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.