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.