New York

At Heathrow, we are reminded that we need a visa to enter the USA. We’ve become quite blasé about skipping between countries but you would have thought that acquiring a US Visa would have been a priority, considering their strict visa status. The check in staff are very helpful and advise us on how to fill out the forms online. After half an hour, sitting on the floor frantically completing five separate forms, we are given a visa status pending. It seems possible that we might have mucked up this leg of the trip. However, by the time we reach the counter again, our status has upgraded to approved. Phew! I thought we might be calling on the services of Cousin Chris and his sports car again!

Once through customs, we muck around trying to spend the very last of our coins in the most creative way possible. Jasper suddenly remembers that he has a little purse full of pound coins that Aunty Rachel gave him for his birthday and we spend even more time trying to help him with his decision making in the souvenir shop. In the process, we forget that we’ve been warned that our gate is a fifteen-minute walk away and by the time the last call for boarding comes across the loudspeaker, we are running as fast as we can with our lamps, instruments and hand luggage. I have a coughing fit because I really can’t sustain running any distance with a lingering chest infection. Roger and Jasper go ahead and a series of attendants reprimand us as we get closer to the gate. As we near the gate counter, Roger shouts, “Where is Jasper?”

You are kidding me?! He’s not with you?

Somehow, Jasper has gone ahead and taken a wrong turn.

No one has patience for us by this time and even though I could probably do with a ventilator and some medical assistance, no one pays me any attention. The staff have already implied that they are about to unload our bags from the plane when they put out a call to find the missing child. Roger goes with one of the attendants and they return shortly afterwards with Jasper who looks like he may be permanently affected by the experience.

Luckily the flight is about half full. We sheepishly stumble down the isle with our crazy hand luggage which we then have to store away with everyone watching. The plane takes off and I am finally given a drink of water by the air steward who can obviously see that I’m close to collapse.

The flight from London to New York is quite luxurious compared to some of our recent flights. We even get alcohol, food and movies.

Arriving in New York Customs takes a long time but as we stand in the queue we watch pre election coverage on the TV. It wasn’t the plan to be in the USA for the election but it will be very interesting.

We are shunted back and forwards from line to line by a helpful customs assistant who is obviously trying to speed up our waiting time, as after an eight- hour flight with a five- hour time difference the kids are losing it a bit. We are literally the last people through customs and when the line at the booth next to us, clears, we move into that one.

For some reason, I thought that a USA woman customs officer, would be kind and welcoming. Maybe like Martha Stewart.

For some reason, this woman is not channelling Martha Stewart today, or any day I imagine. She is more like an officer from “Prisoner”.

Angry Customs Officer: Is there a reason why you changed lines three times?

Jude: Sorry, was that a problem? (stupid question).

ACO: Why are you in the United States

Jude: We’re just passing through on our way to Costa Rica.

ACO (now shouting): You are not just passing through; you are here for three nights. So this hotel is your address?

ACO: Your form specifies that you are carrying food, what food do you have?

Roger who starts giggling: “We have can of Baked Beans from England and Sardines from Portugal”.

(At this point, Louie who is fiddling around with the door on her booth sort of falls through into where she is sitting).

ACO: Get behind the line.

HANDS IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE THEM (I just added that bit for dramatic effect but it felt like that was where we were heading).

authors note: Here is a picture of the angry customs woman,  (thanks Facebook). It seems that she may be naturally aggressive. If you see her whilst entering New York Customs, do your self a favour and change lines.

At that point I decide that I’d like to take a note of her name as in our ten months of travelling we have not once been greeted with such hostility and I thought I might write a letter of complaint.

In the absence of a pen, I get out my phone to take a note.

Angry Customs Officer: “Put that phone away now. There are signs all over this area. PUT IT AWAY NOW”.

At this point Roger is giving me the eye. The family have been doing this a bit since my run ins in Paris and I think he’s worried I might be arrested.

I can see that this woman may have a real issue with our jet set bohemian lifestyle and I keep quiet.

We make it to baggage claim where the trolleys are US$6 each. We need at least two at this point and we are now on a tight budget, so we haul our gear through to the exit.

It does put a bit of a dampener on our arrival but soon we’re in the extremely expensive taxi, travelling in to Manhattan with a crazy driving, warm hearted woman, originally from Ghana, who talks non stop about the Constitution and how we need to stand up for our rights at Customs next time. In that scenario, I can see us being deported.

Our hotel, the Paramount, is just off Times Square but we are so tired by 7pm that we all go to bed.

Tuesday 8th November: The weather is beautiful the next day. There is a positive voting day vibe in the city and after breakfast in a crowed corner café, we head to Central Park.

What a beautiful time to be in New York, in Autumn, with all the trees in yellow, orange and red.

Our destination is of course, the Egyptian Obelisk near the centre of the park.

We make our way through the ramble where we stop to watch the squirrels.

We spend some time by the Obelisk, talking to a long time New Yorker who looks as if, after a long hiatus in the Peruvian Andes, he’s stepped straight out of a beat poetry session, who talks about Central Park as the lungs of New York.

I could just about live here if I could come here everyday.

We catch the subway to the Empire State Building, which is surprisingly quiet. Voting day is an awesome time to be here.

Roger wants to catch up with his friend Brent in the music shop where he works. It’s like a drop in centre for musos, selling used instruments, amps and pedals and there is a steady stream of people in and out of the door.

It’s a small shop for a mingling family of five and ten or more customers, so we head downstairs to Brent’s studio where he produces for other bands but also recorded the last couple of Bailterspace albums.

Our last date for the day is in China Town where we are meeting our old friend Mei-Ling, and Zara, who I have not met, but Roger has worked with many times in the film industry.

Mei-Ling has been here for ages now and is happily ensconced in creative advertising and documentary making.

The kids are really tired, after having walked around all day and the time difference is hitting by the time we sit down for dinner.

As always, we are desperate for company and it’s so nice to hang out with some other likeminded adults, even if two out of three kids have their heads on the table.

We say goodbye to Zara and head to the Subway with Mei-Ling. She gets off along the way and we come out at Times Square where the atmosphere is very strange.

Projected on to the giant screens around the square, is election coverage. And Trump appears to have a significant number more electoral votes than Hilary.

People are standing on every street corner, staring open mouthed at the commentary. ABC news is broadcasting from a podium in the middle of the square and there are armed police everywhere.

It feels dangerous and unpredictable, like a disaster movie when the President comes on and announces that this is the end of the Civilised World. “Go home to your loved ones and God Bless America”. Shortly before everything turns to Chaos and people start looting shops and shooting each other.

It doesn’t help having the Church of Scientology right next door to the Hotel.

An outcome is predicted at about 1am and back in our tiny cramped hotel room, with Jasper asleep on cushions on the floor and Stella and Louie asleep in their shared bed, we fall asleep with the disastrous commentary on the TV. When I wake at 1.30am, the results are inconclusive for three states and I give up and go to sleep. The results seem fairly inevitable and it will be a strange day in America when we wake tomorrow.

It is a dark, grey day and there seems to have been a shift in our perception of the city. Trump has won and everyone looks depressed. Just as well we’re not in Kansas, although the mood would be a bit brighter!

Several people have recommended that we walk ‘The Highline’, the 2.3km disused West Side Line of the New York Central Railroad.

The railway has been turned into a kind of art trail and wildflower garden and although it maintains a grungy urban feel, it is a strangely beautiful place for a walk.

We head to the One World Trade Centre. Having visited the Empire State Building the day before, whose aesthetic I much prefer, we have spent our budget for climbing tall buildings and we spend our time walking around the memorial site which is comprised of two enormous square water features which occupy the same footprint as the original towers. The water pours from all four sides into a cavernous hole in the middle. The names of every victim of the attacks, is written around the outside and there are white Roses on the names of the people whose birthday it is that day.

Having never been to New York before, the experience of being at the memorial is quite overwhelming, probably amplified by the sense of the world being on a bit of a precipice. That the reaction to 911 brought about so much fear and anti Muslim sentiment that essentially led to this crazy election.

We walk down Wall Street and down to the Ferry Building where we catch the free ferry to Staten Island where we can see the Statue of Liberty on the way. There have been so many Facebook memes of the statue already today that it is strange to pass by and see her out the window.

On the way home, we pass through Union Square Subway station where there is an ‘express your self’ post it note wall, of anti Trump statements. There are already hundreds of notes stuck to the wall.

Coming out at Times Square at the end of the day, we get caught up in the first Anti Trump protests. It feels defiant and positive but that’s because we’re in a democratic stronghold and it’s hard to ignore the fact that at least half the country is happy with the election outcome.

Our flight to Costa Rica the next day, is at 4pm so we have plenty of time to get out to the airport. We really have too much stuff to travel on the subway now and we are forced into the next cheapest option of a $115US trip in a shuttle, to the airport.

It seems that half of New York are flying out today. Perhaps everybody really is evacuating. Apparently it’s twice as busy as normal.

It seems that nothing is particularly easy or cheap in this town and the check in process is confusing and difficult. It seems however, that every time we enter our passports, some kind of alert comes up on the screen and we are directed to special assistance. We make a friend at the counter who thinks our whole trip is just crazy. We give her one of our 1000 business cards and she flips through the blog while her partner checks us in.

“Y’all are crazy!

Jude: “Why thank you”

After the disastrous check in of our last flight, we get to the gate about two hours early just to be safe.

About an hour before boarding, an announcement comes across the loudspeaker that the flight has been cancelled because of an ash cloud from one of Costa Rica’s active volcanoes.

Being stranded in New York might sound cool, but not when money is running out and you’ve just spent $120US on an airport shuttle, then battled through enormous customs lines, you want to stay put.

I have a mental picture of us living at the airport for the next week, eating people’s leftovers and washing in the toilets.

We get a bit more information and it seems that whilst the plane can’t land, in the dark with ash in the sky, it can leave the next morning.

We purchase some Wi-Fi so at least we can complain on social media about our airport stranding and I can write my blog.

This is what travel insurance is for surely?

We ring the insurance company to ask what we are entitled to in the case of a cancellation. It seems that we are able to claim up to $150 on food. It’s like a pizza party.

We make friends with some lovely women who all live in Costa Rica; by chance, all three are called Miriam and that’s not even a Costa Rican name!

We find a spot where we can all spread out and we settle down for the night. Of course it’s a terrible sleep but the kids think it’s exciting.

The plane leaves the next morning at 7.30am, although there is a tense moment when it seems as if we may have filled up too many overhead storage lockers with our things and more and more people are pouring onto the plane with bags. It seems that it is standard practice for United Airlines to oversell tickets so that there are always more people than seats. Bags are squashed all over the place and we take off. It is a bumpy five-hour flight and we’re happy to finally arrive in San Jose.