Just .5 Miles

Summer in New York.  Some say that Fall is the best season in the Big Apple.  I wouldn't know.  But I do know the heat of July in the city.

Our plane from LA landed in New York on a pleasantly mild Saturday.  There were four of us - and I was elected tour guide, being the only one of the group who had visited before.  After a whirlwind Sunday sightseeing, eating, visiting national monuments and gazing at skyscrapers, we decided to grab some basic supplies for the week at a local market and call it a day.

Armed with my digital device, I whipped out my phone to locate the market closest to our rooms.  I excitedly let the group know that there was a market just .5 miles from our residence.  We maneuvered through the subways where we succeeded in finding the store.  I felt a bit odd.  Things didn't seem familiar.  This just didn't quite look like the neighborhood that I remembered.  Not to worry, we'd be just fine.  Perhaps I hadn't paid that close attention to what the neighborhood looked like.  I'd keep my concerns to myself.  No need to worry the group.

Each friend exited the store loaded with food.  Large grocery bags of fruit, crackers, yogurt and cheese were held in each arm.  One of them had purchased a 2.5 gallon container of water.  Someone suggested we call a cab.  "Oh no! It's just .5 miles to our place," I reminded them.  I pulled out my device again and charted a route.  Interesting.  The route had changed.  What had been .5 miles now expanded to 2.5.  "Hey guys, this may be more a bit of a walk than I first thought.  I'm not sure what happened, but the phone says we have to walk 2.5 miles now.  But I think we can do it."  After a short exchange, the ladies agreed.  We moved in the direction the phone was leading us.

Past stores.  Past restaurants.  Past people.  Past the time we believed we'd be out shopping.  I pulled out the phone again.  "Oh, we are just on the other side of Central Park.  If we follow this road here," I gestured pointing, "we should be there in no time."  

My followers gazed up at me somewhat more hesitantly now.  "OK," they responded.  What choice did they have?  

Thirty minutes later the .5 mile walk came to a screeching halt.  There was a fork in the road.  

"I really have to go to the bathroom," Paola declared.  

"I'm hungry," Ana responded.

"And I'm not really sure I can carry this water one more step!" Fonda exclaimed.

Each of the four of us collapsed onto a bench, surveying each one's face tentatively, then exploding into laughter.  "Really, 2.5 miles?!  I think we've walked at least 5 miles!" 

"And me in my Chinese chanclas!"

Two conversations with police officers, one subway ride and 45 minutes later we arrived in our rooms, loaded down with water, yogurt, cheese and crackers to feed a small battalion.  The first of many walks  sprinkled with storytelling, laughter, and even complaining.  My nickname on that trip became "Just .5 miles."  It brings a smile to my face each time they mention it.  Friendships are forged in a variety of places.  The heat of NYC bonded four women for life.