Emotions were heightened this morning. A innocuous conversation about currency had lead to a realisation that purchasing our bikes in the usa would result in a saving of $800 dollars a piece, with two days to go we had to find our steeds for the remainder of our trip.

It was a mad rush, but that was not all today I was catching up with my inseparable twin from university. Three years had passed, he had his new live in nyc, I had slid down the hippy dippy slope, and things had changed. Just as visiting a beloved place can fall flat, I was worried that we would not be able to connect.

After visiting a few bike shops our last chance happened to be down the street from Stephan’s apartment. Our train drew closer to our rendezvous, I was 15 minted late as usual, lending the occasion a touch of the familiar.

Then there he was and we ran for a hug and of Dylan is a reliable witness we did not stop for breath, catching up, reminiscing, laughing over the state he was in after finishing his second thesis. It was over too soon, the call of the bike shop closing hours becoming urgent. Then as we were about to separate Dylan suggested a drink in the evening, goodbyes delayed.

Then there was my bike, a handsome green kona at 20% off. The hunt was over. In ballet flats and a tulle skirt I made my test ride in the first rain of nyc. Although it was bike path all the way, I felt a thrill zooming down 12 blocks of new york city roads.

The meeting for drinks almost didn’t happen. We messaged stephan and couldn’t get a response. Through deduction and luck we found his apartment, even getting so far as his front door through helpful neighbours, but it was a deadend , no stephan and my battery was at 2%.

Our last chance before returning defeated was standing outside starbucks to check Facebook. We’ll be in the slyfox, for 30minutes.

It was what stephan had referred to as a Ukranian dive bar, people were slouched over drinks and it was dark, but fun. We waited and then stephan appeared, our useless uk sits had not been sending our messages, we had been lucky. We met his friends, secrets and g&ts were shared, it was lovely, it was a relief.

So quickly the foreign becomes routine. The funny ramshackle minibus rolls up to the bus stop, we loop through the tunnel, we pass over 6 American dollars and emerge into the rush of new york city. The day is bookended the same.

Dylan had a surprise for me, we walked towards the industrial edge if the city. Then architecture lessons came to life, not the empire state building or radio city music hall, a garden in the sky – it was the high line.

A gorgeous day and walking above the city with flowers and trees sprouting cleverly between disused train tracks, even with all the people there was something so special about that walk. It resonated with me even more than central park, something abandoned and ugly given new life. A reinvention of eden.

The journey over we found ourselves outside artists and fleas. Handmade and vintage packed into a room, characters galore. It was the tie pins that drew us in, music notes, classic bars and stars. Crisp ties, pocket squares, coffins and vintage suits. Oh the suits, I felt my way through them, my fingers tingling when it felt the softness of quality wool. Dylan uncharacteristically enthused tried it on, a perfect fit. The gentleman running the stall was a sartorial dream, his motto know the rules then break them. He had none of the cold pretention of many vintage sellers, he had a genuine passion in transforming his customers and bringing their personality into their style. He stood in his socks so he could see Dylan wearing his shoes with the suit, told him never to do up the bottom button of a jacket and wear your sleeves short so you can see some cuff. It was rather a charming experience and for a vintage Italian suit and the sellers delightful presence $170 seemed very reasonable and everyone one left with a smile on their face.

In a foreign country, in a city bursting with experiences it’s hard to take a break, but after three months relentless interaction it was time to rest.

Towards sunset we wandered down a hidden stair, and along the road to a soccer field on the shore. A local game began as the sunset on manhatten, the lights came on and there was something soothing about the umpires whistle and kick of a soccer ball under lights, a world away from the unceasing flood of humanity on the otherwise of the water. We were replenished.

“I‘m just so much in love with a girl” his thick new jersey accent implored like something in a movie, “do you know what I mean, I’m just so in love with a girl.” This crumpled middleaged man, was imploring me for some unknown feedback to his public outburst of unrequited love, frazzled I wished him luck.

New Jersey ws our home for the next week. A short bus ride from Manhattan, and half the price. It was a glorious sunny day and we were walking along the Jersey shoreline towards liberty park and a glimpse of the statue of liberty.

We walked passed industry and rundown townhouses on the brink of gentrification, new york glistened on the horizon only a river away, it was a wonder that the developers of new jersey hadn’t been taking advantage of that view.

The wind picked up and threatened to hurl me skywards, a kite in flight. A state away, this was Manhattan at its best, a skyline twinned in the rippling river.

10 miles and a ferry ride later the Lady was still not in sight. I wandered, Manhattan dwindled then her back came into sight, she and I looked out into the cloud streaked horizon. She looked lonely there, but from my derriere vantage point I couldn’t see the hoards of tourists that no doubt were swarming at her base. I was quite happy on the wind swept park, where the bobbing daffodils outnumbered man 1:20.

“Almost blown inside out we took the ferry towards lower Manhattan. The buildings glowered jewel like in the setting sun and shadows crept.

We were tired but felt the pressure of the city to cram in another experience. We entered the bar, devoid of chairs and crammed with hipsters. The walls were decorated with portraits of zebras their black and white faces starring from brightly painted walls. It was free Wednesday at the improv comedy club and when the call went out we filed into the theatre.

We weren’t sure what to expect, but it turns out you can’t really define improv, except perhaps as high energy chaos with veins of wit. The first group had the prompt murder and managed to hobble together a story that actually had a narrative involving Mennonites, slick nyc cops, prostitutes, diamonds and a Mongolia boy. It was random, but surprisingly funny and the room roared when an actor was particularly quick witted.

The second group, with the inspiration ‘moon landing’ weren’t able to tie their vignettes together, but were carried by a Krameresque figure who owned the room with a mincing mighty boost style delivery that dwarfed his peers.

It was fun fluff, all the more so for its zero pricetag in a city where everything is expensive. Another night of creeping up apartment stairs in the midnight dark, tomorrow we needed a rest day. We couldn’t keep up with new york!