A funny thing happened when Trump showed up at my New York hotel

‘Accidental Tourist’ Lynn Haken finds New York's crowds are hell in killer heels

We were in New York, staying in a gorgeous hotel opposite Central Park.

Everything was pure luxury with marble hallways, enormous arrangements of cut flowers, gloved elevator attendants and concierges in three-piece suits with flowered buttonholes.

We were about to be driven downtown in the courtesy car to a rather swanky restaurant on our last night.

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There seemed to be a frisson of excitement buzzing through the lobby. The doormen whisked open the doors with additional flair and clipped bows; serious-looking men and women with curly wires coming out of their ears whispered urgently into their cuffs.

People stood in throngs busily texting on their phones, their camera apps ready.

"What's happening?" we asked. The elevator concierge whispered excitedly, "Mr Trump is in the hotel."

Not wishing to be wrestled to the ground for a sideways Mexican look, we beat a hasty retreat out of the other exit, wondering if we would have to fight off hordes of photographers.

The Pitt-Jolie split had also just been announced so the press were ever eager for whatever scoop they could elicit.

But it was just us, so there was no interest as the hotel car collected us - amongst the limousines and security-detail vehicles with blacked-out windows lining the side entrance - to take us to our dinner engagement.

The rush-hour traffic in Manhattan is the same as it is in Johannesburg - in fact, the world over. Drivers never engage second gear and the intersections are blocked.

We inched forward, horns blaring, the yellow-cab drivers glowering at the Uber drivers . along 5th Avenue and up to 49th and there, amidst sirens wailing and flashing lights just outside the NBC studios, we ended our trip.

The road was closed, with crowds pressing on the pavements and the police blocking any further progress.

"Go back," they shouted. "This road is closed!"

The colourful flags of the Rockefeller Centre fluttered as if to entertain the street party. Our driver was stoic. "How long will the road be closed for?" I asked. He shrugged. "As long as it takes."

We had to alight from the elegant confines of the car and join the seething masses, all pressing against each other for pictures. People were craning and leaning forward, once again texting and phone cameras flashing.

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"What's happening?" I asked for a second time in an hour. A tall, young man lifted his phone above everyone's heads and took pictures. I knew it couldn't be Trump, we'd left him behind.

"It's the vice president," he answered excitedly.

And so, with a sigh, I realised four things.

• We were going to be very late;

• I would have to totter around the block all the way to the venue in killer heels;

•  Neither Trump nor Biden seemed to have anything better to do than thwart my evening plans;

• No one seems to use a phone to actually speak to anyone any more.

• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za