Waking up at 6:15am and throwing together a lunch to save money (a rarity on this New York trip), I walked to the train station. Reading the Metro newspaper, one of two free daily papers, I find the grammatical and spelling errors, laughing, but frowning as I realise thousands of commuters will read it all today. Do they have sub-editors? Is that a possible job to go for, or will I pull out my gorgeous long locks with insanity?

I arrive in South Station, realising after 10 minutes of walking around aimlessly, the bus section is an entirely different building of said 'South Station'. I run over to the other building, hand over my e-ticket and jump on the bus.

The bus is going "woof"every ten to twenty seconds. Buses don't "woof", but this one does. Is the bus cheap because they also transport little doggies? The bus fills up, and we head off.

Along the way, I see a church to the left with a sign draped on its side, covering a stained glass window, reading 'Office space for rent'. God must really be doing badly in the budgeting department to have to rent his house out for corporate use.

We enter Conneticut. Then leave it. The day so far has been foggy and cloudy, yet muggy. The sun is covered by that much fog, that you could stare at it directly.

We enter New York state. By this time, I realise bus trips can no longer harm me, and a drive down to Dunsborough back home would feel like a short trip to the corner store. Travelling will break down inital impatience problems, whether you plan for it or not.

The Chinese guy sitting next to me is fast asleep, and I really need to go to the bathroom, so I slowly get up, grabbing hold of the handles on the chairs and sliding my leg over to avoid contact. I make one leg over him, and he opens his eyes, then opens them wider seeing a guy facing him with his legs wide. This...isn't what it looks like. I do the business, and awkwardly get back in the chair.

I look outside to catch a glimpse of where we are. It's 3 hours and 30 minutes into the 4 hour drive, so could I see New York City? No. Wait, yes. No, hold on...

I couldn't tell, which was somewhat infuriating as I didn't know when to go "Wowwwww". But sure enough, I see the Empire State building, and a very small Statue of Liberty. The bus takes a turn to the left, and we seem to be driving away. Then suddenly, I realise our destination wasn't exactly Port Authority.

Before I continue, a quick word. Port Authority is New York City's main bus hub, where the Greyhounds and Peter Pan buses arrive at. I'm with Lucky Star, a Chinese-run bus that is half the price of a Greyhound. There are acoupleof discount buses, all created by Chinese entrepreneurs.

Now I know why it's cheaper. The bus drives parallel to the island of Manhattan, all the while half the bus looks around, puzzled on our destination. I look around for signs. 'Bronx'.

Not funny.

'Brooklyn'.

Is that bad? I couldn't remember.

But sure enough, the bus turns right and onto what I now know is the Brooklyn bridge,the southern entrance to the city. Memories of countless films flashback in an instant of this bridge.

Another heads up, I'm almost certain every street in this city has been in a film or a TV show, so don't think you've had a moment of Deja Vu. You've probably thought of 'Sex and the City' or 'Friends'.

The city speaks with its character. Old buildings, steaming sewer holes where I pray the Ninja Turtles aren't being cooked, yellow taxis and large Italian guys telling drivers where they're walking with raised arms. Yes, I'm in New York City.

YATTA!

I look around and see the signs of Chinatown. Mainly, signs with Chinese writing. It's the usual giveaway. Then an unexpected sound occurs. The engine turns off. Put the puzzle together: Chinese bus + stop in Chinatown = ???

I didn't even know where Chinatown was on the map. But one thing was for certain: I wasn't going to let any New Yorkers know that. I hop off the bus, passing the two blonde French girls looking very confused about where they are. No time to look like a tourist. Got to start walking.

I had the address for the hotel Aisling (who is due to come later on as she was setting up university stuff back in Boston) and I were staying at. 342 West 71st Street. The streets in NYC are supposedly organised like a grid. For example, East 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.

I saw Broome St and Main St. Was it a code? No, I'm in America. Codes require thinking, and in this city, it never stops. I remember on Google maps that the hotel was somewhere in the vicinity of the middle and to the west. But am I at the North or South?

A flashback to Orla back in Boston saying getting a taxi is cheap and easy. But I have no idea where on this island Chinatown is compared to the Upper West Side. Do you know how much that'd cost, I thought to myself in a parental "Money doesn't grow on trees" tone. Their money's made with paper, so there's a crushing defeat to those mums and dads telling their kids that one.

Keep walking. I'm now searching for any numerical street name, and not finding any. I pass one street which seems to have a trail of buildings in the distance. This puzzle looked simple: Buildings + infinite view distance = Where I should be.

A couple of blocks later, I see East 1st Street. My first success! Now, which way is west? I started thinking if the signs' pointing direction meant the increase of the street number. That idea soon collapsed when the next street sign was pointing back. Should I get a taxi?

Hell no! I walked practically everywhere on this trip so far, and as long as I'm by myself, I travel my way.

...forget this, I'm asking someone. I go into a pharmacy and buy a Snickers and an energy drink. I'm just a little tired, and thought it'd perk me up. I approach the counter to a girl speaking Spanish to a customer. She looks at me, then continues. New York, I thought, is as charming as this girl's hair-twiddling. If you gave her a stick of gum, she'd be the perfect image of a freckled primary school girl in a blue uniform. It just reminds me of that skit show.

But she snaps into it, and as she does her magic with the "Boop!" machine, I ask where West 71st is. "A hundred seventy first street?"she replies with a puzzled face.

"No, one hundred and..." I clear my throat. I wanted to try something here.

"Weast seaventee furrst street," I say with a forced American accent. She suddenly understands, and points west. It's a start.

NYC definitely has something about it that is both appealing and somewhat eerie. I can't quite figure it out. The neighbourhood I was walking around seemed to resemble more of a built up community rather than tall building mayhem.

I start heading west, and eventually I reach West 1st Avenue. Great, only 16 more streets to go! So there I stride, feeling like a major achiever that I've avoided the cost of a taxi. The weather at this point is acting stranger. It's starting to rain a little, and my jacket hoodie draped over my head covering all of my hair gives me a different look. I've got jeans, the hoodie, and a backpack of my stuff on, and in a reflection of a window, I appear to be a graffiti artist / gang member who "don't take sh** from no one". Maybe that's why I haven't been bothered yet. Cool.

At West 17th Avenue, I walk towards 342, and this is where you get that feeling that underneath the wrapping paper of your intelligent mind, you find a rotten egg.

342 West 17th Avenue was a school. I look at the address on the e-booking. 342 West 17th Street.

Fu**! I've been walking in the wrong direction! I walk a little more forward, and finally find West 1st Street.

That means...70 more blocks to go. Taxi?

Hell no! That's 70 blocks that taxi's gonna get from me. No way. I got the Daily Show in three hours. That's plenty of time to get to my hotel and see New York City along the way. Besides, it seems like the blocks are tiny.

At block 30, where the buildings start thickening up, it started raining. Heavily. At first you could see to your left the rain approaching you, and its range was so distinct, it looked as if a movie set's rain effect was a little offset, and it's suddenly approaching you. It hammered down, and all the while I'm thinking how else could NYC try to break me down in my stubborn walk.

It got really muggy too, meaning I am sweating profusely, as well as getting soaked by the warm rain. I brought two sets of clothing for the three days I'm here, and I've already drenched one. Oh well, keep going.

The buildings along the way ranged from dollar stores and news vendors to dog spas and pizza places. Eventually I got to the hotel, and checked in. The hotel receptionist gave me the choice of the 1st or 7th floor. I chose the 7th, thinking about the wonderful view we'd get.

We got the 6th, and we do have a lovely view...of the next building. Welcome to New York City Gerard. Oh yeah, and the window of the shared bathroom is low and faces the next building. So really, if you live in the next building, window watching is only good when someone isn't standing unzipped at the building across from you.