It may well be puzzling as to why New Yorkers use the terms “Grand Central Terminal” and “Grand Central Station” as if they’re the same thing... Here’s the secret: one is the rail terminal, the other is the post office attached to it, and the whole complex is busy enough that no one pauses to sort out the terminology.

The place's story began with Cornelius Vanderbilt, the 19th-century business titan, who collected railroads the way others collect postcards. After buying the Hudson River and New York Central lines in 1867, he fused them together and launched the construction of Grand Central Depot two years later.

The original depot, designed by architect John B. Snook, arrived in full Second Empire style—mansard roofs, ornate flourishes, and the confidence of a building that knew it had somewhere important to be. By 1874, it was ready for service. Trains glided into the Park Avenue Tunnel at 96th Street, slipping underground for the final approach. This solved the small problem of locomotives barreling down Manhattan streets, which city residents understandably found less than charming.

Then came 1902. A steam locomotive, blinded by smoke in the Park Avenue Tunnel, missed its signals and collided with another train. The crash sealed the depot’s fate. Within a few years, it was demolished, making way for the Grand Central Terminal we know today. The firms Reed & Stern and Warren & Wetmore teamed up to create the Beaux-Arts landmark—one focused on the functional layout, the other on the dramatic exterior.

Inside, the terminal doubled as an art gallery long before that was fashionable. The Main Concourse ceiling famously charts a glowing, backwards zodiac. The façade features the Glory of Commerce sculpture, a bronze statue of Vanderbilt stands guard out front, and cast-iron eagles keep watch over the whole scene.

Vanderbilt Hall regularly hosts exhibitions and seasonal events, while the Dining Concourse adds its own glow with rows of illuminated lightboxes. And every so often, the terminal surprises commuters with performance art—from choreographed flash mobs to unexpected installations—turning an everyday commute into something slightly cinematic.

Long before Manhattan’s tidy street plan straightened everything out, Broadway, unlike other streets in New York, followed an older native pathway, wandering freely up the island. This is why it slices across Seventh Avenue and 42nd Street, forming two triangular pockets, like a bow tie. The southern one is called Times Square, while the northern, Duffy Square, is named for World War I chaplain Father Francis P. Duffy, whose statue now watches over the crowds with admirable patience.

The stretch of Broadway from 41st to 53rd Streets goes by a different name: the Great White Way. That nickname wasn’t poetic exaggeration—those glowing billboards, marquees, and oversized posters once made the area one of the brightest electrified spots on Earth. Today, it’s still blazing away with advertisements for Broadway’s latest musicals and plays, pulling in nearly 50 million visitors a year. That’s roughly 330,000 people a day, all weaving through the lights, noise, and spectacle in search of something unforgettable.

Before it was Times Square, this chaotic crossroads answered to the far calmer name of Longacre Square. Everything changed in 1904, when New York Times publisher Adolph S. Ochs moved his newspaper into the brand-new Times Building—now known as One Times Square—and happily lent his name to the neighborhood. The Times moved out within a decade, but not before launching a little tradition in 1907: the New Year’s Eve Ball Drop. A century later, the glittering descent still draws over a million people every year, along with countless viewers around the world.

Today, Times Square is a fluorescent buffet of attractions—ABC’s Times Square Studios, Planet Hollywood, Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, and whichever character impersonator is bravest that day. The towering illuminated signs, nicknamed “spectaculars” or “jumbotrons,” compete with the neon bravado of Las Vegas and often win.

Amid all that glow, shoppers duck into stores like Gap, Old Navy, Forever 21, Levi’s, the Disney Store, Hershey’s Chocolate World, and M&M’s World—each one flashing its own brand of temptation. Whether you’re hunting for a souvenir, a show, or just a moment to stand still and stare, this Midtown crossroads remains New York at its most unfiltered and unmistakable.

Trying to follow Broadway back to its beginnings, you’d find yourself tracing a much older path: the Wickquasgeck Trail, a route carved into Manhattan in the times of New Amsterdam, long before New York dreamed of skyscrapers or neon marquees... That trail stretched up the island like a wandering spine, and when the Dutch arrived, they simply widened it and gave it a new name: Heeren (or “Gentlemen’s”) Way. The British, who arrived later, noticing how wide the street really was, promptly declared it Broadway—a name that clearly stuck.

Today’s Broadway runs a lot farther than its original ancestor. It launches from Bowling Green at Manhattan’s southern tip, slips through the boroughs, wanders into Westchester County, and keeps going until it reaches Sleepy Hollow. If you’re searching for New York’s oldest continuous street, this is the one.

Jump to 1907, when part of Broadway—stretching from Times Square to Sherman Square—earned a new identity as Automobile Row. Car dealerships, repair shops, and glittering showrooms lined both sides, turning the street into a motor-age catwalk. Over time, the traffic patterns tightened, and Broadway became mainly a one-way river of cars.

In recent decades, though, the city has rewritten Broadway’s script. Cars have gradually ceded space to people, and sections of the street have transformed into pedestrian plazas, pocket parks, and bike lanes. Times Square, Duffy Square, and Herald Square traded honking horns for café tables and performers in painted outfits. Even Madison and Union Square saw Broadway narrow to make room for walkers instead of windshields.

At the southern end, near Bowling Green and City Hall Park, Lower Broadway still plays host to the city’s legendary ticker-tape parades—snowstorms of paper drifting from office towers as heroes of every kind roll past. These days, it’s more shredded confetti and fewer actual tickers, but the “Canyon of Heroes” effect remains.

And then there’s the stretch that needs no introduction: The Great White Way, a phrase coined in 1901 to describe Broadway’s theater district. Between 42nd and 53rd Streets, the lights burn bright, the marquees compete for your attention, and the plays and musicals rewrite themselves nightly through applause.

From colonial trail to cultural artery, Broadway carries centuries of stories—and somehow still finds room for more...

Back in 1801, a New York physician named David Hosack bought 22 acres of empty land from the city with an aim to establish America’s first botanical garden. And for the next ten years, the Elgin Botanic Garden really did bloom—until funding wilted, the plants went wild, and Columbia University had to step in to take over the property in 1823.

Fast-forward a century to 1926, when the Metropolitan Opera went searching for a grand new home. Columbia leased the land to its generous patron, John D. Rockefeller, Jr., setting the stage for a glittering cultural palace. Then the stock market crashed in 1929, the opera backed out, and Rockefeller found himself with prime New York real estate and no tenant. So, he pivoted—and decided to build a mass-media powerhouse instead.

In 1930, after months of negotiations involving Radio Corporation of America, National Broadcasting Company, and Radio-Keith-Orpheum, the plan was set: an entertainment complex of unprecedented scale. To make room, 228 buildings were cleared and 4,000 tenants relocated. Early name ideas included “Radio City,” “Rockefeller City,” and the dramatic “Metropolitan Square,” before the now-famous title finally stuck.

Today, Rockefeller Center stretches across all of Doctor Hosack’s original 22 acres—though the botanicals have long been replaced with 14 Art Deco buildings, a standalone tower along 51st Street, and four more rising on the west side of Sixth Avenue. There are rooftop gardens, but you’ll have to crane your neck to see anything green.

On the west side sits Radio City Music Hall, still flashing its neon glamour. And at the heart of it all lies the sunken Lower Plaza, praised by Chinese-American architect Ieoh Ming Pei as “the most successful open space in the United States, perhaps in the world.” Most visitors simply know it as “the place with the ice rink,” which has been delighting skaters since 1936.

Then there’s the view. “Top of the Rock” offers three levels of indoor and outdoor decks with clear, cinematic vistas of the New York skyline. Back on the ground, the shops spread out in every direction—big names, small designers, and everything in between. It’s the kind of place where you realize: shopping isn’t just about what you buy; it’s about where you buy it...

In case you wonder why New York has two Saint Patrick’s Cathedrals, it’s not because the city has twice as many saints—it’s because the first one simply couldn’t keep up. The Old Cathedral from 1815 did its best, but by the mid-1800s, the Archdiocese had outgrown it. So, in 1858, construction began on a new spiritual heavyweight: the towering Gothic Revival cathedral that now occupies the block between 50th and 51st Streets on Madison Avenue. Designed by James Renwick Jr. and formally opened in 1879, it rises directly across from Rockefeller Center, as if keeping an eye on the skating rink...

From the outside, the building is a full Gothic drama. Marble everywhere, pointed arches stacked like architectural exclamation marks, and stained-glass windows glowing in neat vertical ranks. The whole structure stretches 332 feet in length, with transepts spanning 174 feet. But the true attention-grabbers are the twin spires—330 feet of pure, sky-seeking ambition—framing the bronze entrance doors.

Step inside, and the scale refuses to let up. A broad central aisle is flanked by two narrower ones, separated by 32 marble columns that seem determined to out-pose each other. Look up, and you’ll see ribbed Gothic vaults meeting in elegant bosses overhead. Along the sides, twelve chapels create quieter pockets of devotion, while seating for 2,400 fills the nave with long lines of wooden pews.

Even the high altar has a story. The original version was shipped off to Fordham University Church in the Bronx, making room for the current altar carved from grey-white Italian marble and crowned by a bronze baldachin. It rises beneath a statue of Christ the King, complete with angels and decorative pinnacles.

Today, the “new” Saint Patrick’s Cathedral is firmly established as one of Manhattan’s defining landmarks, recognized both as a New York City designated landmark and listed on the National Register of Historic Places—a cathedral built to impress, and one that still succeeds brilliantly!