retrospective travel log. NYC (april 3rd)

april 3rd, 2026

Traveling by train to New York City is undeniably the best way to get there. Yes it takes around twelve hours to get there from Pittsburgh by train—a hard thing to accept when a plane ticket costs the same as the Amtrak ticket but arriving at Penn Station, under Madison Square Garden and right next to the entrance to the subway, is the best mix of magical and practical. If you have the time, I really recommend it.

I took Amtrak from Greensburg, Pennsylvania to New York City. The Pennsylvanian runs from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to New York City with stops in what feels like every town in the state. Greensburg is the 2nd stop. The projected travel time is roughly 10 hours. From 7am to 5pm, I sat on a train and tried desperately not to get motion sick. Despite the states crucial role in the rail industry when it first started, the infrastructure is painfully outdated. I feel every single, every single curve in the track, and the worst part is once the train reaches Jersey City, it goes backwards until it reaches NYC. There’s only so many motion sickness pills I can take and stay awake.

It gave me time to read, though. At the start of the year (or December 31st, 2025 if you want to be pedantic), I watched the Canadian TV show Heated Rivalry. Then I read two of the books in the book series that the show is adapted from. Then, of course, i started watching hockey. Not men’s but women’s. Though, I did read about men’s hockey. I bought the audiobook for Call Me Indian by Fred Saskamoose years before, back when I never considered watching hockey. Hockey is, after all, a very conservative sport and well, i am a woman with a mullet and dyed hair. Even without all the aspects of my identity that are under active attack by conservatives, I do not fit in. Women’s hockey, as a fan base, is different but still. I bought the audiobook because it was a memoir by a survivor of one of Canada’s residential schools.

Penn Station displayed ads for Sunjoy, a seltzer brand that sponsored the New York Rangers. As cliche as it was, I had butterflies in my stomach. It had been a while since NYC inspired that fizzy sort of joy in me, or well eleven months. Everything felt perfect as I got off the train and went to the subway. By then, I had traveling alone in New York City down to a science. I never had the aversion to traveling in the subway with my rolling suitcase and overpacked backpack (and duffel bag in this case) that other tourists had. I was also staying at HI NYC, a hostel in Manhattan that was only a few stops away if I took the A/C/E.

the next day, I’d be back in Penn Station or, rather, above it watching the New York Sirens play against the Seattle Torrent and amongst the first people able to watch women play hockey in Madison Square Garden. The anticipation built with every step I took.

I took the subway, I got to the hostel, I listened to the rules like I did every time I checked in, and then as soon as I got to my room, I crashed. At least I wanted to. I laid down in the bunk bed assigned to me, rested my aching limbs. Then my stomach rumbled.

I ended up buying chilaquiles con pollo that sucked a little for $10 at a place down the street, Noche Mexicana. At least it was large enough that I ended up being able to eat it the next day. For breakfast. Which if you are trying to visit NYC on a budget, I recommend just buying a big portion for a deal and splitting it into multiple meals.

I went there to check if they were playing the PWHL game that night. Did I think that a sports bar in New York City would be playing a Montreal vs Ottawa game? Not really but in the very least it got me out of the hostel room for a little bit.

Truthfully, I had fallen out of love with New York City sometime last year. I went eight times and each felt magical. Hell, I even dragged two of my friends with me on two separate trips. But the first (and only, so far) time I stepped foot there in 2026? I was excited for a hockey game and not for the city itself. I wanted to go to Wilka’s and wanted to go there because I wasn’t sure the next time I would be in New York. The hockey game was just an excuse.

The bar was packed when I got there. I hadn’t expected it. Despite the perception of NYC as a overpopulated and always busy place, none of the bars I had been to there were ever all too packed. Halyard’s in Brooklyn was the most packed during free improv shows they had each week. Even Mood Ring was near deserted when I went during Pride 2025 to see a drag show. So when I got into Wilka’s and saw a crowd packed to the gills I almost left.

There is, in my experience, a crowd size that will encourage people to mingle with strangers. It’s somewhere in the middle. Not every table should be taken but maybe every seat at the bar will be taken. In Wilka’s that night, I could barely find somewhere to stand let alone sit.

It was, I learned, the night of a game between UCLA and the University of Texas. To worsen matters, it was a Final Four game. I never watched a moment of basketball until that point and even I understood the importance of a Final Four game.

Basketball turned out to be a easy enough sport to understand.

I never found the restroom but the feeling from early in Penn Station returned. It felt like I belonged, felt like I was somewhere always meant to find.