Every picture tells a story. This one depicts New Yorkers attempting to cool down on a sunny day in Central Park. It's relevant. Read on ...
Photo by Jo Shlabotnik
New York is a fantastic place, make no mistake. But at the height of summer, it can begin to resemble hell – that is, in the warmth stakes. My first experience was mid-August: a metropolis in meltdown. The heat! The humidity! The gazillion vehicles fighting for a right of passage! The blaring horns! The wailing sirens! The dust and dirt! The shock to the system!
A friend and I had arrived by rail from the relatively cool woodlands of New England. En route to our hotel, we noticed a digital temperature display: 92 degrees and climbing. It was 9 a.m. And it climbed. And climbed.
By 9.30 we were out exploring. Those famous sidewalks were scorching, and so were our feet. By 11 we’d returned to the 
hotel and changed into cooler clothes (and shoes). By 12 we were seeking shelter in the form of air-conditioning – anywhere. I seem to recall Bloomies (pictured right) and an art gallery.
By 2 we’d forked out far too much on a yellow cab and were back at base, changing into even cooler clothes. Caring what we looked like was bottom of our priorities. Man, oh man. We resembled long-distance runners, post-race – running shoes and all. Fashionable footwear was the last thing on our minds. The idea of high heels was laughable. In this most hip of cities, where we’d intended to present ourselves at our Aussie best, we looked our absolute worst. But on we went, determined to make the most of every minute.
Photo by wwarby
By 3, we were seeking shelter from torrential rain. Why we didn’t stand in it and get drenched, I don’t know. By 4 we were back in the sun, boiling our way down Broadway. By 5 we’d hit max: our very ordinary hotel seemed like the best place on earth. We returned to it and fell asleep, nearly missing the 9 pm dinner we’d been looking forward to in the Village. "It’ll have cooled down by now," we told ourselves, and unwisely got dressed in our best. It hadn’t. "It’ll cool down soon," we told ourselves, electing to dine at an outdoor table. Before long, we were begging to switch to an indoor one, close as possible to a fan. We looked at each other’s dripping foreheads. We began to laugh and couldn’t stop. I mean couldn’t. Not even to assure the very concerned waiter that we weren’t crying. In fact, I wonder if we were? It really was all too much.
Photo by aturkus
The following morning we discovered, to our supreme satisfaction, that temperatures had been abnormally high that day. 
The forecast was for “cooler”. Huh? Not according to our inner Aussie thermostats. We continued to swelter. Next time we come to New York, we told ourselves, we’re coming in mid-winter.
So… does this long, overheated story have a point? What do you take me for? Of course, and it's a good one.
In August, for three Saturday mornings in a row, New York will close some 12 kilometres (7 miles) of roadway to vehicles and open them to pedestrians and bikes. It’s a programme called Summer Streets, and you can read more about it on jaunted. The route runs from Brooklyn Bridge, through Manhattan to Central Park. Wow. I want to be there. I suggest that if you can be, you are!
Photo by Willip Von Ree