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It was a cool, foggy morning on 18 October 2005 as I left Ealing for the airport. I’d been packing until 4am, and then left the house at 4.30am, so I had a hard time at Heathrow stopping myself from falling asleep and missing my flight. I managed it though, and flew west. I was flying to Buenos Aires via New York, and I arrived at JFK airport in the early afternoon, refreshed after sleeping all the way across the Atlantic.

My target, in the few hours I had, was the Empire State Building. I found my way to Howard Beach subway station and took the long ride to Manhattan. It was a beautiful sunny autumn day as I emerged at 34th St and Penn station to find the building right ahead, and I hurried to it. The queues were not bad, but made worse by the harrassment from enthusiastic audio-guide sellers, falsely claiming that there were no information panels at the top to try and flog their gear.

I brushed them aside, looked deliberately angry on the cheesy photo they take of every group going up to superimpose onto a fake view and sell at an exorbitant price, and got into the lift. A short climb up some stairs at the top, and there I was, high above one of the world’s most energetic and exciting cities, basking in the afternoon sunshine. London seemed a long time ago, and South America still a long way away.

I enjoyed the views, and the assault of noise coming up from the streets far below. I was tempted to stay up there for sunset, but my onward flight was at 10pm and I thought it would be prudent to get there reasonably early, so I came down at about 6pm, had a quick wander past some of the famous streets of Manhattan, grabbed a huge portion of cheap greasy pizza, and headed back to the airport for my flight to Argentina.