A Wellness Day Well Spent: May in NYC

THE PROPOSAL 

Mere weeks after my intrepid travel companion, Kath, offhandedly mentioned that, after over two years in a global pandemic, she really never felt the need to go to New York City again, I was asking her to do just that. I had stumbled upon an article about stage superstitions that briefly mentioned a certain former Double O Seven had caught COVID while playing the titular character in a certain Shakespearean play. Within moments, I opened a new tab and searched for resale tickets. I hadn’t been to New York in over five years, but the chance to see Daniel Craig play MacBeth on Broadway was bizarrely enticing. 

I proposed the idea to Kath and the stars aligned. She had an upcoming weeklong vacation. I had an unused Wellness Day at work. Neither of us were die hard Daniel Craig fans, but we both had seen all of his Bond films, loved a Broadway show, and – honestly – figured, why the hell not? 

We had made several day trips to New York during middle school spring breaks to do the classic mother/daughter activities: tea at the Plaza, American Girl store, Toys R Us, the Met, etc. A decade or so later, I was rewatching Sex and the City and had a hankering for a cosmo. As is wont to happen in 2022, I was struck with COVID shortly after purchasing our tickets. Although it may have been divine retribution for speaking the play’s name aloud, the end of my quarantine period happened to coincide with the day of our trip. COVID-free, we embarked on our journey. 

NEW HAVEN TO GRAND CENTRAL 

The day was off to a heart pounding start as Kath and I sprinted through Union Station after a harried drive to New Haven, during which I downloaded an app and frantically purchased three (whoops) one-way, off-peak tickets to Grand Central. Nearly two hours later, we slowly pulled into the tunnel, that long stretch of darkness before the terminal. We headed upstairs and emerged from the dingy platform into the main concourse that proves the legendary station is every bit deserving of the word “grand.” Kath and I gazed up at the sky-high turquoise ceiling 125 feet above us.  

“It just never gets old,” Kath said of the twelve zodiac constellation etched in gold. I’ve seen it a handful of times, but every look is always – and always will be – breathtaking. Among the skyscrapers and modernity that New York is known for, Grand Central is a relic and a must-see for every tourist, even if you’re not catching a train. 

PARK AVENUE TAVERN 

Out in the pulsing bustle of the city on a Wednesday morning, we exited towards Park Ave for our first destination, lunch at Park Avenue Tavern (or, “PAT”), stopping for a quick cappuccino at Pret a Manger before the restaurant opened. As expected, we were the first and only table seated at 11:01am, but the hostess began dropping reserved signs at nearly every table, and around noon the restaurant was lively with New Yorkers on their lunch breaks. It was a great choice for a quick bite after a famished train ride. The service was efficient and the venue was chic – exposed brick walls, a wraparound oak bar gleaming under warm overhead lights, and plenty of floor to ceiling windows for natural lighting and people-watching. On the other side of the room. The walls were covered in damask wallpaper and mirrors, chandeliers hung high over leather booths. 

Kath and I split the smoked turkey sandwich (“These pretzels are making me thirsty”), the spinach salad topped with crispy shallots, chopped granny smiths, and crumbled blue cheese, and side of sweet potato fries. Pro tip for getting sweet potato fries anywhere: always ask for a side of honey mustard. We eyed the Vesper Martini on the cocktail menu – a very auspicious reference to Bond – but ultimately decided to save our imbibing for post-play. 

PARK AVE TO BROADWAY

En route to the Longacre Theatre, we passed through Rockefeller Center, spotted Mario Lopez filming Access Hollywood, and stopped for a quick snack at Dough Doughnuts. It seemed this was the sustenance we would need as we headed down 48th Street. A dense line of people trailed down Broadway and snaked around the corner, and, after much disbelief, we realized this was the MacBeth line. Posted up what seemed like two blocks back, we divvied up our treat. As baked good fiends, Kath and I were both miffed by the extremely bready and uninspired donut topped with coconut flakes that we split. There is certainly something to be said for buying donuts after noon on a weekday when the shelves are already picked over and the cashier is startled to see you. Moving on.

 

MACBETH (JAMES BOND) 

During my COVID stint, I scoured the internet for tickets that were less than $300 and not tagged “obstructed view” for a few days before snagging suspiciously priced tickets in the orchestra, four rows from the stage. I was confident enough in StubHub’s resale policy and figured if we got turned away, at least it was a perfectly pleasant May day for wandering the city. There was a breathless moment of silence as the usher scanned our tickets – and – success! We were in, and filtering into the theater among the masked masses. The interior of the venue, designed in Beaux-Arts style, features vaulted ceilings, intricate golden plasterwork, and maroon curtains.  

Usher after usher peeked at our tickets and pointed us closer and closer to the stage until we were exactly where the map indicated we would be, four rows from the stage. However, neither Kath nor myself had accounted for the lack of an orchestra pit or the intimacy of the venue. After shuffling past the couple at the end of our row and settling into plush red velvet seats, we looked ahead at the stage before us. It was quite the opposite of the view up at the golden constellations in Grand Central. No, we would be looking right at Double O from the fourth row from the stage, about twelve feet away. 

As I am in no way a theater critic, I’m merely an English major who is relatively familiar with Shakespeare and Daniel Craig’s James Bond franchise, I have no intention of even attempting to review this adaptation. All I’ll say is that it was modern, diversely cast, both in gender and sexual orientation. The costuming was nonsensical and inconsistent, but I can certainly appreciate that the intention of this and several other aspects of the show were just over my head. I was glad to have reread the play ahead of time, and seeing it performed deepened my understanding of the characters, plot, and language. And as for the star of the show, Double O, I am convinced we made sustained eye contact. We were that close. 

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 

I exited the theater alongside Kath in disbelief and, frankly, a bit of sadness. I was going to miss Daniel. It was only after 3pm though, and we had plenty of time to meander. I had picked out a rooftop bar near Madison Square Park, and as we headed in that general direction, we stopped in for a gander around the New York Public Library. Again, I couldn’t help but make a quick Sex & the City reference (“this is where Big left Carrie at the altar!”) as we headed up the grand marble staircase, past the grand lions guarding the terrace, and into Astor Hall, skirting around NYU students in purple robes taking graduation pictures.

Kath and I took in the expanses of marble, elongated windows, and ceilings elaborately painted with murals. The building is stunning inside and out, and well worth the detour. Bibliophile or not (and, surprisingly, we didn’t see a single book), it’s impossible not to be in awe of the magnificent design. Designed in the Beaux-Arts style like Grand Central and Longacre Theatre, NYPL is a relic of timeless architecture with a wealth of history that’s not to be missed. 

THE ROOFTOP BAR

230 Fifth was a tourist trap, and that’s what you get when you go off of Google reviews (15,664 of them, do be exact). Located on the 21st floor at 230 5th Avenue (not hard to remember the location), it’s clearly a hotspot for any crowd looking to sit in the sun and suck down a $16 frosé juice pouch. Their website boasts igloos in the winter and a lineup of deejays and comedy shows all summer, tailored to a specific demographic that Kath and I definitely did not fall into.  

We arrived right at happy hour, as evidenced by the long line at the bar, the seething irritation of the bartender, and the lack of booze in our raspberry mojitos. We managed to snag a two-top crammed into the patio space and ordered chips and guac to go with our mint-less mojitos. As you can imagine, this was a one drink and done sort of place, and after finishing our drinks in about two minutes (we were dehydrated!), we made our way to the elevator bank. Evidently, the COVID elevator protocol was completely out the window.

Hordes of twenty-somethings fresh out of the office crammed into the five-by-five elevators, sending a trail of sweat down my spine. I noted an incongruous “stairs are for emergencies only” sign. This wasn’t boding well for my claustrophobia. We eventually made it onto an elevator bathed in hot pink lighting and I held my breath the entire twenty-one floors down.

The views of the New York City skyline on that cloudless May day was almost worth the rides up and down, but if you’re seeking a pleasant, casual cocktail on a rooftop deck, look for spots that require reservations. You’ll likely get table service and – ideally – not be elbowing the patrons sandwiched next to you. As Kath and I escaped back onto the streets, grateful to be back on the ground floor, I decided that 230 Fifth was, like the David Foster Wallace book, a supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again. 

BRYANT PARK TO GCS

        

Eager to stay on ground level, we ended up at Bryant Park Café, which was, like every restaurant in NYC at 6pm on a Wednesday, mobbed with the post-work crowd. Kath and I drank prosecco and split pulled pork sliders which might seem like a strange combo, but this was kind of a strange day in general. We decided to ditch the bustling café and seek out another bar for one last drink before heading home.

We popped in and out of bar after bar, trying to find a spot that didn’t resemble a modern-day episode of Mad Men (admittedly, we were on Madison Avenue), and eventually settled with a table on the patio of Pershing Square across from Grand Central Station. The late spring sun was almost set, and after sipping the dregs of our respective glasses of chardonnay and Guinness, Kath and I headed for our train and the long trip back home.  

GRAND CENTRAL TO NEW HAVEN 

A takeaway from the day won’t come as surprise to anyone who has attempted a day in any bustling city: if you want a good table, reserve it. Otherwise, you’re flying blind and fending for yourself. As Kath and I were more concerned with the main event, seeing Macbeth, than sticking to an itinerary, it’s likely that a lineup of reservations might have felt more constraining than anything else. In retrospect, making a reservation at a stand-out restaurant for dinner wouldn’t have been the worst idea – after all, hadn’t Sex and the City taught be anything about the inevitability of fighting hostesses to get a table?   

New York is great for a day. I always leave completely exhausted, slightly overwhelmed, and thoroughly grateful to not live in any city that never sleeps. But New Yorkers are obviously on to something. They work hard, play hard, and have the world at their fingertips. This lifestyle is not for the faint of heart, but it’s certainly fun to try it on for a day – or at least twelve hours. 

Regardless, at the end of the day, as Kath and I slumped into our red upholstered seats on the 8:30 to New Haven and unwrapped giant black and white cookies, I set aside any thoughts of the hour-long drive home from Union Station, or logging onto my work computer in eight hours, or the blister forming on my left toe, and instead reflected on the many moments of our trip to New York, how they all comprised a wellness day well spent.