The first day in the city was unbearable hot. A clingy damp hotness that leaves everyone sweating and wishing for cooler clothes. Clearly not prepared for the heat I worried that I’d have to hit one of the avenues in search of something less “winter in Canada.”
24-hours later I was happy that I brought my umbrella from London. Not only was the rain coming down in relentless sheets, but the umbrellas you buy on the street in New York are not suited for gusty winds. Umbrella carcasses attached themselves to garbage cans and light posts on every street corner.
As I wandered down Park Avenue to meet a friend I could feel my uncovered canvas backpack getting heavier and heavier as it soaked up rainwater.
48-hours later I awoke to a strange fog that periodically hid most of the sky scrapers. During fog and rain, the higher parts of Times Square turn off their lights to keep birds from getting confused and flying into buildings.
The fog was rather odd and disorienting because I realized that I use the taller buildings to determine the path to where I need to be.
On the next evening there was a creepy chill that left me periodically hiding in little nooks and buildings. Clearly my down vest wasn’t going to be warm enough and I wished for a winter jacket. It wasn’t cold temperature wise but the damp skips your skin and attacks your bones.
Walking through Broadway was extra creepy as steam rose from the manholes and shrouded the area in a strange mist.
This is New York in the spring.