KEY POINTS:
If you're going to have a midlife crisis, may I suggest getting over it by resolving to run a marathon? So much cheaper than a divorce - and so much more satisfying. And might I also suggest that if you're only going to need the one marathon to
get the restlessness out of your system, it has to be the New York Marathon.
The first New York marathon was run in 1970, with 55 finishers - none of them women. This year, more than 39,000 men and women lined up to run the 26.2 miles (42.1km) from Staten Island to Central Park cheered on by an incredible two million New Yorkers.
The Big Apple and its residents simply cannot do enough for marathon runners before, during and after the run, and visiting the city as a runner gives you an insight into a New York you might never see as a bog-standard tourist.
Firstly, there's the geographical terrain you cover on the marathon - from Staten Island, you run through Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and Manhattan. Secondly, there's the warmth and friendliness of the people. Marathon runners ride the buses and subways for free on the Sunday of the marathon and the Monday following, and, as you give a telltale wince making your way downstairs or gingerly stepping off curbs, New Yorkers will clap you on the back, offer a passing "good for you", or, in the case of the beautiful Bloomingdales saleswoman, a great big hug. "Honey, nobody I knew was running the marathon so I just went out there and cheered for everybody and that meant I was cheering for you!"
Of course, the marathon is big business for the Big Apple, but in a country where individual achievement is lauded, the praise and respect is genuine.
When I finished my marathon, it took nearly an hour to get from the finish line out of Central Park - the only part of the well-oiled marathon machine that was a shambles. I had cleverly put 20 bucks in my pocket to get a cab, but found about 60,000 people had the same idea. After 10 minutes of standing with my arm raised, looking like a short Statue of Liberty, a man approached me. "You're never going to get a cab, sweetheart," he said.
My bottom lip wobbled. I was cold, tired and exhausted after running for more than 4 1/2 hours, and the thought of a hot bath was the only thing keeping me upright. With that, my good Samaritan took me into his sportswear shop, gave me an energy drink and some coins from his till, refusing the $20 I offered him, and walked me to the bus stop, waited until the right bus came by and told the driver where to take me. The bus driver refused the money and drove three blocks out of his way to put me on the right cross street.
Seconds after I'd stepped off the bus, on the East side now but still a considerable distance from the hotel, a glamorous couple stepped out of their townhouse and, after asking how I did in the marathon, insisted that I come in their cab with them and they'd drop me at the hotel.
Everyone I spoke to kept saying how much they'd love to visit New Zealand - they'd heard how beautiful it was and how friendly the people were. Hmmm, I wondered if New Zealanders could possibly match this level of hospitality.
But you see what I mean - a sweaty body and limping legs give you the keys to the city.
And it's a city worth having the keys to. It's a beautiful place albeit a monument to capitalism with its thrusting phallic skyscrapers. It has energy and passion and diversity and the food is sensational, although you still can't get a decent cup of coffee. If I was young and single I'd be heading over there with a hot barista and a coffee machine faster than you could say decaf soy latte.
One of my co-runners was Geeling Ng, glamorous maitre d at Soul on Auckland's Viaduct. She had a list of all the most fabulous restaurants in town, and near the top of it was Cafe Habana, a small, crowded and noisy restaurant that reminded me of Wellington's Cafe Paradiso in the early days. It's staffed by sexy bolshy women who are a gorgeous melange of all the ethnicities living in New York.
The other must-visit is the Russian Tea Rooms, all red velvet banquettes, caviare and champagne. If you're lucky, the maitre d will show you the magnificently renovated rooms upstairs that include Murino glass chandeliers and a 4.5m dancing bear made of glass and filled with goldfish.
Any trip to New York should include some shopping, but before you hit Bloomingdales and Saks, head out to Woodbury Common - a one-hour bus-trip north of the city and the largest designer discount shopping village in the world.
We were dubious - discount stores normally mean stains, rips and missing sequins - but, in fact, it was a shopping nirvana. Everything is out there - from kitchenware to fragrances to sunglasses to clothing and the bargains are genuine. I picked up an Yves Saint Laurent wool skirt, for US$90 down from US$500; a pair of Prada sandals for $80 down from $400. Even the boys were beside themselves - G-Star jeans for $5. They ended up going back for a second run. We had laughed at those people on the bus going out with empty suitcases but, by crikey, I'll know to take one next time.
There is so much to do and see in New York, you'd need a year to explore the city properly, and we had just a week, with a marathon to run in the middle. But, by the end, I reckon we had captured the best of it. The food, the shopping and connecting with the people by participating in one of the world's great sporting events.
- Detours, HoS
