NY See: Whether the weather

No matter how much you try to plan your itinerary for a forthcoming trip, you’re never prepared for the unexpected – namely, the weather.

Of course, if you’re travelling to the North Pole, you take something that’s down-filled, and if you’re going to Brazil, a swimsuit (and a waxing) is a no-brainer.

With New York being close to Toronto, the weather patterns tend to be similar: when it’s warm/cold in one place, it’s warm/cold in the other, and vice versa. Since the temperatures in Toronto are quite mild in May, I assume NYC will be the same. To make sure this holds true, I check online to make sure I need to pack t-shirts and shorts, instead of sweaters and slacks.

After a few clicks, I see that the next few days won’t require a supply of woolly separates - t-shirts and shorts it is.

When I arrive in the city at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m., I expect for it to be cool since the sun isn’t out yet. It’s not cool. It’s cold. And rainy. And windy. Very, very windy.


What the fuck, Mother Nature? Bitch, what did I do to you to deserve this?

Due to the fact that I don’t have a lot of body fat, I begin to shiver. My arms wrap around my torso to keep warm, but it doesn’t work. I begin to shake a little. I thought wearing a t-shirt, a v-neck sweater, and a lightweight jacket would be enough insulation, but it isn’t. Thankfully, I skipped on the shorts and flip flops when I left Toronto and decided on wearing a pair of jeans, shoes and socks.

As I walk towards Times Square, my carryall falls over for the umpteenth time. Whoever designed it thought it was a brilliant idea to place its wheels close to each other instead of further apart for balance. They should be fired. And shot… several times.

Looking down, I see the zipper burst open and my neatly-rolled underwear stick out of the side, as if I’m advertising my services.

“Motherfucker!” I yell at the bag as I try to shove everything back inside while frantically pulling the zipper up and down. The passers-by look at the spectacle and must think I’m crazy because I’m talking to myself and shaking.

Great, I come to NYC and I’m going to catch a cold… or the flu. That’s one way to make this a memorable trip, I think. Good thing the hypochondriac in me was neurotic enough to pack cold and flu medicine.

When I reach the intersection where Broadway and Seventh Avenue make an X, I see McDonald’s and go in. The coffee I order is hot enough to warm my hands.

As I sit at the window, I watch morning commuters pass by. Apparently, I must be the only one who is suffering from a mild case of hypothermia because most them are toing-and-froing without the several of layers of clothes that I’m sporting.

To kill some time before I check in to my hotel at 3 p.m., I take advantage of the fact there aren’t many people around (including those dreaded tourists – ugh) and snap some photos. With my camera in one hand and the carryall in the other, my hands lose all feeling in less than 15 minutes.

To keep warm, I find a computer terminal in the visitor’s centre that allows its users to go online for 10 minutes at a time. I e-mail a few people saying that I am in the city and that it’s freezing. One of the replies is: You’re from Canada, you should be used to the cold.

He’s right. I shouldn’t complain. I’m in New York.

In a few days, I’ll be seeing the sights, meeting up with people, and taking in some musical theatre. Sleeping will be optional.

And, if I need a sweater, Loro Piana makes great cashmere separates to keep me warm.