You don’t expect to read the words “Manhattan” and “kayak” in the same
sentence: Manhattan being that gridlocked metropolis of yellow taxis,
skyscrapers and exuberant women swinging $1,000 handbags; kayaking being
something you do on a lake in Canada if your name is Chip and you like
beaver-hunting.
But at the point where West 23rd Street tips into the mighty Hudson, there is
a small sign that reads “Manhattan Kayak Company”. It points to a shiver-me-
timbers shack from where Eric Stiller — kayak-dude who says “awesome” a lot
— runs the most extraordinary aquatic tours on the planet. Not being able to
kayak is no excuse. Nor is being old or unsporty.
You may have snowy hair, bingo wings and a wardrobe full of viscose cardigans,
but you can still paddle down to Wall Street in a canoe (as long as you’ve
signed the disclaimer form).
If it weren’t for Eric’s expert tuition, this wouldn’t be the case. When I
phoned to book, I asked the lady if New York was an okay place for beginners
to start. She took a deep breath and, in that brass-balled,
Jeez-is-this-guy-for- real voice of mock disbelief so perfected by
Manhattanites, said: “Well, gee, let’s think about it. In one direction, you
got the mile-wide Hudson.
In the other, you got 3,000 miles of Atlantic tidal power. They meet where
you’re gonna go paddling. So waddayuthink?” She was probably rolling her
eyes and filing her nails as she said it.
But Eric can take you from nought to Hudson kayaker in a short afternoon, or
in my case, because I’d arrived late, about 35 minutes. And with no easy-
peasy current-free paddling pool next to the shiver-me-timbers shack, he
does it in the shack itself, on dry carpet. This is the tough bit about
teaching people to kayak in the middle of Manhattan. The first time his
little lemmings hit the water, it’s the Hudson proper. So the dry-land bit
is crucial.
I don’t know whether it’s because he’s got a sentence-long stutter or just
because he knows nobody listens to instructions the first time, but Eric
tends to repeat everything he says. He’ll say: “Hold the paddle out in front
of you. Eyes dead ahead. Yes, that’s awesome.” Then he’ll say: “Hold the
paddle out in front of you. Eyes dead ahead. Yes, that’s awesome.” Not a
great technique for dinner parties but just the thing for crash-course kayak
teaching.
He is also happy to divulge the Da Vinci Code Magic Circle Mason’s Handshake
super-secret of kayaking: instead of pulling through each stroke with your
(flimsy) arms, turn through it with your whole upper body, rotating from
your belly button up. This is how bingo-winged grannies can survive the
Hudson with Eric. And how, by the 34th minute of sitting in a kayak on a
carpet, I was officially an awesome kayaker, though as yet unproven in
actual water.
OF COURSE, it doesn’t matter how good the tutor is. It’s still pretty
terrifying clambering into a wobbly kayak off a wobbly wooden pier, and then
paddling through a dark channel between jagged port walls and hulking ship
bellies while the waves from a passing ferry toss you around like a walnut
in a particularly stormy Waldorf salad. Eric calls this unfortunate launch
point the Heart of Darkness. Like Kurtz, he went ahead of me, positioning
his canoe to ensure I popped out the other side in one piece. Like a very
nervous Marlow, I followed him, ducking to avoid low-slung girders and
thinking this was all a very bad idea indeed.
But, of course, the baptism of fiery water was over in a flash and then I was
off, into the Hudson, with a very un-English “yeeehaah”. It was 7pm and the
sun was low in the sky, reflected a thousand times in the glass and steel of
the immense skyline. More than eight million people live in metropolitan New
York — that’s 10,000 per square kilometre. So it’s not the best place for
peace and quiet. Horns blare, steam spews, sirens scream, stilettos scrape
and hot dogs sizzle. Stop for one second to admire a view, check a map or do
up a shoelace, and you’re stampeded to the ground by speed-walking
Manhattanites, the last one to trample over you muttering something
excellently derogatory, like: “Get a job, punk!” But out on the Hudson,
aside from three other kayakers, I was on my own. If I hadn’t been encased
in a kayak, I could have spent all the time I liked doing up my shoelace.
It’s nothing like being on your own in the wilderness: a sky full of buildings
is so much more overwhelming than a sky full of mountains. As we paddled
south, closer to the vertiginous sweep of the Financial District, I felt
absolutely tiny. Right in front of me, eight million people were microwaving
dinner, choking on pretzels, mixing cosmopolitans, power-showering,
power-shaving, ordering pizza and doing whatever New Yorkers do. And only a
few hundred yards away was me, in a little orange kayak, just bobbing
around.
AFTER AN hour and a half battling against the current and the temptation to
stop all the time and look at the view, my (weedy) arms were beginning to
burn. Despite Eric shouting across every few minutes to use my torso, I was
reverting to natural non-kayaker technique. If I stopped to catch my breath,
I would look to my left and see the blocks I’d just paddled past floating
back again in the opposite direction. It would take all night to
circumnavigate the whole of Manhattan, and a good day to get out to the
Statue of Liberty and back, but we didn’t have that long. A distant flicker
of light in the west had caught Eric’s attention: “Right, guys. Time’s up.
Let’s head back,” he said, and he didn’t need to repeat himself.
The flicker of light was the first sign of a powerful storm tearing in over
New Jersey, so there was less meandering on the way home. We just turned
into the current and put our heads down. As I scythed my way flashily back
through the Heart of Darkness, all of my earlier terror long gone, the last
of the stars was snuffed out and the moonlight that had been casting bright
shapes across the waves vanished, leaving only black. By the time we’d
dragged the kayaks onto the landing stage, thick sheets of rain were pelting
down and the wind was so powerful you could lean into it. If we’d turned
back a few minutes later, it wouldn’t have been funny.
IN THE days and weeks prior to the trip, I’d done an awful lot of bragging
about my imminent kayak heroics. And everyone had reacted with suitably
dropped jaws and convincing “wows”. But in New York, the reaction was far
more negative. I’d tried to show off to the cabbie, the receptionist and the
pizza guy, but they’d all just looked at me like I was an idiot. And then
said as much: “Jeez, you some kinda idiot?” Because New Yorkers don’t like
the idea of the Hudson. It’s a dirty, polluted river, good for teamsters to
sleep with the fishes and not much more. This irritates Eric quite a lot.
Twenty years ago, thinking the Hudson was polluted was “slight bollocks”.
Fifteen years ago, it was “complete bollocks” and 10 years ago, it was
“complete and utter bollocks”, he says angrily. The local distrust of the
river they live beside is good for me, and any other British paddlers,
though. It wouldn’t be the same out there, floating just off Wall Street,
being told to “Get a job, punk” by a stampede of impatient Manhatters who’d
just discovered the joys of kayaking.
MattRudd travelled as a guest of British Airways
TRAVEL BRIEF
Go paddling: contact the Manhattan Kayak Company (00 1 212
924 1788, www.manhattankayak.com) to discuss your options in advance. It
runs several tours for tourists with kayak experience, from £34 for 90
minutes. The excellent one-on-one course for beginners costs £57 per hour
for about two hours, but there are also group options.
Getting there: BA (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com) flies from
Heathrow and Manchester from £249. Or try Continental (0845 607 6760,
www.continental.com), Virgin Atlantic (0870 380 2007,
www.virgin-atlantic.com), or Aer Lingus (0818 365000, www.aerlingus.com).
Where to stay: it is possible to get good value in New York.
The Shoreham (00 1 212-247 6700, www.shorehamhotel.com, doubles from £188)
has just had a serious overhaul, going from boring biz hotel to stylish
mid-Manhattan boutique sleeper. Or try the trendy Hotel QT (354 2323,
www.hotelqt.com), 10 blocks further south, with titchy but lovely rooms from
£100.
Further information: NYC & Company (020 7202 6368, www.nycvisit.com).
THREE MORE WAYS TO SEE THE BIG APPLE - NO KAYAK REQUIRED
BY SKYSCRAPER
The traditional cityscape of choice is, of course, the view from the Empire
State Building — but a much more civilised viewing platform is the Top of
the Rock. On the 70th floor of the Rockefeller Center tower, with fewer
jostling coach parties to contend with and a stunning view that takes in the
wooded acres of Central Park and the wonderful sight of the Empire State
itself, it’s a breathtaking excursion. As a measure of the Rock’s esteem
among Sunday Times Travel writers, one of our number recently proposed to
their now- betrothed on the roof. Aaah. (Book at www.topoftherocknyc.com,
tickets £9.60.)
BY HELICOPTER
It’s slightly tacky, but by God it’s spectacular — book a sunset helicopter
ride up to the Statue of Liberty and back down the river to Central Park,
and you’ll be humming the tune of every cop show you know as the city glints
and gleams beneath you. Book at www.libertyhelicopters.com; the 12-minute
Big Apple ride costs £65pp
BY SAIL
If you don’t want to paddle, there’s always the 80ft classic schooner
Adirondack, also based at the Chelsea Piers. A two-hour sunset sailing
cruise around the southern tip of Manhattan costs £27.50, including a few
drinks (not unlimited — this is posher than a booze cruise). Call 00 1 646
336 5270 or visit www.sail-nyc.com to book.
