Hurricane Irene: New Yorkers panic buy as reality sets in

New Yorkers evacuate apartment buildings in Manhattan's Battery Park, as hurricane Irene approaches. Photograph: Timothy A Clary/AFP/Getty Images

You get used to odd sights in New York, especially in the East Village, a crowded artsy neighbourhood known for a bohemian mix of hipsters and gritty old-timers, which boasts a bar on virtually every corner.

But panic-buying supplies for a hurricane? That was still a novelty for even the most jaded Manhattan eye. Yet there they were: crowds of people lined up outside local supermarkets and thronging "deli" corner stores.

The queue outside the Trader Joe's supermarket on 14th Street stretched all the way down the block, filled with a cross section of East Village life from suited-up young office workers to people clad in gym gear to smartly dressed nighthawks.

Seeing the line it was easy to be briefly disappointed at a lack of fortitude in a city that celebrates a reputation for toughness and scepticism of danger. But, gratifyingly, the line for the cheap wine shop next door was even longer. If these New Yorkers were going to face down a storm, they were determined to do it with a glass in hand. And, suddenly like the much-loathed tourists who constantly earn the natives' ire, many New Yorkers were stopping to gawp and take pictures. "This is crazy!" exclaimed one young woman.

But insane or not, this was reality as New York waited for the ominous arrival of Hurricane Irene. The monster storm slammed ashore in distant North Carolina morning but kept heading north-east, putting New York's forest of skyscrapers firmly in the track of the storm. Hurricanes are not supposed to venture into this north-eastern corner of the US, but no one had told Irene. Like a determined, sharp-elbowed New Yorker herself, she barrelled towards the city with no heed for conventions.

So New York battened down the hatches. Suddenly residents paid attention to the emergency maps put out by City Hall that colour-coded the dangers of flooding. "Are you in zone A, B or C?" became a vital question as people consulted the map, which showed which parts of the city Irene could put underwater. As a category one storm – and weakening — it was only the people in the bright orange zone A who had to worry about evacuating. But that still covered vast swathes of the city from the seaside resort of Coney Island to the hipster paradise of Williamsburg, to the smart, moneyed apartment buildings of Battery Park City on the southern tip of Manhattan. In a city obsessed with its social stratifications, Irene proved a great – and rare – leveller.

Many did leave. Some 370,000 people were ordered to get out of their homes and neighbourhoods by city officials. Roads out of the city filled with traffic. People all over hoarded supplies of food, filled pots and pans with water and bought torches and batteries. They were just obeying what Mayor Mike Bloomberg had told them. The mayor, often slammed for his busy-bodying efforts to stop New Yorkers smoking and get them to count the calories in their fast food, was pulling no punches. "Mother Nature is much stronger than all of us," Bloomberg told his fellow citizens as he urged them to prepare and stay safe. He even warned that ignoring the mandatory evacuation order could – technically – earn someone jail time, though he accepted it was unlikely. "We do not have the manpower to go door to door and drag people out of their homes… but if you don't follow this, people might die," he insisted.

Certainly Bloomberg and his own staff were taking no chances. The mayor took the unprecedented step of cancelling all the city's subway trains and buses from noon on Saturday, bringing the city to a grinding halt long before the first gusty winds of Irene arrived anywhere near the Statue of Liberty. He personally rang members of the Wilpon family – who own the Mets baseball team – and got them to cancel their weekend games. Broadway, too, shut down as no less than 23 plays and musicals closed their doors. "The safety and security of theatregoers and employees is everyone's primary concern," said Paul Libin, chairman of the Broadway League. It marked the first time the Great White Way had closed since the terror attacks of 11 September, 2001. In effect, New York was being forced to stay indoors. Zoos closed, concerts were cancelled and even the city aquarium – whose denizens might welcome a flood – shut up shop. Airports began to shut down as Irene approached, cancelling hundreds of flights.

For those evacuated, 65 public shelters were opened across the city where food, drinking water and solid, firm walls were provided. They were sited in schools, colleges and other buildings with cots laid out, blankets distributed and advice pamphlets handed out. In typical style the New York Post tabloid offered a guide to the best and worst ones. "Location, location, location!" it began. After all, no self-respecting New Yorker wants to be seen in the wrong kind of hurricane shelter.

Some hospitals and old age homes, such as those on outlying Staten Island, were also evacuated with residents and patients getting into ambulances and being shuttled to higher and safer ground. Everywhere people were getting ready. The FBI warned employees to pack away files from their desks in case windows smashed and let the storm's lashing rains into their offices. A local internet company, Towerstream, announced it was opening up its networks and offering Manhattanites free Wi-Fi. Some bars and restaurants vowed to stay open through the storm. But others prepared to close, especially as many of the kitchen staff who keep the city's thousands of eateries open often live in outlying neighbourhoods and the cancellation of public transport had left them stranded.

So, as the city began to come to a halt, many New Yorkers watched the approach of Irene on their televisions. The historic nature of the storm – no hurricane had ventured this close to New York since Gloria in 1985 – meant that the cable news channels went into overdrive. The familiar sights of weather-beaten correspondents standing in driving rain and high winds to deliver frantic pieces to camera filled the TV schedules.

Though Irene appeared to be weakening and becoming less organised it still packed enough of a punch to wallop North Carolina's coastline as it made landfall on Saturday. Its 85 mph winds brought down power lines, pounded beaches, flooded buildings and felled trees. A string of major cities, like Philadelphia, Boston and Hartford, prepared for the worst. In total more than two million Americans have been told to flee Irene. In the betting mecca of Atlantic City, all 11 of the resort's casinos shut down: only the third time this has happened since gambling was legalised in New Jersey.

That, perhaps, reflected the frank comments of the state's rotund and notoriously outspoken governor, Chris Christie. "Get the hell off the beach!" he had told his state's residents. "You're done, its 4:30, you've maximised your tan."

But in New York there were a few residents who were more than a little sceptical of the intense preparations. Jamaican-born builder Mark Lewis, who was spending Saturday working on fitting a client's bathroom in Manhattan, was distinctly unimpressed. He had seen big hurricanes hit his homeland throughout his childhood, including a monstrous Category 5. "This is nothing, man," he said. But then again perhaps the city could be forgiven for taking all necessary precautions. After all, last Tuesday New York was shaken by a rare earthquake. Now Hurricane Irene was bearing down.

The past few days in the city have felt a little like a disaster movie. No wonder most people were just waiting nervously for it all to be over.