The New York I’ve experienced so far has been big, brash and bawdy. I’m not especially a city person, so I’d been looking forward to a gentle amble around Central Park. I’d expected it to be… well… a park. But it’s much more than that.

I entered the park at its northern extremity, and was pleasantly surprised to see not a manicured formal garden but an area of quite rugged beauty. There were hills and lakes and woods and trails to explore. Plenty of wildlife too – from blue jays to Carolinan wrens. And plenty of squirrels.

It took a good couple of hours to walk the length of the park, and there was much, much more to explore. As I headed south, the number of other people enjoying the surroundings increased, but it was largely traffic-free, quiet and picturesque – although with a backdrop of monolithic buildings. At the southern edge of Central Park, the skyscrapers are in such close proximity that the sun does not penetrate – one of the lakes was still frozen over.

But perhaps the most unexpected highlight was underneath the Central Park arches. A vocal group was performing a number of Christian and secular songs, and the acoustics were fantastic. They were clearly very talented singers and musicians. But then it became apparent that their audience was primarily composed of a youth choir and their director. Suddenly, the roles reversed and the choir gave their own rendition. It was unquestionably the best performance I’ve ever experienced… truly moving.

By now, I was running a little behind schedule – so grabbed a quick hot dog from one of the numerous vendors. As I munched, a harpist struck up. Music, it seems, is a way of life in New York. The subway buskers cover genres from opera to gospel, hip hop to blues. I even encountered someone playing Beatles hits on a musical saw at one point.

On the way back to the apartment to pick up my luggage, I realised that I’d been through Times Square station several times but not actually surfaced. Taking the opportunity to remedy that, I bumped into Batman.

Taking the subway for the final time, I checked in at the Club Acela lounge at New York Penn station, for my Amtrak train to Orlando. Train 97 was on time, I was assured. Penn station is something of a Birmingham New Street… underground, dark and mildly sinister. But the lounge was a comfortable place to wait, with free cinnamon whirls, blueberry muffins, hot drinks and Pepsi on tap.

Boarding took place at about 2:45, and the sleeping car attendant introduced herself. ‘My name is Avia,’ she said, ‘and my job is to look after y’all real good’. She continued: ‘Have y’all travelled sleeper before?’. Travellers in the adjacent cabin muttered that they had. ‘Not with me, you haven’t,’ chimed Avia. ‘I’m different and I will give you 101%. Anything you need, you jus’ holler for Avia.’

The cabin itself was pretty comfortable, and the train left New York right on the dot of 3:15pm. Within seconds, Avia was offering coffee and juice, explaining how everything worked. After emerging in New Jersey, the journey was pretty speedy through to Washington DC where the electric loco was switched for two hulking diesels. As dusk fell, there was a a brief glimpse of the Capitol building.

In the dining car, I was assigned a seat on a table with a retired couple from Boston and a retail manager from Pennsylvania. They were delighted to have a Brit on their table, and they were all train enthusiasts. Many tales were shared of TGVs, the Orient Express, less luxurious trains in Cambodia and Vietnam and a Hungarian express that apparently includes a cocktail bar and after-dinner pianist. Although there was no piano, the Amtrak dinner was excellent – beautifully cooked steak with a rich mushroom sauce, a baked potato with sour cream and green beans. The meal was rounded off with a strawberry cheesecake and some more ‘car-fee’.

Returning to the room, ‘101% Avia’ had transformed the cabin into sleeping mode, and the motion of the carriage rocked me to sleep in no time.