In September, I found out that Victor’s parents were planning a trip to New York City in October. I may not live next door, but I am only a bus ride away from Manhattan, which in American terms practically counts as local. The moment I heard their plans, I knew I had to go. It would be their first time in the United States, and I wanted to be there to experience it with them. Besides, when is there ever a bad excuse to return to the Big Apple?
I boarded a Greyhound at Union Station in Washington, D.C., early Wednesday morning, coffee in hand and backpack slung over my shoulder. There is something nostalgic about long bus rides up the East Coast. The landscape slowly shifts, cities blur past the window, and anticipation builds with every mile north. By midafternoon, the Manhattan skyline appeared in the distance, hazy but unmistakable.
Rockefeller Center & First Impressions
After dropping my things at my aunt and uncle’s apartment, I headed straight to Rockefeller Center to meet Victor’s parents at the ice skating rink. The plaza buzzed with life. Tourists crowded around the golden Prometheus statue, skaters circled the rink, and the surrounding buildings felt impossibly tall. Finding them was more complicated than expected. The area was packed, and I was running late after the subway was temporarily stopped so police could deal with a man attempting to transport his motorcycle underground. Apparently, that is very illegal. Only in New York.
Eventually, after a few frantic texts and laps around the rink, we found each other. Hugs were exchanged, and excitement was immediate. Without wasting time, we went up to the Top of the Rock.
I had never gone before because of the price, but it was high on their list. And honestly, seeing it through first-time eyes made it worth it. Central Park cut a perfect green rectangle through the grid. The Empire State Building stood proudly to the south. The Hudson and East Rivers shimmered in the distance. Yes, there are cheaper views in New York, but standing above Manhattan never loses its magic. The skyline makes you feel both tiny and completely alive.
An Evening in Greenwich Village
After descending, we took the subway downtown to Greenwich Village. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Corporate towers gave way to brownstones, tree-lined streets, and cosy storefronts. Because Victor’s mom was still recovering from a broken ankle, we kept things relaxed.
Instead of rushing through landmarks, we slipped into a neighbourhood bar and ordered drinks. The Village invites you to slow down. We talked about their first impressions, about the differences between American and Spanish cities, and about what surprised them most.
Conversation flowed in a mix of English and Spanish. My English and intermediate Spanish, paired with Victor’s dad’s Spanish and intermediate English, somehow created the perfect middle ground. There is something lovely about conversations that require patience. They feel more intentional.
Reflecting Downtown
Thursday morning, I met Victor’s parents at their hotel and confidently navigated the subway system like a seasoned local. There is an odd pride that comes with tapping your MetroCard smoothly and knowing exactly where to stand on the platform.
Our first stop was the 9/11 Memorial. The reflecting pools are powerful in their simplicity. Water cascades endlessly into the square voids where the towers once stood, and the names etched in bronze feel personal and heavy. The space demands quiet reflection.
From there, we wandered toward Wall Street. The narrow streets of the Financial District felt markedly different from Midtown. We paused at Trinity Church, its Gothic architecture standing in striking contrast to the surrounding skyscrapers. History and ambition sit side by side in this corner of the city.
Harbour Views & South Street Seaport
Continuing south, we reached Battery Park. A cool harbour breeze carried the faint scent of saltwater, and the Statue of Liberty stood in the distance, smaller than expected yet deeply symbolic. The weather was crisp and bright, the kind of autumn day that makes walking feel effortless.
We followed the waterfront to South Street Seaport, which has changed dramatically since my last visit. A cluster of permanent food stalls offered plenty of options, so we grabbed food and beers and sat outside in the sunshine. After a packed morning, it felt good to pause.
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge
In the afternoon, we made our way to Brooklyn. I explained that Manhattan’s grid makes navigation easy, while Brooklyn feels more sprawling and unpredictable. But that unpredictability is part of its charm.
Eventually, we joined the steady stream of pedestrians crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. No matter how many times I walk it, the bridge never loses its impact. The wooden planks hum beneath your feet, steel cables stretch dramatically overhead, and halfway across, when you turn toward Manhattan, the skyline rises in full cinematic glory.
Watching Victor’s parents take it all in for the first time was the best part. First impressions are contagious.
Vinyl & Greek Food
By late afternoon, fatigue began to show. We walked Victor’s mom back to the hotel to rest. Victor’s dad and I, still energised, returned to Brooklyn to visit Rough Trade. As a devoted music fan, he was eager to explore. The store was impressive, filled with vinyl and nostalgia, though he admitted it was not so different from record shops back home in Barcelona. Maybe the world is smaller than we think.
Before dinner, we found a nearby bar and enjoyed a relaxed beer, recounting the day’s highlights.
That evening, we reunited for dinner at Kefi, a lively Greek restaurant on the Upper West Side (which is sadly, now permanently closed). Securing a last-minute reservation had been stressful, but everything worked out. Plates of grilled octopus, warm pita, and bright salads filled the table. The restaurant buzzed with energy.
Until Next Time
After dinner, we walked down Columbus Avenue toward Columbus Circle. Streetlights glowed, taxis streamed past, and the hum of New York at night felt constant and reassuring.
At the subway entrance, we hugged goodbye. I thanked them for letting me be part of their first American adventure. As I turned to walk home, I felt unexpectedly emotional. Somewhere between skyline views, harbour breezes, subway rides, and shared meals, I realised how deeply I care about them. They are not simply Victor’s parents. They feel like family.
And like every visit to New York, this one left me already thinking about the next return.
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