Biblical Rain


New York City never ceases to amaze me. Last night, having a dinner with a tennis friend and her family resembled something out of the Old Testament (with Central Park views). As the windows shook in the Hashmall residence, our very own Noah, returning home at the height of the storm (from a game of lawn tennis), used the most appropriate word for the outer furore. Biblical.

As Mr Hashmall ventured to close the front door to his 33rd floor apartment,

we sat down to what somehow seemed like a “Last Supper”, with the monsoon event outside attempting a break in.

Afterwards gathering at the balcony, peering to view the scene on Madison Avenue at 8pm last night, I was aware that I was potentially stranded uptown!

(Who knew Central Park Zoo had such an assorted community!?)

Returning home to Roosevelt Island, which in the best of weather can feel like being on a narrow boat on the East River, must surely be impossible tonight? Who would attempt such a tempest in suede ankle boots?

I was torn between boarding in the luxury of this family home and braving the elements so that I could wash my hair before the next working week, the teasing wind all the while rattling against the high-rise.

As we nervously nibbled on our cupcakes and drank tea, remaining stoic in the face of this perilous danger, we analysed my options. Walking now was out of the question, so my only solution would be hailing a cab and braving the rough climate on the island of Manhattan, aiming to drop anchor back on Main Street. Do I feel lucky?

Well anyway, I said my goodbyes and boarded the urban rickshaw. The cab swerved and rolled as the driver navigated the obstacles on Park Avenue. A bollard tumbled in front of us, the yellow taxi weaving away so that it harmlessly ricocheted off. A lifetime or ten blocks later and I was at last presented with the safety of solid underground. I was flustered, after negotiating an apparently fathomless puddle, but I was no longer exposed to the ferocity of Nature.

Safe again? One stop on the subway and here I am. Back in my own apartment. It is midnight and I am thankful for my health and my clean and conditioned hair. And as I drift off to sleep I am reminded that only in the Big Apple can one be faced with such an eventful Sunday night.


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