The wonders of Jet-lag
Love jet-lag. For a couple of days, I really enjoy the
feeling of functioning on a different time zone. Waking up in the middle of the
night, full of energy and ready to go out and about makes me feel I have
superpowers. It’s a temporary superpower of course; once I get closer to
sleeping hour on home time I feel my energy draining away. I'm like a zombie
robot (if such a combination does exist), dragging its feet through tar.
I'm not saying I like jet-lag everywhere. The best place to
have it is New York. I've come back two weeks ago for a whole day meeting I
shouldn't have been part of in the first place. I stayed for three, figuring
that’s how much will take me to function properly.
Naturally, the first night I've opened my eyes two hours
after midnight, hungry like a night-walker. I knew my first chance of having
breakfast was still a couple of hours away, so I emptied the complementary
water bottle of the hotel, just to give my stomach something to grind.
The weather app was signalling a cosy 16 degrees, so I've
just grabbed my hoodie and stepped out into the semi darkness. Mid-town is never
pitch black as, the Big Apple never sleeps.
The streets are clean and empty, with just a few signs of
life besides the endless flow of cars.
I made my way slowly to a Dunkin Donuts
on 46th Street just looking at the signs. Cause if there is one
thing you can find plenty of, is signs, markings, indicators and the like. A garbage
truck stopped on my side of the street has four metal plates on its back, full
of dos and don’ts. The back door of one building has “open door slowly” on the
inside. I wonder if anybody bothers to read or its just stuff that people put
to make sure they are coved in case of a lawsuit.
Its 5.32am, but this Dunkin which was supposed to be open
two minutes ago is disappointingly closed. Luckily there is one at almost every
corner so by the time I head back to my backup option, this other store is
boiling with activity and customers.
I take my breakfast bag and stroll aimlessly, not really
wanting to go back to my hotel. I have Manhattan for myself and I am not ready
to give it up.
The smell of bacon and eggs forces me to make a 180 degree
turn. Street vendors, the next group of insomniacs try as best as they can to
prepare with fruits, pretzels, hot dogs and omelettes.
Newspaper stands, follow
in closely, arranging the latest issues on display. Don´t know for how long
though as most of the people you see on the streets are looking at their phones
and listening to music oblivious to the world.
In the beginning is not obvious. From my window facing seat
in a friendly Starbucks, I need to focus to realise that every minute brings a
steady flow of people. It’s like a snowball, which increases in size with each rotation.
The living wave doesn´t stop, it doesn´t apologise – it purposefully rides the
streets from coffee shop to pretzel stand. Because it is hungry and in a hurry.
My cappuccino is down to foam and by now what it looks like
an angry ant army has taken over all the sidewalks. Behind me, the busy vendors
are calling out all names of men and women ready to take off as soon as they
have a hot cup in their hands.
That´s all I can muster. I go back to the hotel to summon my
remaining energy resources to get through the day.
But I am smiling, because for two hours I was the King of
the Island.
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