• Dates of travel: 8 May 2013 to 12 May 2013

• Location of travel: New York City, United States of America

Over the course of April and May 2013, I took a month-long meander across the USA. The main reason was to attend and report on the Coachella Music Festival in Indio, California. The road to and from there was just as memorable. This is Part 5 in a series of 5 articles.

Third bite lucky

If you've been to the United States of America, chances are you have visited New York City—and it might have been many times. The place is known as 'The Big Apple', but it should rather be 'The Big Well’, because it never runs out of ways to keep people coming back.

I am one of those repeat visitors who has experienced the city's magic twice in my life—as a tween at the turn of the century and as a teenager in two years later.

On both occasions, I was essentially a child, travelling with family and never in the driver's seat or holding the tourist map. This lack of agency affects how you remember and perceive a place you've visited. The memories still lie deep in the mind—not forgotten yet still not fully formed. Now it was time for a third bite of The Big Apple, and I was ready to truly taste it.

Those previous sojourns were jam-packed though, with visits to some big-ticket landmarks in the city that every traveller has to experience at least once (I'm talking Times Square, the Empire State Building, and Central Park).

But when you NY-see it for the first time as an adult, you realise how many opportunities are still out there and how many more can be explored in these five boroughs. The well must be getting refilled each time you visit.

I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps

I had traversed across the United States entirely by Greyhound bus, starting in San Francisco, except for one flight from Los Angeles to Nashville).

Picking 'red-eye', overnight journeys ensured little time was lost for sightseeing during the day, but the flip side was eight to twelve hours of almost no sleep sitting upright in a bumpy bus. It was a smart option for the distances I was travelling between stops on the tightest of budgets.

Exiting Ohio, my bus brought us through the state of Pennsylvania before I entered the city through unfamiliar territory over the border from New Jersey through the Holland Tunnel. Popping out at Chinatown. I found my final host waiting for me bright and early.

My friend was American, and our paths crossed one and a half years previously at a music festival in my native South Africa. She had been visiting her younger sister then, who was doing a semester abroad at my university in Cape Town. We continued to keep in contact, and I made a mental note of her lucrative New Yorker status if I were ever to visit the city again.

Thankfully, she had a couch to spare for my last few days in the USA. Home was a two-bedroom apartment in Astoria, Queens, which she shared with her aspiring actress roommate.

Like most large, global-hub cities, this is not a place where a car is needed. However, an encyclopaedic knowledge of its subway lines is needed, which are mostly named by letter (A, B, C, and so on). If you have the time beforehand, learn these so you can talk the Noo Yawk lingo.

We took the first of many subway rides to her home at the end of the N line.

I was impressed to see that the train we were on had electronic information boards that informed us how many stops were left to reach a particular destination. It was the most advanced system I had seen on all the trains and subways I had used in the United States so far. Navigating this subterranean maze would prove to be rather useful with real-time information like that over the upcoming days.

I set up camp in the corner of her lounge and sunk into the couch for some much-needed rest before waking in the late afternoon to join my host for a stroll through her neighbourhood.

Semi-suburban NYC is full of trees among the apartment-lined streets (at least in places in Queens like Astoria), and it felt like walking through a shrunken, more peaceful Manhattan.

On a cool spring evening, my introduction to Astoria began with a Black Angus beef burger at the proudly local Petey's Burger (which gave Five Guys' heavenly bun a run for its money) before embarking on a bar-hop of sorts through Ditmars Boulevard and the surrounding streets. Everything was within walking distance, and I recalled my carefree time on San Francisco's Haight Street on the other side of my trip and the country.

A pitcher of rum-flavoured beer from Astoria Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden left a memorable aftertaste of my short tour of Astoria's drinking establishments. We returned home at a respectable hour, knowing that the next three days would involve a lot of walking and bucket-listing. I was already getting into that New York state of mind.

Met-nificence

My host works in the theatre game, so due to her flexible schedule, I had a tour guide from start to finish for my first day out in the city.

We arrived in gloomy Manhattan, caught in the middle of a downpour. Fortunately it was already part of the plan to retreat indoors to the breathtaking Metropolitan Museum of Art to wait out the storm. With its pay-what-you-wish admission policy, it caters to art students and artists and all-out-of-cash alike.

The Met Museum occupies 190,000m2 of floor space, making it the largest art museum in the USA, with some of the most significant art collections in the world. I was very much out of my depth as to what determines that significance.

Thankfully, my friend's extensive art history knowledge and the sheer grandeur of the place ensured that I was walking among very hallowed art pieces. So just don't touch anything.

My novice art appreciation status meant that we embarked on a whistle-stop tour of the place, cherry-picking sections that would likely appeal to me. I'd recommend this approach if you're short on time but still want to get a dose of art and culture on your trip, as a day or two could easily get swallowed up in here if you're not careful).

My highlights reel included:

• A modern photography exhibit, tracking the influence of the likes of Adobe Photoshop and other digital manipulations.

• The modern art section, where the greats Monet and Van Gogh captivated my host.

• The Renaissance painting section, where the level of detail was as astonishing as the size of some of these pieces (taking up at least five metres of width or height).

• A temporary exhibit devoted to the influence of the punk sub-culture on fashion, with Sex Pistols tunes blaring out from a backdrop of bizarre works of fashion that would be a little unwieldy to wear on an everyday basis.

• The historical musical instruments, showcasing an assortment of lutes, harps, and other antiquated but ornate tools of the trade.

• The mediaeval armour and weaponry section, where you can admire some exquisitely-maintained battlefield equipment

The sun had returned from behind the clouds. We meandered through Central Park, and as I looked around me at all this verdant land, I was amazed at how so much of it could be found in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world.

There are multiple reservoirs, lakes, playgrounds, running paths, and even a zoo (which I vaguely remember visiting on my second visit back in the early-2000s). Our destination was Shake Shack on the western side of the park, where we'd devour some delicious SmokeShack burgers in exchange for the hard yards we put in roaming the most beautiful green space in the city.

Strawberry Fields For (An Afternoon)

Confession time: I was a late-blooming Beatles fan, only diving into their music in my early years of college.

Between then and now, I've realised that, yes, I probably have more of McCartney's optimism and perfectionism. Yet I continue to admire Lennon's creativity and candidness.

I also became aware of the Strawberry Fields Memorial in Central Park during this period as a fledgling fan. Knowing that I had actually walked through Central Park as an unformed and uninformed teenager—probably passing very near to it—exacerbated my anxiety and desire to see it properly if I ever had the opportunity to visit New York City again.

The 2.5-acre section in the park is dedicated to John Lennon's memory and was opened five years after his assassination outside Dakota Apartments, which are directly across the road and the first stop on our path to paying respects.

'The Dakota' was John’s home for the later part of his life, and where it was taken all too soon on the night of December the 8th, 1980.

Having read the official reports of his death, it was surreal to be standing on the very spot where my hero breathed some of his last breaths, tracing his staggered steps to the security hut still in front of the building 33 years later. The experience was solemn and morbid but gave some closure and a first-hand frame of reference to a tragic loss.

The lament for Lennon changed tune when we entered Strawberry Fields itself.

Green benches surround the focal point of the memorial: a large stone mosaic entitled 'Imagine' after one of John's most famous songs. The memorial is usually filled with flowers and tributes left behind by Lennon fans. As it had just been raining, we encountered a single tribute: a solitary flower with a handful of fresh strawberries.

We pilgrims, both clad in Beatles t-shirts, sat on one of the benches to take in the moment. We quietly sang the words 'Strawberry Fields Forever', the song from which the memorial gets its name.

In that peaceful point in time, at the heart of a serene woodland, I tried to reflect on what The Beatles and John Lennon meant to me: how I could grieve for a man I'd never met, how that man struggled openly with his flaws and his past to leave a positive, widely impactful legacy at the time of his death.

As a patron of peace, I'd hope John would've been happy with the tranquility of his own memorial.

Falling Into An Encyclopedia

If you're in the area, it's worth making a quick stop at the American Museum of Natural History, a few blocks away from Strawberry Fields on 8th Avenue.

Just like the Met, it has a budget-friendly admissions policy, is incredibly large, and is celebrated around the world for its variety of collections, which include specimens of animals, plants, fossils, rocks, meteorites, and human cultural artefacts). So no modern art, folks—this is natural art.

The museum was founded with support by Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. (father of the US President) and it’s a naturalist's paradise. We browsed the many natural history exhibition halls, the intricate, life-like dioramas leaping out at you like images from an encyclopaedia page. As a space geek, I really had my heart set for the stars: the Rose Center for Earth and Space.

If you hold a sense of wonder about the cosmos, a performance inside the sizable Hayden Planetarium is the place to appreciate it (listening to actor Liam Neeson describe the creation of the universe is strangely calming). The temporary exhibitions might also be worth a visit; ours was the compelling 'Full Moon' exhibit, comprising high-quality, lesser-known photographs from the Apollo missions to our lunar neighbour.

How Would You Like Your Song Done?

Who likes to sing a tune when having breakfast? Or have one sung to you? Breakfast at Ellen's Stardust Diner in Times Square is more than just a square meal; it's a front-row seat to a song buffet.

All the waitrons are aspiring Broadway actors and singers who perform an array of show tunes while serving your food. My host's flatmate works there and guaranteed us a fabulous show in addition to a hearty American breakfast. Her multi-tasking abilities were quite impressive; she made pouring a steaming cup of coffee while singing the lead part of a Disney classic seem oh-so natural.

The same could be said of the rest of the multi-talented and professional waitstaff. They were quick to remind us that many of Ellen's employees actually go on to make it big in Broadway - such as the lead actor in 'Mamma Mia!' that was currently showing not far from the diner.

With the day off to an entertaining start, I was left alone to wander the streets of New York City for a few hours while my host headed off to work at another themed restaurant nearby (the spooky Times Scare).

Reflecting Absence

The September 11 terror attacks of 2001 cleaved the New York City experience into two halves.

Having visited both pre- and post-9/11, I was a tourist who had been able to see the city before and after the disaster—when the Twin Towers still dominated the skyline, and when they did not.

But as a child, the only change I can recall that affected me directly was the increased security checks while travelling. We also didn't think to visit 'Ground Zero' then—it still bore its name vividly and practically a mere 9 months after the attacks—and besides, it’s located in the Financial District, quite a few miles south of Times Square and the traditionally 'touristy' areas.

But a lot had changed in a decade.

The World Trade Center complex had seen the One World Trade Center building (or 'Freedom Tower') grow almost to completion, and a beautiful memorial develop over the bases of the old North and South Towers.

This was my chance to pay my respects. I set off south down 8th Avenue on a gorgeous, sunny day, temporarily forgetting that miles are more than kilometres, which is a common mistake for metric travellers encountering the imperial system. Know your conversions, people—or tell Google Maps to do so.

The longer-than-expected walking route was worth trying out on foot as as it took me past the legendary Madison Square Garden concert venue and then through the leafy Greenwich Village. It’s to be a bohemian capital and artists' haven from the late 19th to mid-20th centuries, and now the quaint, predominately brick buildings contrast sharply with the statuesque pillars of steel and concrete that define the current New York City skyline.

Nearing the Financial District, the gargantuan prism-shaped One WTC building emerged into view, literally scraping the sky. It is so unbelievably tall that when I reached the WTC complex, I had to get down on my knees to capture it all in one portait.

When I visited in May 2013, there was a temporary tribute centre located a few streets away. Passes were given out there to access the actual memorial. The center contained numerous artefacts and literature on the terrorist attacks and the subsequent rebuilding, both emotionally and physically. It's likely that all these items will be placed in a museum on the finished WTC site one day.

As anticipated, we had to undergo a rigorous security check before entering the memorial site, particularly since construction is still in progress on many of the buildings. When you first arrive, you will see a serene plaza with trees, but the two enormous footprints left by the fallen Twins will soon grab your attention.

These empty pits have been turned into pools of water with man-made waterfalls cascading down their sides. Gilding the edges are memorial plaques for all victims at the WTC complex: the majority from the 9/11 attacks, but also the lesser-known 1993 basement bombing.

The curators of the memorial space went above and beyond to ensure an appropriate arrangement of victims' names.

I was intrigued to discover that a logarithm was used to group victims who knew each other, considering company affiliation, first responder teams, and personal requests from family members. In addition, cutting-edge pedestrian simulations were conducted to test the site's design and simulate how visitors would use the space.

These logistical measures were by no means frivolous or fussy.

There are over 3,000 victims memorialised here, and as I circled each pool, I saw groups of tourists, tearful families, and resolute servicemen in uniform—all gazing upon these thousands of names cast in granite. The pain still lingered for many, and the memorial's name spoke a universal truth: 'Reflecting Absence'.

I reflected on my own family's near-miss with the 2001 tragedy, something which I've only come to fully understand the significance of in recent years as an adult: my father had been in New York City on a business trip a mere one week before the 9/11 attacks.

He actually stood in the lobby of the North Tower during that trip, admiring its size and grandeur. Fortunately for me and my family, he returned home a few days later—but after 9/11, many did not. Even if you didn't lose a family member or friend, a visit to this memorial puts the everyday trivialities of life into perspective. Recognising presence.

A Lens At Liberty

For the brief window of time you are in a city as a tourist, you hope and presume that all the iconic landmarks will be open for you to visit. When Mother Nature decides otherwise, as was the case for me and the Statue Of Liberty, you need to switch tactics. You might just find that not all hope was lost.

Due to the damage from Hurricane Sandy in late-2012, the island on which Lady Liberty stands was still under repair at the time of my visit to NYC. Ferries to and from it wouldn't be available for another few months. Bummer.

When I initially set out, my plan was to locate the nearest point on Manhattan where I could catch a glimpse of the famous blue-green statue, even if it meant she was miles away in the middle of the Hudson River. Drawing on my local experience from San Francisco, I decided to approach a friendly New York City police officer to ask for directions.

The response I got was better than expected: not only could I see the statue, I would be much closer than Manhattan. How was this possible? Aboard the Staten Island Ferry, which was:

• free

• departing every 45 minutes

• as close as you could get to seeing the Statue of Liberty without setting foot on Liberty Island.

It turns out that The Strokes were wrong: New York City cops, they are quite smart.

The officer’s advice brought to mind a bit of traveller's wisdom from British comedian Karl Pilkington: "I'd rather live in a cave with a view of a palace than live in a palace with a view of a cave."

Standing on the ferry deck facing New Jersey proved this. Here I was allowed some magnificent views of lower Manhattan, Ellis Island (formerly the busiest immigrant inspection station in the United States), and Lady Liberty herself.

My camera's 30x zoom managed to capture the famous face in surprising detail, I had a sea breeze in my face, and I didn't have to set foot upon a tourist trap.

Returning to Manhattan, I planned on meeting my host halfway up the long section of Broadway, which is the oldest north-south main thoroughfare in the city, an area best known for its theatre industry. She got off work in the late afternoon and decided to take me on a trip down a nearby memory lane to her alma mater.

The East Village is the student capital and home of New York University (NYU), a young, vibrant community that prides itself on its diversity and counterculture values. After starting the evening off with a Brooklyn Lager in a basement bar, we searched for a dinner option that would showcase this diversity. We found it in Japadog.

This quirky and fun takeaway joint, only found in Vancouver and NYC, sells Japanese-style hotdogs. You get the same proudly American "bun 'n dog" as you'd find on most street corners, but the toppings are from another place entirely: teriyaki sauce, Kobe beef, shredded cabbage, and even seaweed.

The fusion of Japanese flavours with an American staple food was smartly done. If you visit the New York branch, make sure to get the deep-fried ice cream bun to round off a weird and wonderful meal.

Time's Up

My final day in the United States saw me return to Times Square, a bustling tourist hotspot I had avoided on my trip thus far, consciously or unconsciously.

More so than any other place in the city, this dense zone enclosed by Broadway, 7th Avenue, 42nd and 47th Streets is New York in the minds of many tourists.

The square (or rather, polygon) teems with life and light, representing the glitzy capitalist excess so entrenched in the 'American Dream'. Having proverbially 'been there, done that' on my previous two NYC visits, this was non-essential territory for me, yet still worth another walkthrough nonetheless.

It was Saturday morning, and the square buzzed with tourists and flashing billboards. For such a large crowd of people, it was uncannily weird to feel so alone.

Travelling solo for almost four weeks meant many hours of self-reliance and self-reflection while sightseeing. I disappeared into the throngs of awestruck travellers, returning to points in my past where I, too, had stood, craning my neck upwards in wonder.

Springtime in New York has its fair share of unpredictable weather. However, my lengthy walk up 7th Avenue to the Guggenheim Museum was perfectly timed between downpours. The walk might have been a bit extreme (it was over 40 blocks), but given my imminent departure, I chose one last stroll through Central Park rather than just another underground subway ride.

My budget-friendly luck had run out when I arrived at the modern art museum, though.

After queuing for 15 minutes, I was informed that free admission was only available from 5 p.m. that evening, not for the entire day—as I had originally thought.

Whether I had been misinformed or was uninformed, $22 was far too steep at this stage of the game. I dejectedly left the awe-inspiring atrium, with its unique ramp gallery extending up from ground level in a long, continuous spiral. Coordinating visits to museums was more than just a walk in a park.

Harlem Renaissance

Returning to Times Square, I met up with a recent business associate of my father's. The South African-American gentleman was based in NYC and graciously agreed to take me out for lunch at a calorie-stuffed Dallas BBQ on Times Square.

Equal parts appetising and overwhelming, my meal of honey-glazed fried chicken, BBQ baby back ribs, and sweetcorn bread helped gloss over my recent traveller's miscalculation. After some small talk and catch-ups, he suggested that we pay a visit to Harlem, a predominately African-American neighbourhood in northern Manhattan, where he had lived for his first few years in the city.

Harlem’s reputation outside of the USA is mixed. Although the area has experienced significant social and economic gentrification in recent years, a stigma of crime and violence still lingers. My lunch partner assured me that I should not be concerned, so we boarded the famous A train, which has been referenced in many jazz and hip-hop songs over the years.

Our visit was cut short by a heavy rain that was hard to avoid. Nonetheless, we were determined to visit at least one iconic place from the Harlem Renaissance: the legendary Apollo Theater.

The music hall used to feature performances by famous artists such as Ella Fitzgerald, James Brown, and Michael Jackson, and recent efforts have been made to restore the theatre and preserve its legacy. The relentless rain would have made for a great rhythm section.

Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today

26 days on the road: more than just a conference or weekend festival, more than your employer usually allows you to go on vacation (if you have an employer, that is). More than enough.

By this point, I had started to become one with The Cycle: packing and unpacking my suitcase, moving every couple of days to another lounge or bed, catching trains, planes, buses, and cars, walking along an avenue of stars.

But despite my brave face, the cumulative exhaustion had finally started to show. I had reached a point of habit, and for those who travel frequently or spend much of their lives on the move, you eventually break through, and it becomes the new normal.

When I packed my bags that night for the final time of this trip, I was also dismantling the infrastructure I had built up over a month away from home.

I had to find space not only for clothes, souvenirs, and toiletries but also for memories, lessons, advice, and coping mechanisms. I had to make sure that this wasn't just a(n American) dream; that I had actually experienced what makes this country so bold and beautiful. 

Part of it has come from writing these experiences down, solidifying them like concrete setting in a New York City skyscraper. The city that never sleeps keeps on building, and that sky-high ambition keeps people returning, rebuilding, and revitalising.

Having travelled the length of this land, from sea to shining sea, I found the core of this American dream in New York City: The Big Apple—with seeds included. These vagabond shoes are longing to stray right through the very heart of it again.