Do you trust the weather channel?

Well, in NYC, they played as fast and loose with the odds as a card counting clown who’s had too much tequila.

The weather channel said it would be cloudy in the morning. 80% chance of rain. (It was not). The weather channel said there would be clouds and sun in the afternoon. 70% of rain. (The skies were clear & sunny). The weather channel said there was a 50% chance of rain in the evening and possibly of a thunder and lightning storm.

When we arrived at the dock, there was not a cloud in sight.

That was fantastic since I booked the VIP top deck. Now, VIP doesn’t mean cushy seats and Thai girls in skimpy dresses serving drinks, nope, it’s just the top deck with a small bit of cover overhead. You can, however, see everything from the VIP deck – and that was the point.

When The-Youngest found out we were in the VIP area, he got all excited. It wasn’t so much about being able to see everything as he was a VIP.

The loading was a mess. We had VIP tickets which allowed us to beat the lines, but they moved us from one side of the dock to the other about a hundred times before they figured out what to do with us. Even the attendants were complaining no one knew what was going on. Ha.

But got on we did. We made it to the top deck, hid under a sliver of shade from the canopy above, and relaxed. This was going to be a nice, easy ride with wonderful views.

Did I mention there wasn’t a cloud in sight?

Did I mention there was a 50% chance of rain and lightning and thunder?

Well, well, well.

What would it be?

The boat launched without any problems and toddled down the Hudson. All of Manhattan spread out before us – All the towering towers. All the dockie docks and warehouses. Even an old power station. We saw New Jersey as well. (It is less stunning but looks like a city busting out the moves like a drunken breakdancer).

By the time we reached the Brooklyn Bridge, a few clouds were in the sky, but did that matter? We went under one of the most iconic bridges in the world. What a sight!

At the time it was built, the locals looked on it with the same awe we would look on a shuttle launch or a new Ryan Reynolds movie. Massive and sturdy, it looked like it would last forever like Keith Richards.

By the time we reached the north end of Manhattan, the Bronx was in the distance. The Freedom tower was to our port side. The clouds had gotten all black and angry. And then the storm hit. Thunder boomed in the distance. Lightning flashed. Rain poured down like we were in the tropics – It was a heavy, mean rain driven by heavy, mean winds.

Everyone in the VIP area ran to the shelter of the small canopy that was about the size of a good beach blanket. It was very squishy. Everyone not in the VIP section didn’t have to do anything. They had a roof over their heads.

So much for the VIP.

I had hoped staff would rush out from below to give us fancy VIP rain jackets, or hold umbrellas over our heads but no, no one came. The captain did rush out of his cabin though and look up. He swore and rushed back in.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World gave me a look. A that-was-not-good look. So she moved quietly and discretely to where the life jackets were stored.

The-Youngest and I weren’t deterred by rain and wind. I don’t have to wear glasses anymore, so I don’t mind getting a bit wet, while The-Youngest refused to even put on his jacket while he stood with the wind blowing his hair back and rain soaking his T-shirt.

For the entire time the storm raged, I had the Gilligan’s Island song going through my head. The-Youngest would be the professor. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World would be Mary-Anne (the prettiest of the girls) and I would be…. Gilligan? Yup. Probably. I’m too goofy to be the Skipper.

Luckily, we didn’t sink, and within about 20 minutes the storm blew itself out, defeated by The-Youngest and me who, like lobster fisherman from Newfoundland, refused to let the storm dictate our day.

Then the sky lit up in bright pinks and purples in a stunning display of nature’s beauty. With the beautiful colours overhead, we sailed around the Statue of Liberty. It looked as though the great lady had set the heavens with rosy fire.

Stunningly stunning.

It was totally worth how wet I got.

And as night descended on Manhattan, the lights came on and the city burst into new life. The giant skyscrapers became magical towers. Boats became like little fireflies. Docks and quays looked like someone had lit hundreds of torches.

Incredible.

It was one of those moments I’ll remember forever, or at least as long as my memory lasts.

We came back, slightly wet, slightly hungry and not at all keen to walk a long way to the nearest subway station. So, we tried something new.

We tried a bus.

But where do we find one?

Well, no sooner had I said, “Do either of you see a bus stop?” than a bus pulled up about 20 feet from us. It stopped and opened its doors and we rushed in. It was almost empty and we got to use our subway card (which is actually called a metrocard and is good for subways AND buses.)

By the next stop, a good twenty people hopped on, a few sneaking in the backway where people would get off (and not paying in a most un-Canadian way). By the next stop, another twenty wanted to get on, but we were full. Like sardine can full. Like Tokyo subway full.

Luckily, we had a way to go, we had seats, and we were together. We got off near Times Square, got on the subway back to our apartment. Since everyone was hungry and The-Oldest hadn’t eaten much (though there was a lot to eat), we picked up… wait, can you guess?

Yes, pizza.

The-Youngest and I marched out to a different spot to test out if there was a big difference between a 6.2 rating vs a 7.1 rating.

There was.

We liked the 6.2 better.

The-Oldest felt better but not fully better. He wasn’t at all sad he got to stay at home.

We went to bed (after the usual shower) and hoped he would be healthy the next day. We had big plans for that day.

Our cousin was going to show us her New York. A New Yorker’s New York.