I had been before, more than once and like most people who have spent any time in the city, I thought I knew what it was. I knew the rush of Midtown, the way steam curls up from the streets as if the city is forever exhaling, the yellow taxis, the noise, the vertical ambition of it all.

I knew the postcard version of New York City and some of the reality behind it. But this trip was different from the moment we boarded the plane, because for the first time I wasn’t going as a traveller ticking off a city I already knew. I was going as a dad, heading away for four nights with my 14-year-old daughter, Khloe, on our first-ever father-daughter trip.

There is something quietly emotional about travelling alone with your child when they are no longer little. At 14, Khloe is in that strange, fleeting space between childhood and adulthood, where independence arrives in flashes.

One minute she is still your little girl; the next she is rolling her eyes at you in a very teenage way, walking half a step ahead through the airport as though she has been doing this for years. I noticed it in New York, but this trip was also about the city itself, because New York has a way of pulling your attention outward. It is too loud, too vivid and too certain of itself to let you dwell for long.

We arrived in January, with the city wrapped in that hard winter light that makes everything look sharper. The air had a bite to it from the moment we stepped outside. People moved quickly, shoulders raised, collars turned high, coffee cups clutched like survival kits. New York in winter doesn’t ask whether you are comfortable; it simply gets on with being New York.

There was no need to ease Khloe into it. She took it all in with that combination of curiosity and coolness only teenagers seem able to manage. And I found myself taking it in too, but differently. Because although I had seen these streets before, I had never seen them through her eyes.

We would be walking somewhere completely ordinary, along Sixth Avenue with office workers hurrying past and steam rising from a manhole cover, and she would stop, reach for her phone and take a photo of something as casually as if she had just spotted a nice tree. A plume of steam beside a yellow cab. The Chrysler Building catching the light. A row of fire escapes on a side street. The sort of details you begin to overlook when a place becomes familiar.

Watching her do that was unexpectedly moving. It reminded me that for her, this was all new. Her first time in New York. That city she had seen in films like Home Alone 2 and Elf since she was young enough to still consider me cool. This was her first sight of buildings that seemed too famous to be real. Her first understanding that some places can belong to your imagination for years and then suddenly stand in front of you in steel and stone.

In that sense, it felt like my first time too.

We did the classic things, of course, because on a first visit to New York, there are some experiences you should not try to be too clever about. You go to the Empire State Building and take shameless photos sitting on King Kong’s hand.

Further up, standing on the 86th-floor observation deck, the city stretched in every direction, the evening lights beginning to twinkle all around us. From up there, New York looked endless, a grid of movement and light fading into the distance. We stood there quietly for a while, taking it all in and I remember thinking how strange and wonderful it is to watch your daughter finally encounter a place she has built up in her imagination for years.

Top of the Rock offered something different but no less memorable. Even the journey up felt like part of the show, the lift carrying us skywards in a blur of light and reflection before opening onto that famous view. It was a beautiful, brilliantly clear day, the sort of winter sunshine that makes everything look crisp and defined, but it was also the coldest I have ever felt and I have jumped into the Arctic Ocean.

The wind seemed to cut through every layer. We took our turn on the Beam photo experience, recreating the famous steelworkers eating photo from 1932, bought the pictures in the way tourists absolutely should and then gratefully wrapped our hands around hot chocolates afterwards, using them less as a treat than getting circulation back in our fingers. From the top, Manhattan looked almost impossibly clear in the cold. Central Park lay stretched out like a frozen rectangle of calm, the Empire State Building rose proudly downtown and the whole skyline glittered beneath that pale winter sun.

We went to Broadway to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child at the Lyric Theatre, balancing spectacle with the simple pleasure of sitting side by side and being carried into a story together. The theatre itself had that old New York grandeur that makes an afternoon feel like an occasion before the lights even go down. And then, for a few hours, we were somewhere else entirely. I glanced at Khloe more than once, not enough to annoy her, I hope, but enough to catch those little flashes of surprise and delight.

At 14, joy arrives more subtly now: a laugh at the right moment, a look of total attention, the absence of self-consciousness. I noticed all of it as she sat there, completely mesmerised by what was happening on stage.

Another day, we went out on the Circle Line on the Hudson. There was a layer of ice covering the river and as the boat began to move, we could hear the sharp cracks of it breaking apart around us. There was something surreal about seeing New York from the from frozen river in January. The skyline rose, glimmering in the sunshine, all glass and steel beneath another beautiful blue sky.

Manhattan seemed even more dramatic from there, the buildings crowded together as though competing for space and attention. When the Statue of Liberty came into view, Khloe did exactly what I hoped she would do. She looked first, for longer than I expected, before finally taking out her phone for a photo of Lady Liberty, not because she had been told to, not because it was on a list, but because it mattered to her that she had seen it with her own eyes.

That was when I realised what New York still does so well. It doesn’t matter how many times you have seen the photographs. The city still gives you those small, unguarded instances when you act like a complete tourist, regardless of your age.

But the real highlight of the trip came on the Sunday, the day before we were due to leave.

By then the city had already given us its skyline, its theatres, its landmarks and its winter light, but that final full day became something else entirely when the snow arrived. By morning, Manhattan wasn’t just white, it was buried. Times Square, usually all movement and noise, looked softened and almost dreamlike beneath the snowfall. In places, the snow was nearly up to our knees. The same streets that had felt fast and purposeful only the previous day now belonged to laughter, chaos and delight.

We walked out into Times Square and knew straight away that this was not a day for plans. It was a day to surrender to. We laughed, took selfies, threw snowballs and did what seemed to be the only sensible thing when a city as relentless as New York suddenly turned into a giant winter playground. Everyone seemed to be doing the same. Grown adults were ducking snowballs, friends were filming each other in the middle of the street, couples were slipping over and laughing instead of cursing and more than once we lost our footing ourselves, laughing so hard that getting back up almost felt secondary.

There was something genuinely moving about the mood of the city that day. Looking around, it felt as though New York had forgotten all its troubles for a while. The usual edge had gone. People who might otherwise have hurried past one another were smiling, shouting, taking photos, and helping each other up out of the snow. For a few hours, the city seemed stripped of its usual armour. It felt playful and united by something as simple as weather and wonder.

And perhaps that is why it hit me so hard emotionally. Because I was not just witnessing an extraordinary day in one of the world’s great cities. I was sharing it with my daughter.

There she was, 14 years old, covered in snow in Times Square, laughing without hesitation, taking photos on her phone and wanting to be there with her dad. One minute she looked so grown-up, confident and independent; the next she was caught in a snowball fight with me, both of us laughing like little kids. It struck me then how rare those times become as children get older. But that day in the snow felt like a pause in all of that. As though time had briefly given me something back.

I have been to New York before, but this was the most special trip. In part because I was seeing it through my daughter’s eyes for the first time. And in part because she reminded me how thrilling those famous places can still feel when they are new. But mostly because of that Sunday. 

Because sometimes the memories that stay with you are not the polished ones. They are the messy, freezing, hilarious, unplanned ones. The ones where you look around and realise you are not thinking about work, deadlines, flights home or anything waiting beyond tomorrow. You are simply there, in the middle of the snow in Times Square, with a cacophony of billboards flashing around you, with someone you love, hoping the day slows down and stretches a little longer.

Need to know

Getting there: Direct flights from London reach all three main New York airports: JFK, Newark and LaGuardia. From there, Manhattan is easily reached by taxi, rideshare or public transport, with the MTA’s OMNY tap-and-go system now used across subways and buses. 

Getting around: The subway is still the quickest way to cover ground, especially between Midtown, Lower Manhattan and the Upper West Side, while yellow cabs and rideshares are useful when the temperature drops and walking loses its charm. Ferries and sightseeing boats add a more scenic angle, particularly for skyline views. 

Best time to go: Winter gives New York a particular sharpness, with crisp light, fewer crowds after the holidays and the possibility, if you are lucky, of seeing the city transformed by snow. January and February also bring citywide seasonal offers on hotels, dining, Broadway and attractions. 

Where to eat: Midtown and the Lincoln Center area are full of easy, local places for a quick bite before a show or after sightseeing. Around the Empire Hotel and The New Yorker, think diners, delis, bagel shops and pizza counters rather than formal restaurants. Joe’s Pizza is a classic New York stop, with queues often out the door, while Tick Tock Diner remains a reliable old-school Midtown option.

Where to stay: For a classic Midtown base, The New Yorker puts you within easy reach of Penn Station, Times Square, Madison Square Garden and Hudson Yards. For a stay closer to Lincoln Center and Central Park, the Empire Hotel offers a more Upper West Side address with a strong old-school Manhattan feel. 

Further information: NYC Tourism’s official site is the best starting point for practical city guides, seasonal ideas and transport advice, especially if you are planning a winter visit and want to combine the big landmarks with Broadway, museums and neighbourhood exploring.