Crane: Guía de viajes, precios y alojamiento gratuito · 2026

So, the saga of the unemployed bum continues, now in a more serious 3D volume. Since I arrived in New York, I've kind of neglected all these blogs, especially since only my dorm buddies read them. But then, SUDDENLY, they finished reading it and demanded a sequel. Scene one: five Russian guys, Harlem, 1 AM. A sudden proposal: - Let's go to Central Park to drink? - Mmm... let's go. Said and done. We found some 24/7 shop with beer, and just bought some, as it usually happens—wasting about an hour in the store deciding which beer to get. After taking the subway to the south side of Central Park, we decided to look for a dark spot so that no cops or rangers would bother us while we drank these actually decent bottles of Budweiser. We walked back and forth again, choosing a spot. Finally, we found a bench, sitting and relaxing culturally. Idyll. And then, as luck would have it, a ranger walked by—everyone immediately bolted and pressed themselves into the ground, behind the bushes; sniper camouflage has nothing on us. I'm lying there thinking, 'Damn, my pants are light-colored—he'll spot me...' But we got away with it, whatever. I can't describe how beautiful it is in Central Park at night, especially when you're a bit tipsy—you just have to experience it and see it for yourself. Nevertheless, we head up, feeling a bit better, looking for the huge lake in the center, but we're being slow and wandering around again. But since it's impossible not to find it, we settled down nearby to relax soulfully, in the Russian way. But as always, we had to keep going. As they say, I know my limit and don't really demand a sequel, but the people want a show—so we all head to Duane Reade, a pretty glamorous chain of grocery stores. The way we were acting there—purely Russian style—at 5 AM we woke up a Black manager who was scared of us as potential deviant elements. We forced him to sell us more beer, water for me (it's all science—the more water, the easier it is on the body; with heavy drinking, you don't feel as bad about the wasted evening the next morning, in short, no headache), cookies, and a discount on the cookies via a Duane Reade card. The jerk didn't want to sell the discount, but at least it was at the best price—free. We went and hung out by the Russian embassy (I'm already tired, both then in the park and now typing all this), and returned to the park. The guys weren't shy anymore, drinking beer by the lake right in front of the shocked morning joggers. I was starting to get a bit wary of them myself, so I went to drink some more water from a fountain and fill up my bottle, reloading =) Why bother, it's an epic fail to buy plain water in New York when there's a park right there with free drinking fountains. Someone picked up a camera case... well, everything is clear. Tired, we headed home, arguing along the way about what was on the roof of the pyramid in the distance—a giraffe or what... I checked later—it turned out to be just a construction crane. Well, that's it, time for me to sleep. Maybe I'll add photos later.