Yes, we flew first class. Yes, it was nice. Yes, the food and in-flight service is a hundred times better than coach and there is a ridiculous amount of leg room. But it's still a five and a half hour flight, and you have to add in the two hours at the airport prior to boarding in which you hang around doing nothing much besides eating the lousy snacks in the Admirals Club and wondering why, since people presumably pay so much for first class, don't they at least serve something fancier than Chex Mix in the waiting lounge. I mean, if I'd actually paid seven grand for my ticket I'd be kind of mad about the pretzels. But what I'm saying is it's a big investment of time just getting to New York. And I'm no longer that thrilled about flying.

I wanted to go, of course. I love Manhattan, I used to live there. Many of my favorite people in the whole world still live there. I had a ball seeing new places, visiting old favorites, finding out how much the city's changed. My gosh, it's changed. Places that were scary and life-threatening in the 80s are gentrified and revitalized now, especially the Lower East Side. Our hotel, the Shoreham, was charming and modern with free capuccinos and astonishingly small rooms that nonetheless managed to be very comfortable. The location at 55th and Fifth was unbeatable. We saw the full complement of classic sights: the Empire State Building, Radio City Music Hall, Grand Central Station, Bemelman's bar at the Carlyle, Soho, Little Italy, Tribeca, the Flatiron building, the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MMA), Central Park, Rockefeller Center, Jerry Seinfeld's building, and Otto Tootsi Plohound. The last might not qualify as a classic, but it's certainly the coolest name ever for a shoe store.

We also saw Ground Zero, or at least walked around it. I didn't mean to go, I don't like the idea of it as a tourist destination, but for a month two banks of blue lights have been set up which create two enormous columns of light in memory of the World Trade Center buildings, and my friends wanted me to see it. It was very moving, I must say. Also, as every New Yorker noted the first night the lights went on, unmistakeably akin to the Bat signal.

I went to Park Slope, Brooklyn, to spend Saturday with Teresa and Patrick Nielsen Hayden. We came back to the city to run errands and have dinner; afterwards we did the Ground Zero visit. I had Sunday brunch at Cafe Sabarsky adjacent to the Neue Galerie, complete with Fascist, spectacle-wearing, snooty Viennese headwaiter, who made Moshe, Lise, Vicki, Andy, John and I move to a different, less comfortable table because someone else wanted to sit where we were. Afterwards, we stepped into the Guggenheim to marvel at the fact that the interior has been painted black for a Brazilian installation. It's the weirdest damn thing I've ever seen.

Kymm finally returned my calls and we met for dinner at Vynl on Monday, then sat talking for hours back at my hotel. Tuesday John and I had dinner with Amelia (Not Her Real Name) at Monsoon on Amsterdam and 81st. Earlier in the day I snaffled books from Patrick's office at Tor (three Ken Macleods, Patrick's own Starlight 3, a Vernor Vinge, and a Jonathan Carroll), laughed uncontrollably at Teresa's packaging of some Piers Anthony collaborative efforts, and admired the view from the pointy part of the Flatiron building by sneaking into Tom Doherty's office while he wasn't there. Shhh, don't tell.

I shopped often but bought little. No clothes or shoes, for instance. I did score some unique and excellent books at the Strand and other places. I don't know if anyone else will find these exciting, but I was over the moon: a Time Life history of the 1920's, a history called The London Rich about how the city changed after the Great Fire of 1666 and why, and an enormous MMA publication on their period rooms which I am crazy about and see every time I'm in town. I am passionate about architecture, English history, and period clothing and interiors, especially the 18th century and the 1920s. So I'm extremely happy about my finds. It was worth the heavy suitcase on the way home.

John and I spent quality time together watching the Oscars Sunday night and resting our sore feet. My feet were sore every night. They're sore now. I have a desk job, I don't walk anywhere around here. I take the train to work, I sit for eight hours, I take the train home, I sit and type or I go to school and sit and type. But of course I walked for hours every day in New York. I wouldn't give in to mere pain. I kept thinking, "Maybe I'll never be here again, and this will be the last time I see this, or this, or this. Stopping thinking about your sore feet. Look, there's the MTV building! Is that Carson Daly?"

It wasn't. We didn't see any celebrities. I think they were all in L.A. for the Oscars.

Things I regret not doing in New York: seeing a play. I've never seen a play in New York. I would love to but there are so many other fun ways of spending time and money. Secondly, I regret attempting to buy anything at Macy's. The sales people are nearly as bad as Henri Bendel's sneering employees but infinitely less chic. Thirdly, I regret not having time to see all of my friends in the area. And lastly I regret not having my camera with me on the day I walked from Union Square to Chinatown. I saw the most wonderful New York vignettes but had no way to capture them other than in memory, that faulty and unreliable hussy. Maybe the Nielsen Haydens will post some of the photos they took. [They did, three good shots of the lights, now in the archives somewhere. See the photos, stay and read Patrick's excellent weblog.]

So it was a fun trip, nicely balanced, great weather (and yes, it did snow one night but only if you looked out the window at the right moment), I brought home wonderful souvenirs, and I am very happy I went. And yet, as fabulous as the city is, as much as I love all my friends there, I just don't want to make long trips any more. Five and a half hours in the air is kind of an endurance test. It's becoming obvious I won't make it to Chile this year. I'd already nixed Australia. I haven't been to Europe in six years. I used to go as often as three times a year, but now? Ten hours? Oh, man. I don't think it's because I'm afraid to fly, or I don't think that's all that's going on. It's probably just temporary. I still enjoy being somewhere else. I still crave new experiences, new cultures, new sights.

I hope it's like childbirth. I hope I'll forget how much I hate the process, and remember only that I love the results. Because a travel agent has to travel. It comes with the territory.

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