Wednesday 10th July: I was due at Kit's apartment at 11:30, but I had some shopping to do first. I went to CompUSA and got a CD of computer games, then walked up to Barnes and Noble and got a copy of "Kitchen Confidential". I was a little late getting to Kit's, but she was still getting ready so I sat on the bed while she opened her birthday presents (carefully presented in a Dean and Deluca paper bag).
When she was ready we went to a shoe shop where she bought a new pair of pink sandals. I had a hot dog - most disappointing, I was expecting it to be covered in relish, chilli and kraut but all they had was mustard and ketchup - then we got a taxi to the Lincoln centre. For her birthday Kit wanted to go to the ballet - the Kirov Ballet were performing "La Bayadère". I know nothing about ballet, in fact I've never even been to one, so I had no idea what to expect. We got standing tickets, which meant we were standing at the back of the ground floor. The seats were less than half full, so we were expecting to be allowed to sit down once the performance started, but the overzealous ushers actually roped us in to the standing area to stop us leaving (I'm sure this must be against the fire regulations). I attempted to read the story (not an easy task, as it's more complicated than the Silmarillion - it's very like one of those Indian singing soap operas you see on Channel 4) while Kit fumed about the seats.
The first act was quite enjoyable, although I had a few problems figuring out which character was which. This was partly to do with our view of the stage, which was hampered by the seats above us which cut off most of the top of the stage. I followed Kit outside so she could have a cigarette, and we noticed a purse lying on the seats just to the left of the entrance. There was quite a lot of cash as well as the usual collection of credit and ID cards, so Kit wrote out a note explaining we had handed it in to reception, intending to leave it on the seat. However, before she had finished writing it we noticed a ticket stub for the very performance we were attending. We went back inside and found the seat indicated by the stub but there was no-one there. Kit asked a few of the other people in the row if they knew the person sitting there and a woman coming down the aisle said it was her friend. Since she knew the name in the purse we left it with her and grabbed a couple of empty seats further back (well away from where we had been standing for the first act).
The second act was almost as convoluted as the first, but I just about managed to keep up, although I felt myself beginning to fall asleep at one point. Luckily there was an attempted murder on stage at that point and the percussion from the orchestra woke me up. I wonder if the people who write these things slip the dramatic bits in at predefined points to keep people awake?
In the second interval the woman who's purse we had found came and thanked us, although we refused her offer of a reward. Apparently she'd dropped it while breastfeeding her daughter. Kit informed me that the third act was one of the best pieces of choreography in the history of ballet, and her personal favourite, so I settled down to watch attentively.
The start of the afterlife scene is extremely impressive, with a seemingly endless line of ballerinas, all dressed in white, dancing their way onto the stage. The story element of the scene followed. It was the next bit of the act I had a problem with - after they had told the story they spent the next fifteen minutes dancing around. Maybe this is an integral part of any ballet, but I couldn't help thinking that it was a bit like all the singers in an opera (soloists and chorus alike)singing scales for quarter of an hour. It's probably because I'm such a philistine.
After the ballet Kit had to rush off because she had to be at work that evening, so I wandered back to the hotel. I had decided to spend the evening investigating some of New York's famous nightlife with the help of Kit's copy of "Time Out". I scribbled down the names and addresses of a few clubs that were open that evening. They all seemed to be concentrated in the same area - between 14th and 12th Streets and Avenues A and B. I got the #7 bus to Union Square then walked east on 14th Street. I walked past the first club twice before I found it - Barmacy (538 East 14 Street). At first I thought it was shut, but then I saw about three people at the bar. It didn't look too promising, so I decided to move on to the second place on my list. It turned out that Angel (174 Orchard Street) and Totem (505 East 12th Street) are actually only a few doors away from each other, albeit on different streets. I tried Totem first - a very good pint of Hoegarden, marred only slightly by the stuffed moose's head hanging from the ceiling (nose first) over the bar. The regulars obviously knew every word of the obscure 80's hits the DJ was playing, and had even managed to remember some of the dance moves, so I decided not to stay. I went to the (unisex) bathroom and was delighted to find they had provided several pieces of chalk for people to leave nuggets of wisdom on the walls, so I left them with my one American joke (What's the difference between America and yoghurt?) and a Latin quote (this is supposed to be a student area). I hope they enjoyed them.
Around the corner, Angel had a much more adventurous DJ and much more attractive bar (no moose head, and a pretty brunette barmaid called Nicole). I was soon working my way through the Guinness barrel and listening to the burblings of a man called Chris sitting next to me. Apparently he was homeless but owned two properties outside of New York (I'm not sure if this counts) - he spent his nights staying on friends' couches, and had done for the last year or two. I asked him why he didn't move in to one of his own properties, and he looked at me as though I was a complete idiot. Obviously I had committed some horrendous social faux pas. Chris obviously forgave me, because a few minutes later Nicole presented us with two glasses of a brown spirit at his request. I asked him how I should drink it, and he grinned and indicated it should be drunk in one. I think he was rather disappointed when, upon swallowing, I said "Oh, it's Jaegermeister". I think he was hoping for more of a reaction. Another faux pas? I gently explained that I had spent the last three years living in Germany, but I think he was too far gone to understand me. Shortly afterwards he pulled a sheaf of notes from his wallet and scattered them over the bar before staggering out the door. Nicole came over and counted them, then asked me if he was okay because it seemed rather a lot for a tip. I had finished my last drink by now, so I went out and found Chris leaning against a lamppost. I asked him if he was okay and he indicated he was, although I'm not sure if he recognised me. I decided to call it a night and got a cab back to the hotel.
Favourite sign of the day: I saw a poster from the Michael Jackson fan club (poor fools) about a 30th anniversary concert. It said they had obtained a major coo (sic) in getting Michael himself to attend. Does he think he's a pigeon now?

Tuesday 9th July: On Tuesday I decided to do a bit of shopping. I was still looking for several pieces of electronic equipment so I went to a few stores like "Radio Shack" and "CompUSA". I quickly realised that there staff were not chosen for their technical know-how. The guy I spoke to in CompUSA even said he didn't want to deal with my query because it was obviously a waste of his time. Part of the problem is that America, while leading the world in development, is rather behind in sales. The stores tend to stock a few standard lines rather than selling anything new. I was told by one person that the Jornada 720 wasn't due to be released until next year. I showed him the one in my rucksack, which I have owned for two years now, and he looked rather confused.
I managed to buy a power supply (to convert American 110 volts to European 240 V), but for the network card I went to an internet shop. There only seems to be one in the centre of New York - easyInternet on West 42nd Street. I was able to find one card that would be compatible with my system, but none of the large stores seemed to sell it. I finally managed to order it from a small shop on West 45th Street, and they said I could pick it up tomorrow.
Since I was in the area I decided to have a look at Grand Central station. It's an amazing building - wonderful high ceilings, and the main hall has the constellations laid out on the ceiling. They look a little unfamiliar because they're done as a mirror image - the way God would see them when he looks down at us. I'm not sure I agree with this cosmologically, but it's a nice idea.
It was now well after lunchtime, so I decided to treat myself (and my new stomach lining) to a meal at the Oyster Bar. This is located on the dining concourse which runs underneath the main hall. If you're ever there I can highly recommend it. I went for the eggs benedict with smoked salmon (smoked in the restaurant) and a pint of local Weissen, followed up with a slice of Florida Keys lime pie. If I had been feeling a little braver I would have tried the oysters at the fresh bar - they're sold individually, and there's about twenty different types on the menu. Maybe next time.
After lunch I spent a while walking up 5th Avenue. I was amused to see the gardens in front of the Rockefeller Center are called the Channel Gardens - so called because they divide La Maison Française and the British Empire Building. I wonder if there's a tunnel (used by disgruntled employees to escape from one building to another)?
I had been hoping to find a shop selling exotic foods, but when I went into Saks I discovered they only sell clothes. I thought the idea of a department store was that it had more than one department. I decided to try the best, so hopped on a subway down to SoHo to visit Dean and Deluca. It's an incredible place - they have just about anything to do with cooking and food. I bought a box of Marron Glacé and a coffee mug.
On leaving the shop I stopped at a payphone. I'd been trying to use my international calling card all day, but the number had been engaged. I suddenly realised I had left the card at the last phone I had tried to use. I thought it was on 42nd Street so I got the subway back there, but the card had gone, so I called the card company and cancelled it. They can't give me the new number over the phone, but they're going to call and leave it on my mobile.
I went back to the hotel for a shower and change of clothes. Kit had told me about a couple of Irish bars in the area, one on 51st and one on 55th, so I went to try them out. I had a good pint of Guinness in one, and Murphys in the next, but they were both quite quiet. I wandered around for a while and ended up in a bar called Ned Kellys on 9th Avenue. I was assuming it was an Australian bar, but they didn't have any Australian food or drinks. I got talking to the barman, Jerry, and he said it was just a name and most people didn't know who he was. Jerry is Irish but had been living here for 18 years. I also talked to a girl called Anne, who is American but spent a year in London at college. As far as I could tell she spent the entire year being sick in taxis. When the bar closed I walked her as far as Columbus Circle then I went to get something to eat. One of the things I really like here is that on every block there's a Deli open 24 hours. You can get water, beer, pizza slices, tuna salad and bagels at any time. This probably goes a long way towards explaining why so many people are so fat here.