan. You’re going to walk. A lot. On concrete.
I started out this morning with jeans and thongs. I actually knew better than this. It took 15 minutes of me walking to Starbucks for a latte (they’ve grasped the concept of the flat white as much as I’ve grasped their ‘Pumpkin Spiced Latte’) before I found myself back at the hotel changing into leggings and sensible shoes.
Today I covered a stack of places, including shopping stalwarts like Macy’s, Forever 21 + Gap. Yes. The exact same stores I online shop from 😐
It was about here I got the burning sensation on the ball of my right foot.
Last time I was in New York I was on my honeymoon and copped a blister-ravaged hoof, which The Mister wrapped up for me each morning.
But this time I’m by myself. I wasn’t far from the hotel, so I nicked back to give my feeties a nice cold soak before heading out for the afternoon.
It worked a treat! Anything that was threatening to swell up, well, didn’t.
But I didn’t have anything with me to dress the now-blistered blister (sorry, I know, ew, but this is my life) so I had to MacGyver something up.
I looked around my awful hotel room which was full of incredibly dated, and completely unnecessary, furniture. Like a tiny bed and a comically oversized desk that seemed begging for an in-tray, a selection of fountain pens and a bankers lamp. There wasn’t even a Bible. WTF.
Unless I was to get all Fraulein Maria on the curtains, I was a bit stuck.
Then I had an idea.
So I grabbed a sock and pulled it inside-out.
Then I grabbed a liner (yes, as in a thin period pad women only wear when they ride horses in white pants) which had a sticky-backing, stuck it down on the sock and pulled the sock back to the right side out. I rolled it onto my foot and voila, homemade party feet! (take THAT Dr Sholl).
So I skipped off, well, I just walked, to find myself some proper hoof helpers.
On my way back from Walgreens with enough foot care things to open my own podiatrist clinic, I took a little peek down a street that’s right near me, I made some mental notes to head this way a bit later, when I wasn’t feeling so hobbly.
In New York, all the areas are named according to what that area represented in the past ( some continue to do so), so you have the Meatpacking district, the Flower district, Theater district, Financial district etc.
I was staying in the Garment district. In fact, where I’m staying, 7th Avenue and West 34th Street, is actually known as ‘Fashion Avenue’ as you head up to Times Square. It’s pretty cool.
So this street I was looking up, to me, seemed to be the part of the Garment district which, well…shoes.
Some blokes were already halfway through one of the shop’s heavy glass doors, so I made a snap decision to follow, and caught the door before it shut.
I’m not a shoe girl. I am a legging girl, and an eyeliner girl. But this place really spoke to me.
All the Cons, Keds and Vans you could want. I picked out a few in a size 8 and, in two shakes of a lambs tail, the shopgirl had them all ready for me to try.
Then I remembered: I had a pad in my sock.
Instead of mumbling something and scurrying away in shame, without batting an eyelid, I took off shoe and sock, the pad still attached and tried on the damn shoes.
Hey, this is America.