6 days in the city of blinding lights: Day 1 & 2

There has been a great amount already written about New York by the world's great poets, writers, lyricists and screenwriters that a mere Aussie who likes to prattle on can barely add anything new or worthwile. The only thing I will say is that what these great artists have said before is all true. New York is a Bruce Springsteen and a Bob Dylan tune. It is an F Scott Fitzgerald novel and a Woody Allen film. It is West Side Story minus the spontaneous bursting out in song (the weirdos that hang around the Port Authority Bus Terminal are the exception).

Day 1 -
I decide to take the train down from Boston because the approach into NYC would give me more of a view of the city than a plane. Besides I would be leaving by air so this way I would get the best of both.

I arrive at Penn Station and wonder where the hell Amtrak have dumped me. The place is teeming with life and noise that I can see how this city can overwhelm you. I get some sense of my bearings in this subterranean metropolis and head for the number 1 train uptown towards my hotel on Broadway and West 77th St on the Upper West Side (because that's how I roll).

Checked in (and upgraded) I head off in the late afternoon swelter to scope out the local 'hood. I make it to the fringe of Central Park when a summer storm hits hard. Wearing my havianas I run and squelch my way back to the hotel to dry off and grab a meal at a local Italian restaurant.

After dinner I spot a cafe nearby that has free wifi (not as common as I assumed) so that immediately becomes my morning and evening coffee joint.

Note: Although Americans and Canadians love their java, they don't produce great coffee. The best I have had so far (by a country mile) is Balzac's in Toronto.

Day 2 -
My plan is to break up my days here into geographical sections. That way I'm not travelling back and forth between different landmarks all the time. Do I have to see Central Park on my first full day? It isn't going anywhere, it can keep.

I head right to the bottom of the island and grab the ferry to Ellis Island. It stops off at Liberty Island first but as I can't go inside Lady Liberty (add low brow gag here) I skip it and get a decent photo from the ferry. Ellis Island was the point of call from the late 1800s to 1954 for immigrants who came to America looking for a better place to live.

After it closed it was left to decay until they began restoring it in the 1980s. A brilliantly laid out museum, Ellis Island is a visual document of immigration policy and the multicultural society of early 20th Century America.

Back on the Island I walk towards Wall Street and the Financial District hoping to stop off at the National Sports Museum along the way. However there is a sign on the door saying it closed down back in February. I read it only opened last September. The recession has hit this country hard.

Bad news turns to good as I walk past the defunct museum and discover the Fraunces Tavern. It is here that General Washington gave his farewell to his officers following the end of the American Revolution. It seems rude if I don't go in for a pint.

My next major stop is the WTC memorial museum, but along the way is the heavily guarded Stock Exchange (the latter is the result of the events of the former) and the grand Federal Hall where Washington was sworn in a President.

I didn't think that the memorial to the 9/11 attacks would affect me the way it would but by the end of it I found myself weeping. I had just viewed remnants of the towers and personal possessions found among the rubble and it became too much. I looked around and found to my comfort that I wasn't the only one in tears.

That night I went down to the East Village to see singer-songwriter Pete Yorn perform. Pete and band sounded great in the intimate Webster Hall playing songs culled mostly from his debut album (still his best).

My first full day in NYC and I think I packed a fair bit in.

...with Peter O'Brien as Sam Patterson

Dublin, Ireland
Sunday July 26 2009
0100 hours

We were deeply entrenched in our infinite game of spot the celebrity lookalike and points were crucial. Keep in mind points count towards a scoreline that is never maintained and will never bear witness to a final result.

It is both meaningless (in the grand scheme of things) and utterly essential (for one's pride) this game we have but whenever we resurrect it, it is battle stations. Friendship is thrown out the window and any trace of kindness in a weak suggestion is erased.

I had just spotted Eric Bana's doppelgänger in a pub in the Temple Bar district and Gillespie didn't agree.

And I was outraged.

The celebrity spotting game was introduced to us by our mutual friend and my former housemate Ian. The game was simple but came with a few caveats. For example, just because a man was of Asian descent didn't make him Jet Li. We had similar rules: entitled the Sam Jackson Protocol and the Rosie O'Donnell Method. I guess you can see where I am going with this.

I had reignited our floating game by spotting a Bono lookalike (circa Pop era) at Croke Park before the U2 concert on the Friday night.

Clearly the guy was a frontman for a tribute band (there were plenty of them playing in town this weekend) but the point counted regardless (or did it? My memory of the weekend is blurred somewhat due to the dazzling effects of the contents of my pint glass).

A little aside on the concert itself (seems that was the reason we were in Dublin in the first place). Quite frankly it was brilliant with the whole band sounding great. Bono's voice sounded a little high (even nasally) to begin with but it was unclear on whether that was the fault of the sound mix or not. It got clearer and stronger not long after and we were treated to some awesome performances. My top three were 'One' (with the bonus "Do you here us coming Lord?" coda), 'Ultraviolet (Light My Way)' and the showstopping 'Bad' - the performance of which you can see here:



Seeing U2 in their hometown was something else and a concert I will never forget.

After the concert the game continued well into the next day and night. We had a hilarious debate over a gentleman in a restaurant at dinner on Saturday. Gillespie thought he looked like Billy Bob Thornton but I said only in the mouth and chin region. Desperation is a stinky cologne and Gillespie countered with another selection on the same person, this time Gary Busey. I once again denied him his pick but it did conjure up the rare double spot possibilities afforded to anyone resembling Gary Busey because they also look like Nick Nolte by default.

In a cruel act I took a stab at the gentleman in question and came up with perennial 4th billed (and usual villain) Bruce Greenwood. My pick was denied both on the basis that Bruce Greenwood wasn't known to the majority of our dinner companions and that I was more than likely wrong.

I agree.

So here we were in the wee hours of Sunday morning at a bar that either started with an O' or a Mac and I thought I had spotted our very own Eric Bana. Now let me qualify by saying he had more of a mullet than what the real Eric would sport nowadays but if anything it was a throwback to his time on 'Full Frontal'.

So with Gillespie giving me a clear no, I boldly approached the guy that looked like the guy that played "Uncle Chop Chop" and asked if anyone had mistaken him for Eric Bana before.

I quickly discovered that he and his friends were from Holland. Shite, this was going to make things difficult to explain. They didn't know who Eric Bana was and at that moment my brain locked up on all the American movies he had been in. His most recent movie was Star Trek I told them but they responded by asking if he played Darth Vader.

I let that one go.

Knowing that Chopper was a cult hit overseas I gave that a long shot. They muttered that they were aware of the movie but as Bana was unrecognisable under the tattoos and sliced ears it was of no use. I gave up on my quest and skulked back to our table resigned to the fact I was not going to get the point.

A half a pint and a shot of sambucca later, our new Dutch friends attracted our attention from their spot across the room. This is it I thought. They have cleverly worked out who I was talking about, perhaps remembering his wooden performance in 'The Hulk' or his commanding role in 'Munich'. This was to be the comeback that people (and by people I mean no one) would be talking about for years to come. Lazarus had nothing on me.

And that is when they yelled out: "Eric Bana! From Flying Doctors!"

Double shite.

I didn't get the point bur points for trying to our brethren from The Netherlands.

They also won the award for the most random thing ever yelled out in a Dublin Pub.

This will result in hate mail: The case for Girls Aloud

A break in my trip to discuss the merits of this under appreciated pop group.

Let me say off the bat that I am not gay. I can however, as a lover of all music, be comfortable with my sexuality whilst listening to 'Freedom' by Wham (the original titled song NOT the solo hit by George Michael in 1990).

Because of this I can safely say that I like the music of British pop quintet Girls Aloud. This isn't an ironic statement, I genuinely believe they are at the pinnacle of Pop Music circa now.

I am currently flying over the Atlantic Ocean and enjoying the in flight entertainment. In between so-so romantic comedies and classic episodes of 'Father Ted' I am flicking over to the music video channel. On this particular flight they have a bounty (or should that be booty?) of Girls Aloud clips. In fact the first time I ever saw or heard this group was my last trip to Europe when I was blown away by the song and video to 'Biology'. I wondered then why they weren't popular back home in Australia.

Now our UK cousins have been buying their singles for years now, probably to the point of saturation. I'm sure they are ever so slightly sick of seeing Cheryl Cole (who I can only assume is the group's leader) on the front of tabloids but publicity, good or bad, is paramount to any pop group's longevity.

Cynics amongst you are wanting to call me out on the fact they are all stunningly good looking. That genetic certainty cannot be denied but the quality of the music they release is light years better than most of the stuff in the Top 40 back home (read: American R&B).

The writing, in the music especially, reminds me a lot of the Motown era - and let's not get precious about that comparison as Motown had teams of writers for The Supremes and The Temptations as well.

I will admit that The Spice Girls paved the way for the likes of Girls Aloud and The Sugababes ('Push The Button' should be taught in pop music classes it is so perfect) but Ginger and Co sound like talentless also rans in comparison. Probably because they are.

Anywhoo I have to go. My body says it is 9pm, my watch informs me it is the wee hours of the morning in Dublin and tonight I am watching U2 perform in their hometown with my best mate and his good friend. I need some shut eye.

Not before I fire up 'Can't Speak' one more time.

I said: "Say Chowda!"

I love Boston, I mean srsly love Boston.

If it wasn't for the whole Green Card issue and the fact that the only experience I have (apart from 2 years in a Trustee Company) is telling people to steer clear of the new Eminem album, then I'm sure I could get a job in this town. It would probably in a bar or a pizza joint beacause as you know life is (always) like a sitcom.

Beantown is full of obsessed sports fans and by that I mean fans obsessed with teams from Boston. Because it is summer it is the Redsox everywhere (and I mean everywhere) but, come the winter, everyone will be rocking the Celtics and Bruins gear. I just got back from Fenway Park (home of the Redsox and the Green Monstah) and I felt a pang of loss of the suburban Australian Football ground. Hate on Victoria Park and my beloved Windy Hill all you want but there is history in them thar fields and it is a pity they are relics of their former selves.

Boston: if you do nothing else, keep playing at Fenway Park.

Not quite true as Boston has more going for it than just sitting in the right field bleachers eating a Fenway Frank. My favourite part of time is the North End and the Italian Community that inhabit it. As you walk around the narrow streets of this little nook of Boston you gain a sense of the old school neighbourhood still in action. Posters on upcoming feasts adorn the shop windows along with Italian flags and 'Re-elect Menino' stickers. Thomas Menino is Boston's first Italian-American Mayor and in September's upcoming election his main opponent is Michael Flaherty. The Italians duking it out with the Irish once more it seems.

This time with a little less bloodshed one hopes.

Speaking of potential bloodshed I decided to have my travellers scruff shaved off cut throat style by one of the Italian Barbers in the North End. You are not a man until you sit in a chair with your life in the hands of a man that looks like your great Uncle Pauly.

Other random observations about this city:

- Most young men who work in an office seem to wear a blue open necked shirt with a white T-shirt underneath. There must be a special going on at J C Penny.

- The Samuel Adams Summer Ale in a pint is near perfection. One question though: was Sam Adams a brewer before or after he was involved in the American Revolution?

- The best remark I heard came courtesy of the hokey (yet necessary) tour bus conductor: "Coming up shortly we will be passing the studios of our local Fox News affiliate. Please note the bus slightly dips to the right when we go by" Zing!

- As I walked back from Fenway Park on this warm Boston evening I suddenly heard the classic sounds of "Summertime" by DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince. I assumed it was originating from a sweet ride cruising down Beacon Street bit sadly it came from a boombox strapped to the back of a low ride bike being riddin by a wannabe wigga. At least I can take comfort in knowing their is one in every town.

Time to head across the Atlantic to Dublin for a few days and watch these guys from the North Side play a few songs in a football stadium. You may have heard of them.

Shi Pow Pow aka Catholicism Wow!

Note to self: Learn at least some French before arriving in Montreal.

I am trying to think back to my French classes in High School but all that I remember is the vision of the shapely Miss Wilkins who taught it. Damn you adolescence!

Anyway, it has been an interesting experience navigating my way through all the Rues and Sorties and what not. I can still check in to a hotel, go to a bar and order a beer and a meal without too much trouble. Important to note: Mayonnaise is underrated as a condiment. Fact.

Being a Sunday, not only did I pass the cafes with the waiters out the front tempting famished passers by but one Church in particular (see pic) also looked like it was hustling for patrons. The Padre out the front came up with an interesting way to spruik his service: set up speakers in front of the Church and play pop music to tempt the citizens and visitors of Montreal. Now I am unsure if the speakers were linked to the street markets out the front but I would like to think St Mary's were using the divine spirit of Londonbeat to beef up the congregation's numbers. Cardinal Glick must have had a hand in that savvy idea.

Speaking of said street market (or Marché en plein air for those of you playing the French version) I came across a great young Blues band a few blocks down and captured a bit of it on video. Enjoy:



Onwards to Boston tomorrow. Go Redsox!

HOPE(less)

Caught this brilliant piece of political graffiti down near the harbour in Toronto (automatically making it the best thing about the Toronto Waterside).

I wonder if this is the reason why Palin quit? Dead or not, Tricky Dicky is still a formidable opponent for the current batch of Republicans in the 2012 primaries.

Weekend At Bernies 3: The Campaign.

Someone get me Andrew McCarthy's agent.

It's Her Royal Highness' Matched Luggage

Dear fellow passengers/travellers:

I cannot begin to list the number of things I would rather be doing than standing in the check-in queue as you rifle through you luggage to decide what you now need to jettison because you have gone over you weight limit restrictions.

I am reminded of the drink driving safety message: If you think you're over the limit then you probably are.

I am also reminded of the stern announcement from that famous hero of the silver screen, Lonestar: Take only what you need to survive.

Therefore I propose the installation of 2 queues, one for morons with calculation difficulties and one for me.

In lighter news I am currently in transit at LAX awaiting my connecting flight to Toronto. The Qantas A380 is the smoothest flight going around. Sitting here with a coffee in hand and the latest issue of Esquire to read - fresh off the news stand. I love L.A.!

Till next time...

When you go will you send back a letter from America?

On Wednesday I set off for North America, my first lengthy period away from work since 2006. My original plan for the trip (concocted late last year) was audacious to say the least, involving hiring a car for the bulk of it and a week in the Cuban summer drinking Papa Dobles like Hemingway.

Things have changed considerably since then and whilst I have sadly cast aside my Havana nights and cities like Philly and Chi-Town the trip is still as exciting as ever. One that, predictably, has more of a music focus.

I have the great fortune of seeing Pete Yorn in New York City and U2 in Dublin. The side trip to Dublin alone WILL be a tale to tell. I am also looking forward to checking out a local blues band in Memphis and a bit of country whilst in Nashville - perhaps even visit the Grand Ole Opry itself.

Of course my holiday wouldn't be complete without hearing what catchy new tunes Mr Gillespie has cookin'.

I'll try to keep you all updated on my travels as I traverse the highways of the New World. Until then, here's something that will get the Scottish blood pumping:



See you on the other side.