Checking my watch as I travelled through Times Square and realising that I was late felt slightly ironic. Traffic in New York City is invariably manic, and so deciding to exit the bus and walk the short three blocks to the infamous Yale Club of New York City in less than three minutes seemed like a better idea than it actually was. Taking an unexpected detour at full running speed through Grand Central Station in high heels and tracksuit bottoms is never an ideal situation. My issues were compounded by the sudden parting of the heavens: torrential downpour and a scaled down hurricane which both seemed to be visiting NYC simultaneously.
After a quick change in a rather sumptuous bathroom, tracksuit bottoms swiftly discarded in favour of a formal dress, I joined the babbling crowd of young British Students who had been invited to visit the stunning Yale Club of New York to tempt us into studying in America. As the lift doors closed the noise intensified, until the ping of the tannoy alerted us to our arrival. Immediate silence descended like a rapid flurry of snow burying the horizon during a blizzard. Stepping out into the Gatsby-esque ballroom we each whirled out of our own worlds and into a stunning American dream.
After a brief rendition of the Harlem Shake in Harlem, we headed towards the Empire State Building, clambering up the last couple of floors still in our black tie attire from the Yale Club. I’ll admit, this has probably done nothing to dispel the stereotype of British people being incredibly formal, but it did generate a multitude of conversations with Americans fascinated by our accents, and being overdressed is never something I will apologise for.
The view over New York at night from the Empire State Building is simply breathtaking. A typical English girl, I was completely skeptical from the moment I stepped into the building until the second the cold night air whipped the cynicism right out of me when I stepped onto the observation deck. The glimmering lights of the city shone like needle points in a star spangled banner, the map jumping and shimmering in and out of focus as yellow cabs and people bustled like a bristling network of energy. The river formed an inky black ribbon around the luminous Manhattan Island, cradling the city, holding it up as a beacon for miles around.
We left New York by the dawn’s early light, and whilst sitting in an American campus square, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a delicious pizza covered in molten lava disguised as cheese, I contemplated how different life as a pebble skimmed across the pond could be. Granted, ice cream for breakfast was bizarre, and both a blessing and a curse, and my usual tea and crumpet was a touch different to my current midnight feast, yet America beckoned to me, a huge canvas, already painted but ready for many more to come and make their marks: perhaps one day I will have the chance to be the artist.
After a quick change in a rather sumptuous bathroom, tracksuit bottoms swiftly discarded in favour of a formal dress, I joined the babbling crowd of young British Students who had been invited to visit the stunning Yale Club of New York to tempt us into studying in America. As the lift doors closed the noise intensified, until the ping of the tannoy alerted us to our arrival. Immediate silence descended like a rapid flurry of snow burying the horizon during a blizzard. Stepping out into the Gatsby-esque ballroom we each whirled out of our own worlds and into a stunning American dream.
After a brief rendition of the Harlem Shake in Harlem, we headed towards the Empire State Building, clambering up the last couple of floors still in our black tie attire from the Yale Club. I’ll admit, this has probably done nothing to dispel the stereotype of British people being incredibly formal, but it did generate a multitude of conversations with Americans fascinated by our accents, and being overdressed is never something I will apologise for.
The view over New York at night from the Empire State Building is simply breathtaking. A typical English girl, I was completely skeptical from the moment I stepped into the building until the second the cold night air whipped the cynicism right out of me when I stepped onto the observation deck. The glimmering lights of the city shone like needle points in a star spangled banner, the map jumping and shimmering in and out of focus as yellow cabs and people bustled like a bristling network of energy. The river formed an inky black ribbon around the luminous Manhattan Island, cradling the city, holding it up as a beacon for miles around.
We left New York by the dawn’s early light, and whilst sitting in an American campus square, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a delicious pizza covered in molten lava disguised as cheese, I contemplated how different life as a pebble skimmed across the pond could be. Granted, ice cream for breakfast was bizarre, and both a blessing and a curse, and my usual tea and crumpet was a touch different to my current midnight feast, yet America beckoned to me, a huge canvas, already painted but ready for many more to come and make their marks: perhaps one day I will have the chance to be the artist.