So our flight was delayed for four hours. And then the crew didn’t turn up until 30 minutes after they were supposed to arrive. We boarded the flight at close to 12am and arrived at an eerily deserted LaGuardia at 2.30am. As if things couldn’t get any worse, we soon found out that the apartment we booked on AirBnb wasn’t what it’s proprietor claimed it was.
We arrived at a dubious neighborhood at 3am. And my heart sank.
The whole place looked like a potential murder site. I kid you not. The rusted emergency stairs, the flying plastic bags – it looked like a scene straight out of Law and Order. Anees and I were suitably spooked.
The apartment didn’t do much to assuage our fears. The ancient elevator wasn’t working, the building was poorly lit, and had fewer occupants than light sources. To make things worse, our host seemed reluctant to answer our questions about who else rented the apartments here.
So me and Anees decided, in her words, that we sorely needed to ‘belah’ in the morning.
We burned the money used to book the place, and are currently applying for a refund from AirBnb; it doesn’t really matter to us if we get it or not, we’re just relieved to be out of that place.
So we booked a hotel in the middle of Manhattan at 4am, and cabut first thing in the morning. Arriving at the city hotel felt like we had been rescued off a shipwreck.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, with obligatory trips to Times Square and Carlos’ Bakery, but this is one experience I will remember and live to tell my cucu cicit about.
‘Your Amah was an adventurer,’ I’d tell them. ‘She survived a dangerous jungle known as 10th Avenue Manhattan’. Then they would clap in amazement and wonder and tell all their friends and AI companions what a cool Amah they had.
I’d be a great grandmother.
Honestly though, we should’ve planned better. And maybe not have been so kedekut.
Priority list for other travels: