Day 9 and 10 - I Heart NY

After having shopped to my heart's content in Jersey City outlets and using up all the credit on my US phone to pay one last phone call to all my NY peeps before I headed back to Euroland, I had not really done much in the last 2 days of my American adventure. I caught up on sleep, had my first salad after a week of pure grease, and had a few last minute catch-ups with family and family friends near the area. Sitting in my room in my aunt's Jersey City flat thinking about my imminent trip back to Vienna then London I couldn't help but wish I didn't have to.

Sure thing, my one week stint in New York may not seem like enough time for the average person to fall head over heels in love with a city - but call me a romantic, call me cheesy or a dirty cheat, because fact is I've cheated on London with New York and I liked it. LOVED IT.

Farewell U. S. of A. Till later NYC. No doubt we will reunite soon and our next meeting will be ten times better than the last.

Day 8 - The Wild Wild West Village

I have to confess the title of this post may be a little misleading as I actually started out in the East - with a little excursion across the Brookyln Bridge, an acclaimed rite of passage for every New Yorker wannabe. So braving my hangover by downing some water and some OJ I trekked across the Brooklyn Bridge on a beautiful Friday morning as many Manhattanites and Brooklyners have done before me. There's not much to say about walking down Brooklyn Bridge, except for that it's breathtakingly beautiful. You'll see the most beautiful view of Manhattan and Brooklyn, not to mention it seems to be a walk popular amongst the New Yorker love birds. Now I keep hearing from New Yorkers that you either love Manhattan or you love Brooklyn. Whether this is true, I have no idea but having already given my heart to Manhattan I felt a little naughty sitting in a park at Brookyln Heights having a sandwich *wink*.







Brooklyn and I enjoyed about a good half an hour together before I had to rush back to Manhattan for a lunch date with an old school friend. After convincing me that American beer can be good (courtesy of Brooklyn Lager) she strung me along to the best pizza in New York, Artichokes on 14th Street and after having had a staple diet of pizza, beer and other unhealthy goodies for the past week I think I acquired enough of a palette to distinguish between amazing and crap pizza. On that note, Artichokes was delicious! Especially their artichoke pizza. I recommend it to anyone who wants to try some proper New Yorker pizza plus it'll probably fill you up for the rest of the day, if not the entire weekend.

'Why is it that in New York, guys actually want to date?' I asked my friend, taking a swig of Brooklyn Lager.
'Well it's all about dating in Manhattan, but it kind of puts more pressure on having good dates. You have fewer chances to redeem yourself.'
'Interesting.'


So having figured out that dating in New York won't exceed the blessed 'third date' most of the time, I grudgingly finished off my lager and pizza before heading to the West Village for a coffee date with a New Yorker beau. We went to this coffee house near Bleecker Street called West 11th Café. It's a cute little café near to a variety of trendy looking bars and restaurants, and I think it may be around the corner of where Julianne Moore. No I didn't stalk her whereabouts but my date and I did happen to bump into her on our way to the café where she met my clumsy-looking gaze with a friendly and approving smile. It was a few seconds before I could shake off the effects of starstruckness and turn to my unimpressed companion who informed me that she did happen to live somewhere around the corner. I guess it takes more than Julianne Moore to impress someone who models part-time for Marc Jacobs.

After a few cups of coffee, smoothies and splitting a sandwich we went for a walk along the Hudson river. When in New York one MUST watch the sunset by the Hudson river. It has the most spectacular view of the New Jersey skyline. There was no better way to spend my last evening in Manhattan.

The sun set and reality set back in. It was back to John and Broadway equipped with a box of Magnolia Bakery muffins as a 'see you later' treat for my New York ladies. A few glasses of wine, pastry, and a 'Sleepless in Seattle' session later, I had to pack my bags and hop aboard the train back to good ol' Jersey City. Goodbye Manhattan, I had a blast.

Night 7 - Cupcakes, Marc Jacobs and Booze. Oh my!

Flying high from my rencontre with Johnny Fontane and escaping the Italian-American charm with all my decency and honour intact I continued the journey to seek out the Magnolia Bakery for a decent calorie-packed snack. Renowned for having the 'best cupcakes in New York', according to the ever-so accurate Carrie Bradshaw, I knew I could not leave the Big Apple without taking a big bite out of those tempting little icing-topped devils. Already having memorised most of the New York Subway system I hopped aboard the 1 Uptown train to Bleecker Street.



Bleecker Street, I would say is probably one of the more trendier areas of New York. Whilst the Upper East Side is impeccably clean (by city standards of course), the Bleecker Street area was a little more rough around the edges. Not rough like Harlem or anything, but let's just say the Shoreditch of New York sans the frame-wearing twats. After slipping in and out of Bleecker Street's many boutiques and vintage shops I finally found the Magnolia Bakery. Having had sunk my teeth into pastry heaven, my day was perfected by looking up and seeing a Marc Jacobs across the road. Of course being a student and being very very bad at managing my finances I had to pry myself away from the Marc Jacobs boutique and visit Bookmarc across the road. This shop is a perfect place to get presents for female friends or family because it's Marc Jacob's merchandise for decent prices. By decent prices I mean you won't have to shell out 100 bucks for a pair of tights or something. Bookmarc mainly holds books, hence the name, for aspiring photographers, designers and others in the fashion or media biz, but it also stocks cute little bags, rucksacks and Marc Jacobs stationary and stuff. If that wasn't enough to convince you to check out the store, maybe the insanely handsome shop keepers will.

Now onwards to the more interesting part of the day/night - Manhattan Thursdays. After cabbing it back to my homegirl's Manhattan loft in John and Broadway, I quickly dumped my shopping and popped open a few bottles of wine with the ladies for some pre-Piano's drinks. Now you'll have to excuse me for the many references to Sex and the City, but living in a loft with 4 other New Yorker women just resonates SATC in my mind over and over. After conversing about our various love lives over a few glasses of Pinot Grigio it was time to slip on our dancing shoes for a proper Manhattan night out in Piano's Bar on Ludlow Street.




We may have not left the house till midnight but the party was in full swing till the early hours of the morning. The drinks were cheap, the music was cheesy, and the company was great and unlike the cheap club-life of London there was a distinct lack of street fights and vomit. Brilliant. To add the cherry on the sundae, the girls and I were promptly joined by a Ferragamo model and his mates followed swiftly by the beautiful Marc Jacobs shopkeeper/models. In deep conversation with one of the Marc Jacobs party I was pleasantly surprised to realise that this man was not only gorgeous and stylish but ridiculously clever as well.
LET'S HEAR IT FOR NEW YORK.

Day 7 - Leave the gun. Take the Cannoli.

'Leave the gun. Take the Cannoli.' - Clemenza, The Godfather Pt.1

TGIT -Thank goodness it's Thursday is the motto of the Manhattan-ites. I decided to have a little lie-in after the martini-fuelled night before and to prepare for the chaos that normally ensues on Manhattan Thursdays. Later in search for my caffeine fix I managed to crawl out of bed to the nearest Starbucks.

One thing that particularly struck me as true about New York is their thriving dating scene. I recall the countless times I'd be lazing on the couch with my best mates watching re-runs of Friends and Sex and the City and thinking: 'My god. This is such a far cry from reality. Who on earth would get chatted up in a lift, on the subway or in a coffee house?' Now I've realised (and must tell my girls post haste) that getting picked up in a place other than a bar or pub by a sober and seemingly sane man may only exist in fiction in Europe, but it's a pretty frequent occurrence in the Big Apple. On that note, it wasn't long until I had my first friendly chat-up in the Starbucks down the block.

'So this is your coffee?'
'Yep think so.'
'Did I spell your name correctly?'
'Uh yes...'
'It's a very pretty name. And I really like your hat.'
'Thanks'
'What are you up to today?'

In spite of the many friendly and seemingly normal male New Yorkers, there are of course the select freaks dotted around the city. I recall my first day in Times Square at the local pizzeria. His choice of pick-up line, Joey Tribiani's infamous: 'How you doin?'. Does that actually ever work? Sad to say that that unfortunately that wasn't enough to make me weak in the knees, so after a friendly dismissal I rushed to the corner to eat my pizza quietly and at a distance. Now remember how I had mentioned the danger of the New Yorker charm? Combine the deadliness of that with an irresistable Italian smile and you've got the gist of the men in Little Italy.



Being one of the biggest 'Godfather' fans known to mankind, I could not leave Manhattan without paying homage to the home of the Corleone family, especially with the San Gennaro festival going on. For the other Godfather fans out there this is the festival where Vito Corleone kills for the first time and also the time when Vincenzo guns down Joey Zaza - so YES it is an important time for a Godfather fan like me. I wandered down Mulberry St. past cigar stalls, pizza, cannoli and a few 'ciao bellisimas', hoping to find myself a Michael Corleone. Instead I found myself at the annual cannoli eating competition. Six minutes, six contestants and a truckload of cannolis. Who can eat the most in 6 minutes? To add to the excitement, Gianni Russo who plays Vito Corleone's godson (Johnny Fontane) in The Godfather attended as the cannoli-eating competition judge. Oh my god, oh my god... This probably the closest I'll get to the Corleone family EVER. I was torn between awe for Johnny Fontane and disgust for Fat Flash Gordon frantically shoving his 13th cannoli down his esophagus. Containing my disgust I rushed towards the stage after the competition to find Johnny. Yes yes I may sound like a bit of a groupie, but I'm sure my fellow Godfather-followers would've done the same. I shoved my way through the crowd and managed to shake hands and banter a little before having a picture taken with dearest Johnny Fontane. Made. My. DAY.





After all the hype I decided to cool myself off with a glass of Italian red and a real Italian-American pizza. Oh yes, another grease and fat-filled meal for me. When in New York, healthy eating just seems to fall by the wayside for me. And to add to my calorie-packed day, I thought I'd say ciao to Little Italy and head to Bleecker Street to try out the famous Magnolia Bakery muffins before heading out for the infamous Manhattan Thursday Nights.

Side note: I'll be posting another entry for Day 7 just because it was the longest most awesome day/night ever. Go figure... it's Manhattan Thursdays.

Day 6 - Museum Madness

What better way to spend a sunny day in New York City than browsing around the American Museum of Natural History? Fresh off the PATH train I made my way to the museum at 82nd and 7th. The entrance fees are a whopping $15 for students… or $12. I hardly remember. I do remember that it was $18 for general entrance and a special show though. Well in any case every single dollar spent on entry was worth it. I geeked out for 4 hours in the museum, exhausting everything from the planetarium's shows, such as the IMAX Hubble space film and the Journey to the Stars show, to the dinosaur fossils and the exhibition of the peoples of Asia. After having lived in London for the past 3 years and getting used to not paying for museum entrance, I completely understand now why the AMNH does and should charge for entry. I could've spent the next few weeks of my life there but I had to tear myself away from nerd time to meet my father's colleague at the United Nations.



Already running late I got myself one of those $2 hotdogs from one of the many stands on Manhattan's streets and tried to navigate myself from uptown Manhattan to 42nd and 1st… mapless. Oh yes. Shock horror I had stupidly forgotten my subway map in New Jersey so I had to improv my way downtown… and fast. Recollecting as much of the subway map as I possibly could, and frying my nerve cells in the process, I managed to find a downtown train to a stop which had a crosstown bus that would take me to 1st avenue. It wasn't until I stepped off the bus around the corner from the UN building, when I realised I had triumphed over New York's ridiculously indecipherable public transport system - Me - 1, Subway - 0.

In comparison to the UN building in Vienna, the New York United Nations building was surprisingly underwhelming and uninspiring. Not really the type of the place where you'd imagine world resolutions are formed. After making it through security and a quick tour of the IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency) office, my Dad's friend and colleague Evelyn, invited me out for an al fresco glass of wine at a nice Turkish eat-spot nearby. It was just up the road and called Go and Eat in Istanbul. The ambiance was lovely. Everything was al fresco, which was perfect for the sunny but mild weather. A live jazz band was softly jamming in the background accompanied by the soothing sound of the waterfall fountain. The service was also excellent, not to mention their wine selection. I have not yet developed a sensitive taste to wine, but I do know that it was a far cry from the awful 5 quid for 2, bottles of 'Italian red' that grace the shelves of off-licenses all over England. Two hours of good wine, good conversation and even better company, Evelyn and I had to part our ways at Grand Central Station. Again I was running late for a dinner date with Genia. So after our goodbyes and a quick glance around Grand Central Station I sprinted down towards the subway, direction downtown Union Square 14th Street.



Union Square is popular amongst the locals for its many restaurants and a variety of swanky bars and is of course the home of NYU, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen's university (boohoo!). We began the evening at a trendy bar about 2 minutes from the subway station. Sadly I cannot recall the name of this bar. The only details I remember is that it was located at the corner of a street and that all the barmaids were models. Sipping on my first ever martini (yes pathetic I know) I felt a little like Carrie Bradshaw, without the unnecessary drama and the $500 shoes. We moved swiftly onwards to a restaurant, also in Union Square, called Spice. It was a very Sex and the City-esque swanky restaurant, with lounge music blaring loudly in the background… well in the foreground more like it, with a maître d' with one of those headsets and a guest list.

'Hi welcome ladies. Would you like to get a drink at the bar while we prepare your table?'

Couldn't get any swankier than this. Cute bartender, first-class cocktails, dingy but fluorescent locale… all this just screamed Sex and the City. With cocktails in hand we laughed, talked, ate and drank the first portion of the night away. Before we knew it we were on the rooftop of some New Yorker bar talking to a bunch of boozed up Manhattan yuppies. What they lacked in intellectual conversation, they definitely made up for in hilarity.

'Dude you guys should totally talk to Isaac. He knows like everyone around here.'

Impressive. Not. Taking in a multitude of crappy chat-up lines, Genia and I decided to abandon ship and call it a night. Wednesday nights attract the weirder crowd, according to her. But I'd better prep myself both physically and mentally for tomorrow.

'It's all about Thursdays man.'

Let's see what the Sleepless City has got to offer.

Day 5 - In a New York state of mind.

I woke up to the sound of construction, cars honking, people cursing and the view of the sun rising lighting up Manhattan's financial district and after inhaling a good amount of the polluted air and scoffing down a bagel and a Starbucks latte for breakfast I couldn't feel more like a New Yorker. I even fooled tourists and other New Yorkers with my new NY 'look'. I was in a New York state of mind and couldn't get out of it.

I took a look around me and felt proud I could blend in with the locals, after which of course I hopped into the car with Tito Ago to start off my day as a proper tourist. Equipped with a camera and a map in hand, I felt ready to take on one of the world's most urban, urban jungles. The safari began at Wall Street, where people regress to the animalistic cries and acts of brutality of their ancestors, after the ringing of the bell. Not only were the pin-suits probably at arms, but the tourists in front of the famous Brass Bull in Wall Street made the place feel like a war zone. Everyone was desperate to take a picture in front of the bull. So much so that people were yelling curses in a variety of languages, pushing and pulling and making very rude-looking gestures. I seriously do not understand why people bother that much for this:




We then drove past the South Sea Port and Fulton Street Market as well as Brooklyn Bridge to our next stop, The Soup Man shop at 190 Bleecker Street. What makes a soup take-away shop so see-worthy? Well the Soup Man has built its fame on the infamous way the Soup Man deals with his customers. The Soup Man is a top chef who makes gourmet soups - think the likes of lobster and other luxury ingredients - and is, like most New Yorkers, a little on the neurotic side. He has a desired method of queuing and insists that all his customers abide by his method, otherwise… no soup. Yep, that's right. You could queue for 2 hours in the cold just to be turned away for not stepping to the left immediately after ordering or being 1 cent short and having to look through your wallet for it. Now who in their right mind would queue up for such self-humiliation? Well come on, let's face it… We as people love making our poor selves go through an unbearable amount of crap, which is why we deal with things like Twilight, or Kristen Cavallari. So we deal with the Soup Man.




Desiring a more filling lunch, we decided to have a hearty meal at a Thai restaurant across the road before heading out to Chelsea to look at art galleries. If any of you are into art… Chelsea is the perfect place to go. There are about 4 major streets filled with galleries. I spent about 3 hours exhausting all the galleries in just one of those streets, starting with an 8-story building with nothing but galleries - an endless buffet of sculptures, portraits, modern art and photography. Afterwards, to cool down, we headed to Emack & Bolio's on Amsterdam Ave between 78th and 79th street, which is rumoured to have the best ice-cream in the city - and only a whopping $4 for a scoop. That equates to the total value of two Manhattan hotdogs man. I'm not much of a sweet-tooth, but since Tito Ago insisted and I thought 'well who knows when I'll ever get the opportunity again', I decided to try one of these $4 scoops, and wawaweewah that was some guhoood ice cream. Sure it doesn't beat any of the gelaterias in Venizia but it was close. Very close. Sitting in the corner, pigging out on my ice-cream I overheard a guy mentioning to his lady friend that he loved Emack & Bolio's so much that he was placed on their Wall of Fame for ordering an 'Emack Attack' - a monstrosity of an ice-cream, containing 24 scoops for around $60. Wow, talk about dedication. We then sat down and chatted with one of Tito Ago's friends, who worked at Emack & Borrio's who referred us to H&H bagels if we wanted to try a 'real' New York bagel, so that's obviously where we went next. After buying several bagels for my Aunt Mona and I to feast on for breakfast the next day, Tito Ago and I separated our ways. He and my Aunt Mona made their journey back to Jersey City, whilst I made my way downtown to Fulton Street to meet an old friend for a 'New York dinner'.



Not knowing what to expect, I was shocked when I saw where - no sorry, what we were dining in. It was an American pub (if that's what you'd call it), which goes by the name of Jeremy's Old Ale Bar. Bras were dangling from the ceiling with autographed pictures of topless chicks plastered around the walls. Now this is what you call class. Just to top off the evening I had an NY bacon cheeseburger and an American ale with chips on the side. Deliciously unhealthy. It may have been a heart attack on a plate, but that would've probably been an ok way to go.

Filled to the brim with grease and ale I managed to haul my now oversized behind back to Jersey City for some America's Got Talent time with my Aunt Mona. Bring on tomorrow New York.

Day 4 - Nightlife is raging on Ludlow St.

'Everything seemed so wrong to me this morning but I know things will be brighter later tonight, on Ludlow Street.' - Julian Casablancas





How right he was. Nothing contrasts a day in the Upper East Side more than a night out on Ludlow Street. After experiencing where the upper class dwell, I could not be happier that my good friend Genia decided to take me for a drink in Ludlow Street in the Lower East Side, where the likes of the Strokes began their careers. Instead of suits, expect hip cool kids. And no not the types that hang about in London's East London scene. LES and West Village hipsters are genuinely hip and not bored little rich kids who are enticed by the propagated image of a 'trendy'. What is the difference you ask? Say you enter a bar in Dalston or something looking like an actual human being (i.e. not wearing a Victorian dress or kooky glasses). They stare… disapprovingly. In the LES and WV people don't care if you don't look the part, which is pretty relaxing.

One of the first bars we hit was Spritzers near Ludlow Street and then headed to a more quiet pub a block away… perhaps it was called Piano's? Well in any case that's of no importance. Ludlow St. has enough bars to satisfy anyone's taste… should you crave classy cocktails, good beer (yes America does have good beer actually!) or a place with a dancing scene. Anyway after a really long-needed catch-up between me and my good friends Nick and Genia, we decided to call it a night and head home and so Genia and I hailed a cab.

'John and Broadway please.'

Since Genia and I have not seen each other for 3 years we were engaged in deep conversation and so it took us a while to glance at the meter.

'Excuse me. Why the hell are we at Union Square?'

Apparently it's not just the nightlife that's raging. NY cab drivers are pretty enraging as well. The cheeky man had taken us a little uptown before driving downtown to her flat. In simpler terms - he was driving in circles and thought he could get away with it. Wrong.

Cabbie: 'You guys didn't tell me where you were going.'
'Yes we did. We said John and Broadway.'
Cabbie: 'No you didn't.'
'You could've asked us instead of driving in circles.
Cabbie: 'I asked 3 times.'
'No you didn't. This is what's happening: you're driving us home and we'll pay you the amount we'd usually pay.'

If I were the cabbie I wouldn't have turned this offer down. The fool did however. What then? What else? We left the cab and started walking down the street.

'Wait! If you don't pay I'll call the cops.'
'Ok fine. Call the cops. We'd like them to very much hear our story.'

So what did he do? He stood there dumbfounded while we hailed another cab and drove home.
And the moral of this story? Beware of New York cab drivers. Another scary anecdote to follow this one:


My Aunt Mona's friend, Tito Ago, once said that he was waiting to cross the street when he saw an old tourist couple hail a cab and asked the cabbie how much it would cost to get to their hotel. Unbeknowst to them, their hotel was located conveniently a few blocks down.
'20 dollars' the Cabbie replied. Unable to just stand and watch helplessly, Tito Ago walked up to the couple and told them 20 dollars is not worth a 10-minute walk down the road and after a death stare from the Cabbie and a 'thank you' from the couple, he was glad he helped another escape the trickeries of the taxi drivers.

So what have we learned ladies and gentlemen? When in Manhattan, keep your eyes on the meter and on the GPS screen located in front of you, and if you can be, be specific with your directions (e.g. 'John and Broadway please but go down Broadway and not the FDR because it's always in a traffic jam.') Abide by these tips and they are more likely to not get away with duping you.

Day 4 - A sunny day full of WASPs.

Starting the day bright and early, ready to conquer the Big Apple, my Aunt Mona and I made our way to the Upper East Side - so she could go to work, and I could discover how New Yorker WASPs live. And no I don't mean the flying black and yellow bugs that can sting you without dying. For those of you who don't know what a WASP is, it stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant - they roam the upper echelons of American society and choose the Upper East Side to build their nest. No wonder one can only find luxury stores such as Berdorf Goodman, Bloomingdales, Barney's, Louis Vuitton and other couture boutiques in the area. Having heard Bergdorf's mentioned in at least every second episode of Will & Grace (I must tell you know that all my prior New York knowledge stems purely from movies and TV shows), I decided to stroll in and see what the fuss is all about.





Barely 5 minutes in and I was charmed and led away to a salesman in the Bulgari corner. Now don't think for a second that I'm a naïve shopper. I live in London and if there's anything I perfected in, apart from shoving my way into the tube and shouting curses at tourists foolishly loitering in the middle of Oxford Street, is dodging the charm of a sales person. However this time I could not. Perhaps it was the fact that I was now the typical naïve tourist, who loses IQ points with every country separating tourist from home. But I'd like to think this was due to the rarely-mentioned New Yorker charm. Bollocks to the tales of the 'New Yorker attitude'. If there is anything that I have learned so far from my trip is that the attitude in European cities makes New Yorkers look like Mother Teresa. Their charm is more toxic than their bark. A further five minutes later and this salesman had me beginning to believe that I really did need that $195 Bulgari moisturiser because having diamond dust is great for my face. Like a sailor hypnotised by the Sirens' song, I was captured by this utterly useless and unnecessary product. But then logic rang out in my head like Orpheus' lute and I sped out of there as fast as I could before I could do any financial damage to myself and my dear parents.

It wasn't long before I was lured into the very bowels of Tourneau, a luxury watch-retailer where I had hoped they could revive the Armani watch my parents gave to me as a graduation gift.

'That would be 15 dollars without tax ma'am.'

I gave the salesman a look of disbelief. I reluctantly nodded and seated myself on their velvet couch. I looked up at the salesman again and this time he gave me the 'kabayan' look. Fifteen minutes later he walked up to me with my watch in hand.

'Here you go Miss. Have a nice day.'
'But - You.. Ok.'

Rescued again by one of my brethren I took my watch and proceeded with my Upper East Side odyssey, which led me to Abercrombie and Fitch, its lair guarded by half-naked male beauties. The mere sight of it was comical. There was a bloody queue for A&F reaching all the way around the corner. Like a members-only club in Mayfair, male models manned the entrance like Whiskey Mist bouncers, letting one in and one out at a time. Queueing for a mediocre shop, with mediocre products, with mediocre design for stupidly high prices? I think I'll join the 'I'm-not-a-sucker' queue' please. Onwards to the Apple Store at 59th and 5th. Squealing like a little school girl in the Willy Wonka-esque glass elevator I descended towards something better than a Chocolate factory - Apple in the Big Apple, meaning CHEAP. Cruising along from iPad to iPod I dragged myself out of Geekville to Bookwormville at Barnes & Noble at 86th and Lexington.

Books, glorious books! How I love Barnes & Noble. Although it looked like the regular super bookstore it had the vibe of the local library. People sitting cross-legged with books and papers sprawled across the floor, study groups gathered at a coffee table… It had the size and the selection of Waterstones but lacked any of the pretention British bookstores have. People were reading books they haven't purchased on the carpeted floor… and they were not being told off! So I filled my basket with books, sat cross-legged on the floor with my Frappucino and read my heart out. Not bad New York, not bad at all.

Day 3 - A day in the Garden State

Completely wiped out by an overdose of crazy the previous day, we decided to spend the beginning of our day shopping in Jersey City. Sure Manhattan is eclectic and filled with enough thrift stores, luxury boutiques and department stores to make any girl's heart soar, but New Jersey has one pretty big advantage… NO TAX. You know usually when you pick up a top or something and it costs 15 GBP, that's what you pay at the counter. Not in New York darling. The price tag may say $15 but then a 8.871% tax is added to the total when you buy it. Strange indeed. Fortunately New Jersey hasn't adopted this odd tradition so I stuffed my bag with my wallet, my cards and set off to Marshalls for some serious retail therapy.

My jaw dropped at the unbelievably cheap prices. A Calvin Klein dress for $50, Ralph Lauren shoes for $25, Michael Kors pumps for $50… What?! How?! We were like women possessed. We got so carried away with our shopping, it wasn't until 4pm when we realised we needed to eat something before we passed out. In spite of hunger, dehydration, exhaustion and terrible weather, we were in high spirits and managed to drag ourselves and our shopping to the Popeye's nearby. My Aunt Mona and Marsha have praised about Popeye's chicken to me before and having had to endure KFC meals every Sunday because my Dad and my dog will it, I was definitely capable of making a comparison between 'good' and 'bad' deep-fried, nutrient-stripped, junk food chicken. And the result? Popeye's is pretty damn good and tastes a lot less unhealthy that its counterpart KFC. It was so good we stuffed ourselves in about 10 minutes flat.

After having scoffed down enough chicken to make any meat-eater want to be a vegetarian, we braved through the rain back home and had a long-deserved power nap before making it back to the Big Apple to drop Marsha off at her bus stop. Thank goodness our exposure to the rain was minimal because Tito Ago, my Aunt Mona's dear friend, offered to drive us into the city. We then made a quick stop at New York's 'Shake Shack' on 86th and Lexington, supposedly where the best burgers in New York are made. And oh my they were right. Even thinking of the taste now makes me salivate like one of Pavlov's dogs. Sadly after my first culinary experiences in NYC, Marsha and I had to part our ways. It left me feeling quite sad but I hope we get to hang around again in New York and perhaps try some of their mouth-watering steaks.

Day 2 - Take me to Broadway

Being a theatre-lover and an ever loyal West End-follower there was nothing that I looked more forward to than being able to watch my first Broadway show ever and it was The Addams family that had the honour. So we hopped aboard the PATH train en route to 33rd Street… whatever that means.

Of all the countries I have ever been in, apart from the Philippines, I have never come across a more indecipherable public transport system. Sure the newer trains occasionally announce the stops and have a plan of the subway, but if you're one of the unlucky tourists who ends up on an old train you'd probably have no idea where on Earth you're headed to. Our destination was some numbered street located in between two numbered avenues on Broadway. Completely dumbfounded I just blindly followed my Aunt Mona and Marsha and occasionally nodded to at least pretend to be of some help in locating the theatre.

Wandering around Broadway and Times Square was a little like being in a Broadway musical yourself. A man dressed up as Superman prancing around to sell bags for $10. A half-naked man with a cowboy hat belting out country tunes with his arch nemesis stationed across the street, a half-naked cowgirl serenading curious male onlookers with country medleys of her own. Oh and how could I forget the group of young wannabe rappers freestyling on cue trying to sell their records to passersby. And I thought London was crazy. A bare 10 minutes in Times Square makes London look like an obedient Catholic school girl. This really is the urban jungle.



Struggling through the jungle past poisonous bag and ticket sellers, it wasn't long until we found it and were sat in our seats in the mezzanine (expect to pay over $120 to even think of sitting in the stalls). However in contrast to London's West End, theatres here are fairly small and so regardless of whether you're sat in the back of the mezzanine or the front of the stalls, you still get a very good view of everything. Unlike in London where I had to rent binoculars just so I could differentiate between the male and female characters on stage.

'Oh my god… this is my first Broadway show!'

Lights dimmed down and the curtain opened… Showtime. The Addams Family musical was nothing less than brilliant. It was funny, entertaining with an appropriate amount of darkness - enough for you to realise they're a pretty weird and sadistic family but not enough to destroy the light-hearted nature of Broadway. It was a great first Broadway experience, but how would I compare it to the West End you say? Well to be honest I think they're equally as good as each other. The only observable differences were that Broadway tickets are a lot more expensive and they have better seating. So which is better is for you to judge. Try them both out and tell me what you think. My heart is still singing a tale of two cities - London and New York.

Trip to the Sleepless City - Day 1, The journey

Already at a high level of stress and tension because of Expedia's botch-up, I still managed to get myself together and haul my ass and its many belongings to the airport. Flying transatlantic for the first time on my own I felt scared, excited and ready. Thankfully there were no problems when we first arrived at the airport. I got my boarding passes, checked in my bags and gave my folks a hearty farewell and flew off over the English channel to London, my city, my stop-over. I was elated but my bubble was soon to be burst by Continental Airlines security checks. When I was issued my new passport several years ago, my embassy informed me that I would not need a visa to visit the US because our new passports were biometric. Stupid Austrian embassy.

'So you're flying into Newark?'
'Yes.'
'Did you fill out an ELSA form?'
'A what?'

Turns out this Visa waiver agreement the States has with Europe requires you to fill out an online application form. Simple solution to this: whip out laptop, use airport WiFi, all is fixed. Sadly this was not the case. I left my laptop at home because I was intending to buy a new one in New York (the one I'm typing this on now waheeyyy). Crap. Solution number two: find an Internet café, fill out form and PRESTO. Problem solved… NOT. I stupidly thought it would be wise to leave my Sterling behind to stop me from buying things at Heathrow airport. So I had to pay a 3 GBP minimum using my credit card… No big deal. BUT I was slapped in the face by another bill when I had to pay $14 to process my application. After the adrenaline rush died down, the waiting began. Three hours, zero books, zero pounds, and zero battery. So traumatised and tired was I by all this I couldn't even begin to grasp the fact that I was flying to the States for the first time in over 10 years. It wasn't until I flicked through multiple plastic surgery, weight loss and dating ads with a Carrie Underwood medley playing in the background that it hit me… Hell yes, I'm flying to the States!

There is definitely one thing I've got to give Continental Airlines credit for: their amazing playlist (expect to hear bluesy jazz and the earlier and greater works of N'Sync) and the frequency of their meals and snacks - not to mention their great collection of movies on demand. Full, entertained and tapping my feet I could hardly contain my excitement.

'We are now flying into Newark'

I peered out the window. You know how when you usually fly into a city it looks like a big cluster or an island of lights surrounded by a sea of darkness? Well Newark from above looked completely different. There were sporadic bits of light… kind of like gazing at the stars, sans the neck pain.

Finally off the plane with luggage in tow I headed out to the arrivals area equipped with the US mobile my father so obligingly bestowed upon me, but omgPANIC. It didn't work. How on Earth would I reach my Aunt and cousin? I tried to use a pay phone, only to realise that I am an incompetent twat who barely remembers the methods of communication before mobiles, and that I foolishly did not know how on earth to dial a US number. Stuck in an almost empty airport with New Jersey hoodlums parking up front and giving me death stares I frantically began BBMing my little sister regardless of the insane time difference. I thought all was lost until I heard it… Tagalog. KABAYAN. I spun around to find two Filipino airport workers behind me.

'Hi. Could I please use your mobile to ring my Tita? I am lost and I'm scared.'

Thank God for the Filipino compadre mentality. They not only lent me a mobile, but dearest Paolo (from Bacolod) brought me to the other arrivals section and scouted out for my cousin because he did not want to leave me alone before all the airport staff left. Then almost as if on cue, my cousin Marsha appeared with Paolo.

After giving Marsha a big hug and feeling a mixture of relief and happiness I turned to Paolo to wave goodbye.

'I'm sure I'll see you again. It's a small world. Remember… next time you see anyone who needs help like this, go help them!'
I sure will Paolo. It's people like you that make me proud to be Filipino.

Expedia sucks.

I'm afraid this post is going to be a little bit of a rant, but to justify this let me first tell you my story fair followers. My parents decided to give me a trip to NYC as a graduation trip and as a reward for my good marks. Ecstatic about the offer I unfortunately turned to expedia.de to find flights that wouldn't destroy my parents' finances... wrong move. At first I selected the cheapest flight from Vienna to Newark and entered my credit card and passenger details as required. After submitting my information the website gave me an error message saying the transaction could not be processed, so with the encouragement of my mother by my side I gave it another go. This time all appeared to go well - the transaction went through and I received a confirmation email detailing the flight times, booking references etc.

Now this is where the nightmare begins. In the midst of my preparations for my one-woman journey across the Atlantic I was worried to receive an email from Expedia detailing that I had in fact made 2 bookings to Newark and would have to cancel one of the bookings for a fee of €476!! Talk about cheeky, greedy and all-around repulsive. Alarmed, I phoned their office in Germany to explain my situation and bring their attention to their error. All they could tell me was that I did have to cancel one of the flights or be charged for both, but would receive €100 compensation. €100 from €1000 that you nicked off me? Yeah right. Still in the height of my battle against the incompetency of Expedia I wonder how on Earth they could continue with a booking using the same card, the same passenger details on the same trip at the same time?! Would I really want to go on holiday with a clone of myself? Not only that but it appears that the second booking they were gracious enough to charge me for only flies out from London to Newark instead of Vienna-London-Newark. I guess I could teleport to London, ain't that right Expedia?

Well after a little bit of research on Crapedia, I did find it consoling that there have been many unfortunate others who have been duped by Expedia. Check it out. I highly recommend to avoid using them unless you feel like throwing away a little, no sorry, A LOT of money.

A one woman journey

It's been a while since my last post but I had been busy graduating and preparing for my solo trip to the sleepless city, NYC. Already fraught with anxiety over the idea of travelling alone, it didn't help much to find out a few loonies in the States were planning to conduct a mass Koran burning session, which obviously will elicit a very angered response from not only Muslims, but others worldwide. In addition to the chaos this idiotic act will cause I seem to have been faced with hurdle after hurdle just to go on this trip. First things first... Expedia. They botched up my reservation by booking it twice and have attempted to charge me to cancel the extra booking. Cheeky bastards.

Well all I can do for now is pack my bags and hope for the best: that Expedia will sort themselves out after my hour-long complaint over the phone, and that the previously mentioned idiots will see the stupidity of that act before its too late.

hit me baby one more time

Reading through BBC news online as I do every morning, I stumbled across an article that both amused and perplexed me. It concerns a domestic violence case in New Zealand. Now before you shrug your shoulders and think 'how on Earth can this sick person find such a thing amusing', hear me out. Naturally as one would expect, the husband pleaded innocent to the charges, but what struck me as most unusual was the alibi he gave. He stated that he and his wife were merely dancing the kolbasti, a traditional dance, which he said used moves that resemble punching, kicking and even choking.

This sounds so unbelievable I'm not sure whether to believe the guy or not. One doesn't make this stuff up right?
Have a look for yourself - does this look like fighting or dancing to you?

C'est chic?

Steven Meisel has always been known for his edgy fashion spreads, but has he gone too far now? His latest fashion spread to appear in Italian Vogue is inspired by the BP oil spill catastrophe. The spread has beautiful model Kristen McMenamy clothed in couture drenched in oil lying helplessly on the shore. Does this send out a message or is this just distasteful? Many argue about the artistic credibility of fashion photography. Sure they do have artistic value, but the essence of them is to sell, to advertise. Refinery29, the online fashion magazine, believes the spread to be wasteful and hypocritical, disgusted by the idea of luxury items being flown in to be muddied, photographed and then advertised. Captions such as 'Oil is the new black' are particularly horrendous and insensitive. Or could it be Meisel's attempt at irony - portraying the tragedy and grittiness of an ecological disaster in a usually glamorous magazine. Is this a creative eye-opener or is this just opportunistic advertising? What are your thoughts? Well have a glance at the Look Book and judge for yourself.

If you're interested in reading what others have to say about this controversial shoot, check out Newsweek's article.

dream a little dream of me

The credits were rolling, people were leaving but I couldn't budge out of sheer awe. Because Inception's release was two weeks after the premier in London, I had already read a few criticisms about Nolan's latest masterpiece. Although not all the press was positive I was nevertheless determined to sit through 3 hours of Leo DiCaprio. Now having seen the film, all I can say was that I sat there agape at the cinematic spectacle taking place before my eyes. It may have perhaps been because of Leo's intense eyes, or Joseph Gordon Levitt's beautiful face, or Cillian Murphy's gorgeous jawline. Or perhaps it may have been because the likes of Michael Caine and Leo DiCaprio were gracing the corridors of UCL's library. But most likely, I was enthralled by the plot, the effects and the outstanding performances of all the actors.

Sleeping, in spite of mountains of research, still remains one of life's mysteries. The more intriguing side of sleep are one's dreams. Why are they there? What purpose do they serve? Do they mean anything? After 3 years of studying Psychology I can only say that I am still none the wiser. Inception explores the phenomenon of dreams and how they are linked to our subconscious. What I think makes the plot of this film so effective is the fact that it addresses man's vulnerability and susceptibility in a sleeping state and nothing is more intriguing to us than the techniques of psychological manipulation. Like a dream, Nolan creates a labyrinth for the spectator's mind using layers of dreams or levels of the subconscious. The characters, struggling to hold their grasp on reality add another touch of mystery and intensity to the film. All in all I think Inception was definitely worth the wait and I cannot recommend it more, however I do have to say that Toy Story 3 is still a little higher in my books, but that's probably just my inner child speaking.

you've got a friend in me

After weeks of hesitation I finally decided to give Toy Story 3 a go. At first I thought adding another Toy Story film to the franchise was entirely superfluous. Toy Story 1 was brilliant, its sequel even more so, but was a third really necessary? Sequels are dangerous. Trilogies are even more risky. An example of the ever-mounting failures of trilogies can be vividly seen in Spiderman, Shrek and not to mention Pirates of the Carribean (WHY OH WHY?). Thus with these disconcerting thoughts in mind I was a little antsy during the opening scene of the film. Toy Story was, after all, one of the major films of my childhood and if its numero tres failed, it would fail me as well as my inner child. However after the build up of all this anxiety I am more than happy to proclaim that Toy Story 3 not only exceeded my expectations but was better than the previous 2 films.

Watching Toy Story 3, I was dragged back into the world of Woody and Buzz - their trials and tribulations, ups and downs, fights and loves, and their (in particular Woody's) undying loyalty to his kid, Andy. I laughed, I gasped, and almost shed a tear. It was like meeting old friends you never knew you missed until you met them again. Andy, now grown up was a character I identified with. Having first encountered Woody and Buzz's charming characters at a young age I understood and experienced the distance growing between toy and child in the transition to adulthood. Andy, getting ready for college has to decide what to do with his toys. This heart-wrenching story made me think of my favourite toys back in the day and what I had decided to do with them. Did I store them in the attic to pass on to others down the family or did I sell them, or even donate them? The film made me look back at how I used to be and what I am now, highlighting the inevitable abandonment of childhood. All I can say is that this may be the best film of the year, at least for me. Lighthearted and all-around beautiful, I hope this snags an Oscar. After all I think we've had enough brooding males, death and parent-child complexes in award-winning movies to last us a life time.

whiskey in the jar

After taking a swig of my single malt scotch on a rainy day in Aberdeen, I couldn't help but think that life couldn't be more perfect. I'm not usually the smug type but in spite of the cold, wet weather I nevertheless felt at peace. Fingering my whiskey on the rocks my thoughts then turned to the miraculous effects of this magical concoction. Whiskey, the staple social lubricant of the people in Ireland and Scotland. Although I was never much of a whiskey connoisseur, after my detailed tour of the Glen Garrioch distillery, I began to think of whiskey as an acquaintance I had gradually established a close friendship with.

Although my relationship with whiskey remains a friendly one, it is apparently a love-hate item to others more familiar with it. 'Why is there a lock on those things?', I asked my tour guide, pointing at three glass shapes resembling upside-down conical flasks filled with a clear liquid. 'Ah those contain the spirit we use to make whisky. It's about 82% alcohol. The lock in it is for the men - to protect them. We'd usually have a few that would make us merry, but it did occasionally make men blind.' Blind? I had to see this for myself, so after enjoying my scotch I stretched out and reached for the clear liquid form of death in a glass. 'I had 2 of those before work', the Scotsman proudly told me. Mustering the courage I downed it. At first it tasted a little sweet, then it burned, then my vision blacked out for a few seconds. Damn it had an edge. Torn between delight and fear I could now see how whiskey earned its reputation as a seductive but destructive temptress.

Whiskey you're the devil.

catholics vs. the pope - round 1

Reminiscing about my time spent at the AIDS 2010 conference, I recall one poster and a campaign in particular that caught my attention. This campaign consisted of Catholics protesting against the Pope's anti-condom protest. Being somewhat a Catholic myself I know that we, as religious peoples, are required to acknowledge the infallibility of the Pope, regardless of how outrageous and outlandish his claims and protests appear to be to the average person.

Now because we are required to believe the Pope is infallible, it creates a huge rift between what Catholics really think and what the Pope thinks. Because of the rigid tradition and the strict hierarchy that appears to reign over the Catholic faith, the majority of us remain silent and the average non-Catholic usually then tend to believe we all assume the Pope's somewhat outdated beliefs and thus occasionally come to the conclusion that the lot of us are a little 'loony'.

One of the topics in which papal and public opinion seem to clash is the use of contraceptives and condoms. A while back the Pope condemned the use of condoms and preached abstinence instead. The result of this decreased use of condoms in several African regions, which then resulted in an increased number of HIV infections. Grounds for the intolerance of condom use may be based on its hinderance in procreation and that it may promote premarital sexual activity and promiscuity. Would the non-use of condoms actually decrease premarital sexual activity/promiscuity? I personally don't think so. Do condoms dampen procreation? Well we still are having babies aren't we?

But today in the face of all the controversies the Vatican is entangled in - pedophilia, sexism etc. - more and more Catholics are letting their cries be heard. This movement claims that using condoms does not make you a bad Catholic, but rather stresses that good Catholics use condoms. This again brings back the unanswerable question of what constitutes a good Catholic? Is it exclusively based on serving the organised hierarchy installed by man? What's your opinion?

hi i'm unemployed

Now that the AIDS 2010 conference has come to a close I am left with a reignited passion for scientific research, new friends, and an infinite supply of condoms and other 'goodies'. Looking back on my experience I realised how much I learned from it. After 3 years of studying a science degree, my love as well as faith for scientific research has dwindled, but hearing the advancements researchers have made in the search for an AIDS cure has not just restored my love affair for scientific research, but upped up the ante. I won't bore you with the intimate details but read research papers on microbicides if you're interested, in particular the ones published by Dr. Fauci.

Not only did the conference appear to benefit me mentally as well as socially, but in a more basic sense, it gave me something to do and because it was for a good cause I felt pretty damn smug about it. Now mourning the loss of the smugness, condom parties and speeches about the developments on the microbicides front I have to come to terms with my newfound unemployment. Slowly sinking into a pit of eternal boredom where time seems to stand still, I have decided to take action and occupy my time with productive activities, such as blogging, drinking beer and watching the Godfather. I know these activities may not be actively helping society, but hey at least they're doing no one no harm. After all, one has to take things one step at a time.

hi i'm a volunteer

The 2010 AIDS conference attracted famous politicians, successful entrepreneurs and some of the greatest medical minds of our time to the little city of Vienna, and I of all people was given the rare opportunity to work as a volunteer for this conference. Wide-eyed and fresh-faced I stepped off the underground station into a flurry of press, delegates, protestors, free hugs and condom flies.

[Side note: A condom fly is a man dressed up in a giant fly suit advertising condoms, obviously.]

Transfixed in a state of confusion, frustration and fear I stationed myself in my assigned session room ready and willing to acquiesce to any bizarre request - from quizzing delegates as to whether they spoke Russian, to throwing a handful of condoms in the air. So warped was I by the idea of being in the same building as Bill Clinton, that it took me a good while to realise that the majority of these 'great minds' were just like the rest of us. It had taken a few days of speakers forgetting presentations, missing translations, numerically-inadequate delegates, and vuvuzela-blowing scientists for me to achieve that eureka moment - it occurred to me that potentially curing HIV aside, I had put the majority of them on a pedestal. We're all human after all, and to err is human is it not? Just because they discovered the positive impact of microbicides on minimising the virus reservoir, does not mean they don't enjoy a tranny-filled CONDOMIZE party with music blaring at a volume sure to make your ears bleed.

With that said - Bring on the CONDOMIZE PARTY.