Rainy Day in New York

Day 3 - October 13, 2025

Today was supposed to be a rainy day, so we dressed for battle: raincoats, umbrellas, stroller rain guards, the full soggy-day armor. And because I’m apparently the only one who reads the forecast and acts on it, I was the only one who actually donned rain pants. No hope for the wife, but I guess it’s time to start training the 20-month-old and 4-year-old in the art of preparation and packing.

Breakfast took another downgrade. We’ve now reached “bare minimum continental”: a loaf of white bread, butter, strawberry jam, toaster, juice, and coffee, self-serve, of course. The Europeans around us didn’t seem to mind. We eavesdropped for entertainment, since the Wi-Fi definitely wasn’t providing any. Somehow it was even worse than yesterday. Like visiting a backwards country… but with bagels.

Since we were staying in New Jersey, we needed public transportation to get into NYC. The options were a shuttle (basically a tiny bus) that stopped at the hotel or the city-run buses. We went with the city buses and walked to the stop, which also doubled as an open-air pigeon zoo.

Turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The kids spent the entire (and very long) wait chasing pigeons. No one got pooped on. Double blessing.

The sign claimed every bus in the city stopped there. Reality check: not a single one did. They all zoomed by on the highway below like we were invisible. We told ourselves they were full, but honestly, who knows.

Meanwhile, a parade of shuttles kept rolling past, but they only took cash. And we had none. So a new plan was born: wander around searching for an ATM. A nearby gas station finally came through, and just like that, we were a cash-holding family again. Freedom! Viva la révolution!!!

Back to the stop. More shuttles. We flagged one down and asked if it went to the city. “Yes,” said the driver. We started breaking down the stroller, pulling kids out, doing the full stroller-packing scramble, when he suddenly yelled, “Too slow!” and drove off.

He got caught at a red light right in front of us and opened the door again, like he expected us to hustle over. I walked up John Wick style and WWF drop-kicked his door. Just kidding, I silently hold grudges. Still am. I’m sure he’s still suffering tremendously. A man who can’t understand that a family of four moves slower than a solo commuter is no friend of ours.

So, back to Plan A. Eventually, we caught a proper city bus. A fancy one, too, with outside storage like a Greyhound and big comfy seats. We rode in style and declared this our forever method of transportation.

Every bus ends at Port Authority on 42nd and 8th, right in Times Square territory. First stop: McDonald’s for coffee and sausages. The kids thought it was for them. The adults knew it was for Wi-Fi.

We had our Google Map sprinkled with points of interest, so throwing together a rainy-day plan barely required a thought. We were just heading out when Lola slipped out of our periphery like she had somewhere better to be.

We spotted her a moment later standing beside a person in a full Wolf mascot-style getup, balloons in hand. They weren’t handing them out or anything, Lola had simply walked up and asked. By the time we reached her, she’d secured one for herself and one for her brother, looking proud of her negotiation skills. Peak Lola.

With everyone accounted for it was time to head out. First destination might seem like it was chosen by the kids, but it just happened to be the closest pin on our map: the M&M store. We mostly window-shopped, but Sophie and the kids grabbed some chocolate. Lola insisted on filling her own bag from the vacuum-tube dispenser and nearly filled it to the top. I inconspicuously dumped most down the drain... I think it was a chocolate drain. I was very conspicuous. Still cost us eight U.S. dollars. Thank the chocolate gods I intervened. Wesley was far more reasonable. They both left happy, munching for the next hour.

After chocolate heaven was Radio City. Say what you want, but rain makes everything look prettier in pictures. Reflections everywhere. Wet shoes, though? Still awful. Unless you’re a duck. Quack quack.

After snapping a few pics, we jetted to the LEGO Store… or more accurately, the line in front of it. We waited less than fifteen minutes, and the kids didn’t complain once, they were too busy stuffing their faces with chocolate. By the way, that whole melts in your mouth, not in your hand thing is a lie. They absolutely melt in the hand.

Inside, we LEGO window-shopped. More financial pain, still in U.S. dollars. Sophie’s been doing this genius trick with Lola: every time she asks for a toy, we say, “We’ll add it to your birthday or Christmas list.” Works every time. The list is now long enough to qualify as a scroll.

Once outside, tummies started grumbling, mine included. We grabbed eight-dollar corndogs (aka Pogos) for the kids and myself. Sophie immediately made it clear: “That was a one-time thing.” Duly noted. When the CFO speaks, we obey... listen, I mean.

Time to really blow the kids away, next up: FAO Schwarz. Pure magic for the kids. The employees were fantastic, and the store was alive with music and toys. Lola fell in love with a pair of clip-on earrings. She’s been wanting her ears pierced forever, especially since all her cousins and friends have them. We said yes. Highlight of NYC right there for her.

She wore those things nonstop, clipping and unclipping them until one got lost. She took it well. Growth!

We all jumped on the giant piano from Big. Well, “jumped” might be generous. Lola and Wesley ran up and down it like it was a racetrack. It sounded like free-form jazz. I told the crowd it was performance art.

The kids finally passed out in the stroller, but not before Lola once again convinced a complete stranger to give her free stuff, this time an American and an Italian flag, kid-sized versions. This has happened so often it’s no longer about luck. She clearly has a skill for persuading people to give her things, a gift she definitely gets from her mother. I know this for sure because I’d rather die than talk to a stranger. In fact, on this trip, I died ten thousand times.

The flags did little to change the state of the kids; they were exhausted and out cold. Sleepy time can only mean one thing: the perfect moment to visit Daddy’s Nintendo Store. Childhood dreams reawakened. I could’ve cried. We’ll be back for sure. Need to share it properly with the kids.

Sophie and I kept walking to keep the kids asleep. The New York Public Library was closed, so we kept going, all the way to the Harry Potter Store, her turn for childhood nostalgia. She grabbed a Butterbeer and downed it in one go. I offered to “watch the kids.” She said, “Stand by the staircase.” She also said she’d be right back.

Three. Hours. Later.

When we finally found each other, the kids were teenagers and I was sporting an island-survivor beard. Sophie asked, “Where have you been?” I nearly cast Wifeling Disappeara. We chalked it up to miscommunication and moved on.

The kids woke up as we used the nearest port key to exit. We grabbed Italian sandwiches, then stopped by a dog park. Wesley, our official dog spotter, kept yelling “Chien!” every time he saw one. Pure joy.

Time to head back. We hit a Pop-Up Bagel for dinner, six bagels and one tub of “spread” (read: pure salted butter). The kids ate their butter with a side of bagel.

We took the 190D to get there, so we grabbed the same one back. Or so we thought. Ten minutes later Sophie asked, “Are we on the right bus?” Nope. We were getting farther from the hotel. We got off, waited for another one, and loaded up our monstrous stroller again. Finally made it back in the dark.

The kids washed up, watched a bit of tablet, then crashed. So did we, but not before sharing a romantic bagel soufflé in the dark, cell phone flashlights for candles, quietly eating so we wouldn’t wake the beasts.