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It’s a city she loves and loathes in equal measure, but, with a trip to New York on the horizon, Avondhu reporter, Ellen Lynch, tells us why.

I went to get dollars this week for my upcoming trip to New York and also went to retrieve my extra-big suitcase from my daughter. The exchange rate wasn't great but it was in better shape than my suitcase which looked like it had been around the world twice - on the back of a camel. She blamed Ryanair. I blame the no frills airline for almost everything travel related but not for my bashed-up suitcase.

This will be my third trip to NY, a city that I love and loathe in equal measure. Why the ambivalence? And why go if I feel that way? Well the reason I'm going is that it's a birthday treat for a significant birthday of the significant other. He reckons he must be the only one that's never been to the city that never sleeps.

I hate the service in stores and restaurants. Salespeople treat customers with, at best indifference, at worst contempt. Waiting staff in restaurants are rude and still think they are entitled to be tipped well. Taxi drivers are even worse. There's security staff everywhere and they can be autocratic. At least that's been my experience.

The last time we were in Macy's, a security man at the door we were exiting, barked at my sister and I to have a good day. I jumped with the fright. He made it sound like a threat. She fixed him with a reproachful eye. "What'll you do if I don't?" she challenged him. I dragged her away before she said any more.

We went to see St Patrick's Cathedral. She was wearing a backpack. Oblivious to the security staff because she was too busy looking around her, she went to walk up the church. When she didn't realise the guy shouting 'mam, please return here to have your bag checked' was talking to her and kept going, she was nearly wrestled to the ground by two burly guards. I kept going, pretending I wasn't with her and didn't know her. Hard to do when we're identical twins. Eventually she was allowed go and she came up the aisle to join me. At that stage Mass had begun and we felt obliged to stay.

One year on from 9/11, it was the anniversary Mass for members of the fire service who had perished. That meant a procession of their finest, all in dress uniform. A sight to behold even as I veered between being moved by the poignancy of the occasion and annoyed by the hubris.

The Bishop celebrated Mass, assisted by a couple of curates. One looked like he'd be right at home on the set of the Sopranos. When he took to the pulpit to deliver the sermon in his gravelly voice and thick Bronx accent, he sounded just like Paulie Walnuts.

On our first trip we discovered the comedy clubs and on our second we sampled even more of them, taking in one each night we were there. We were particularly keen to visit one that had been recommended to us by the concierge at our hotel, a funny guy himself.

When we got there I was the first to descend the stairs to the venue. Three steps from the bottom I hesitated. I turned to tell my sister I wasn't sure about it. "Go on," she said, feeling mellow from the bottle of wine she'd had with dinner. "I'm not sure" I told her again but she pushed me and suddenly I was right there in the middle of the room - the only white face and the only female until she landed down beside me. We looked at the audience and they looked at us. We felt it'd be rude to withdraw so we took our seats.

Every one of the six comedians on stage that night zoned in on us. We were like beacons to them. Female. White. It was open season on us when they discovered we were Irish to boot. Four of the six had performed at the Cat Laughs comedy festival in Kilkenny, a staple on our social calendar. They had some very funny observations of the Irish to share with us. We had a ball and after they'd finished, stayed chatting with them 'till late.

I love London's West End, but Broadway shows are so much more accessible. I'd never had a front seat for anything in my entire life until we went to see Chicago on our first trip. We were so close I could see the sweat on the upper lips of the dancers.

The very next night we were in the second row for Les Miserables, so near we were at eye level with Jean Jaljean's crotch and whenever he sang we were showered in spittle. It was great.

On a four night trip the first time and a five night trip the second, we managed to get to eight shows. They finished early, in perfect time to make it to the comedy venues and settle in with a drink before they began.

Of course we saw all the sights too. We even saw some unscheduled ones - like Sex in the City 2 being filmed down the street from our hotel. We toured the NBC studios and queued but didn't get tickets for the David Letterman Show. Still the craic in the queue with a bunch of women from Kentucky, up on the tear away from their menfolk, was entertainment enough.

On the second trip we ended up at the New York Metropolitan Opera. Cultural philistines that we are, the performance was wasted on us but the experience of being in such a prestigious venue and the gawk-ability factor, made up for it. It was funny, how we came about getting the tickets.

The cleaner in the radio station where I worked at the time was a real opera buff. I used to let him have the complimentary tickets I got each year for Wexford Festival Opera. They'd have been wasted on me and he always appreciated them. When he heard I was going to New York he told me his brother was manager at the Met. He would get tickets for us, he vowed. I didn't have the heart to dissuade him. I wasn't even sure I believed him.

I'd heard nothing more and was sitting on a shuttle bus we got from the airport, going through Harlem, when he rang me. I thanked him profusely for the two tickets, worth hundreds of dollars, that awaited us for the Thursday night performance of an opera I'd never heard of.

On the appointed night we got dressed up and headed down, making sure we took plenty of photographs outside the big glass-domed entrance as evidence. We loved the sense of occasion and the style. We hated the opera and decided we would leave at the interval.

When we came outside there was a queue of people waiting for people like us, leaving midway, hoping for their tickets for the second half. We chose two lovely young girls for ours. They wanted to pay us. We were happy to let them go to two far more deserving people than us.

I'll be part of a big group for this trip. Having seen all the famous places previously, I'm happy to go with the flow, soaking up all the sights and sounds particularly as we'll be there for St Patrick's Day. At least it'll be an escape from home for a while. Though I heard on the news that Mayor Bill de Blasio is boycotting the parade over the organisers ban on public displays of gay pride. The 'H' word is even being bandied about. It'll feel just like home so.

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