The choir, of course, had made arrangements with a travel agent for air travel and lodging - although members had to pay their own way, of course. But several choir members, including us, elected to make our own arrangements. For one thing, we could pay for our plane tickets with credit card miles. And we also decided to stay in an AirBnB, thinking it would be cheaper than the hotel - especially since our friend Guillermo Robles, who's also in the choir, was staying with us and sharing the cost. Not only did we find a (relatively) inexpensive place to stay in Greenwich Village, but it turned out to be a block and a half away from the performance venue.
Our flight didn't leave until 2:15 in the afternoon, so we were able to have a leisurely morning. We got to the airport, met up with Guillermo, and had an uneventful flight to New York. And then the fun started.
In the first place, our Lyft driver, who picked us up at JFK airport and took us to Manhattan, was a Muslim, and wasn't happy about the dogs. He didn't refuse to take us - I'll give him that much - but he was very insistent that Terry prevent Trooper from touching him. This, of course, did not endear him to Terry.
So we got to our AirBnB, and by now, it was around midnight. Our hostess, Lily, had told us that the keys would be left for us at a restaurant around the corner (we found out later that she owns the restaurant). So Terry and Guillermo waited while I went around the corner and picked up the keys.
Now, in New York, it's quite common to see buildings with stores on the ground floor, and apartments above, like this:
And so it was with our BnB - it was upstairs from an office supply store. We went in the front door:
...and were confronted by a flight of stairs:
But when I looked at the directory on the wall, I realized something. Lily had never told us the apartment number. I took out my phone and called up the listing on the AirBnB website. No apartment number. I went back to the restaurant and asked. The woman at the restaurant made a phone call, and told us apartment 2E. So we went trudging up the stairs to the second floor. But when we got to 2E, the lights were on, and there was loud music coming from inside. Clearly, this was not the right place. Well, I hated to do it, but I had no choice - I called Lily and woke her up, and asked her for the apartment number. It was 3E
So up we went, one more flight. And by this time, I really knew I was in New York, because the hallways and doorways in this building looked so much like what I remembered from my grandmother's apartment when I was growing up:
So we found apartment 3E, and I tried the key in the door. And the door wouldn't open. I tried for several minutes, turning the key this way and that way, jiggling it back and forth.... nothing worked. I was starting to have visions of spending the night on the floor in the hall. Then Terry asked if she could try it. So I gave her the key... and she opened the door! I asked her "How did you do that?" She said "I don't know!"
Anyway, we were inside (I eventually did figure out how to unlock the door). It was a funky little Greenwich Village studio apartment, with a tiny little kitchenette, a refrigerator crammed into such a small space that it couldn't open all the way, an air conditioner that seemed to be stuck at 73 degrees... and only one bed. I took another look at the listing - when I had made the booking, I thought it said there was a bed and a sofa bed. Nope. It didn't say "sofa bed," it just said "sofa." Poor Guillermo spent the weekend sleeping on the couch. I felt bad, but he was very gracious about it.
So we ordered a pizza from a place up the street, and then went to bed. It had been a long day.