Cold Britannia

Since moving to New York, I always make sure that I stop over in London for a few days twice a year, usually on my way back to France to see my family. Having lived there for 12 years, a lot of my "extended" family and very dear friends are there. This time, the trip was little more complicated - I was in London for 5 days, then in Paris for 2 before finally joining my family in the South of France for a week.

Moving to another country is always challenging from a friendship perspective and I must admit that I fear fewer and fewer people will still want to see me as years go by ... although it hasn't been the case so far, thankfully. When I see my London friends again, whether I am in touch with them on a weekly (or sometimes daily) basis via email, or just once in a while, it always feel like we only saw each other yesterday, despite our lives changing and evolving all the time.

I therefore always look forward to going back to London ... although this time I had the distinct impression that London didn't want me there, considering the number of things that went wrong during my short stay.

It all started with the constant rain, grey skies and surprisingly cold temperatures. I had only packed summer dresses (a case of misguided optimism) and was eventually forced to buy a pair of trousers and borrow a friend's coat, after a couple of initial days of shivering, constant cursing and getting soaked to the bones (usually while lugging my heavy suitcase in the streets!).

Things got worse as I moved into my hotel after staying with various friends for a few days. I was staying in a guest house in Belgravia and was given a dark and damp basement bedroom with a tiny bathroom - so small that I felt I was showering in a coffin (an experience I would not recommend!). And with only one towel (not much larger than a hand towel) for the entire 3 day stay, and a TV that wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum, I was close to tears.

Even a trip to Brighton turned into a much less straight forward affair than it should have been. I was making my way down to have dinner with Charlie, one of my oldest friends, but was delayed by over an hour because of violent storms. I finally made it and had a wonderful evening, at the issue of which I thought I had overcome my streak of bad luck ... until I took the train back to London the next morning and got fined $40 for buying the wrong ticket - something that has never, ever happened to me in the numerous times I have made that journey!

As the final touch to a fairly disastrous trip, I realised after leaving London that the Ipod Touch I had bought for a friend of my brother's had been stolen from my luggage, leaving me $400 lighter ...

But I didn't let London (quite literally) dampen my enthusiasm and I had a wonderful time catching up with as many friends as time allowed. It did bring mixed feelings to the surface however: a sense of belonging (enjoying seeing old faces and old places) but of detachment as well (being very aware that it is not where my life is right now).

I feel at home everywhere, yet nowhere in particular at the same time. They say home is where the heart is ... right now I feel that my heart is scattered across France, London and New York. I hope that one day it will settle somewhere finally.

Miami Vice

No matter how I much I love New York, I physically and emotionally feel the need to take a break away from the City every 6 weeks or so. I'm not really sure why - perhaps because I keep myself so busy (too busy?) here or because it can be an overwhelming metropolis where it is difficult to get away from the energy and the noise .. All I know is that after a few weeks here, I start feeling extremely run down.

As soon as I started feeling the above symptoms, a couple of weeks ago, I hatched a plan to finally visit Miami with Larry for a long weekend of fun. We had talked about it for a long time and I had never been to Miami, where Larry has spent a lot of time over the years, so it was an obvious choice.

So I boarded my plane from JFK on Thursday evening last week, excited by the prospect of lying on the beach and swimming for the next 3 days. I felt on holiday as soon as I stepped off the plane and was hit by the humid heat and even more so when my taxi left the airport area and I spotted the first palm trees. I love that feeling- you know you are away from your normal life and responsibilities and your mind somehow empties of every day worries and of anything at all in fact.

I arrived at the Beacon Hotel, a wonderful Art Deco affair facing South Beach, at around 10.30pm. Larry, who flies on standby, was meant to get there before me but couldn't get on a flight until much later. The hotel wouldn't let me check in as the reservation was in his name so I found myself doing something I have never had the courage to do before: having a glass of wine by myself, sitting in the open air bar of the hotel. Miami is so laid back that I didn't feel self-conscious about being on my own at all. The waiter was very friendly anyway, spent most of the evening talking to me and didn't even charge me for my drink.
Larry eventually arrived at around 1am and we strolled down Ocean Drive, which was a vision of white and pastel coloured buildings, neon-lit signs, cars slowly cruising with music blaring out of them. I felt I had stumbled in the middle of a "Pimps & Hos" costume party as the dress code in Miami is distinctively "bling, tight & short" for both men & women.

Our hotel was great and we were excited to find that our room was fitted with an ipod player, as we had both brought ours. It made for some amusing games though as I would play Kanye West or Hotel Costes and Larry would switch it to Maria Carey or House music at every opportunity ... thankfully, we found some musical common ground in R Kelly's "Ignition" and Madonna's new album, which became the soundtrack for our holiday.

A few things about Miami surprised me - the most obvious one being that people addressed me in Spanish first. It is very much the first language there and there is a huge Cuban and Argentinian community, which adds to the exotic feel of the city. I was also surprised by the daytime drinking culture, where it's not unusual to see people drinking Mojitos from what looked like enormous fishbowls as early as 10 in the morning.

In addition to the relaxing sunbathing and frequent swimming in the wonderfully warm Ocean, it was very much a party weekend, filled with many fun memories. Chatting and sipping Caiparinhas on a friend's balcony overlooking South Beach. Lying on the beach at 3am while philosophying about love and life. Spending a boozy afternoon at The Palace, a fantastic gay bar, chatting to all the boys (including a Matt Damon lookalike) and laughing to the point of tears when their drag queen show involved these giant "ladies" strutting down Ocean Drive, singing and waiving rainbow flags, jumping in passing cars and hugging startled bystanders ... at 3 o'clock in the afternoon ...

Settling

Marie officially moved to New York last week, in an apartment just a couple of blocks away from mine, and it is wonderful to have another friend in the neighbourhood. With most of my friends living downtown, I constantly hop on the subway or in a taxi to meet them - it is a well known fact that it's nearly impossible to make a "downtowner" travel uptown.

And the advantage of having one of my best friends close by became even more obvious yesterday.

I woke up with a raging hangover after a great night out with a group of friends at Pier I, an outdoor beach style bar on the bank of the Hudson river. Marie was feeling similarly awful for the very same reason as me, so when she called me in the morning suggesting that we meet for breakfast at Barneys Greengrass, it was an offer I could not refuse. There is nothing better than eggs, bagels, bottomless coffee and gossiping about the night before, to cure a hangover.

The rest of the day was devoted to helping Marie settle into her flat, which is in a brownstone on a wonderfully bright corner of 87th and Columbus. We stopped at the local pet shop and I helped her pick a goldfish - little Harry is now happily swimming in his tank. I had to google instructions on fish feeding and learnt some very valuable facts, guaranteed to make me the star of any dinner parties: who knew that the oldest goldfish lived 43 years, that they can develop gas problems or that they can be fed hard boiled egg yolk and lettuce!

Then came time for some hard work. We put on Madonna's new album and set about building the various pieces of flat pack furniture she had bought at Ikea a couple of nights before. I have painful memories of building all my furniture myself when I arrived here. Despite zealously reading the instructions, it always resulted in me having to rebuild everything twice as I never got it right the first time - cue tears of frustration, copious amount of swearing and regular refill of my glass of wine. Somehow, I was determined to do it all by myself, which was frankly very stupid ... and which is why I happily offered my help to Marie.
It seems that my skills have improved somewhat as this time, I only had to rebuild the chest of drawers at a relatively early stage of the process. We had no tools other than a screwdriver and decided to use Marie's blue snakeskin stilettos as hammers (yes, you read this right). I looked up at one point as I was banging on a screw, shoe in hand, to see Marie doing the same thing - causing an inevitable fit of laughter.

I love seeing her place take shape - it reminds me of my own settling-in experience, of creating a new home, mixing in objects from my past with new ones. Realising that it is really where I live now and that there is no going back. Feeling the excitement and fear that come with making a new start.

Moving to another country is the most rewarding and character forming experience I have been through (twice!) and I only hope it will be for Marie too.

Reality

My relationship with my Little Sister, Jenny, seems to be going from strenght to strenght.

When we are alone she can't stop talking, excitingly telling me about her latest sailing trip or school project - in stark contrast from her near silence of a few months back. We still communicate online often, although she has now realised that I have a life of my own and that we have to arrange a time to talk that works for the both of us. She has a new found interest in poetry, after an assignement she had to complete for school, and often sends me her poems which I am actively encouraging her to keep writing.
She recently asked me to help her with her maths homework: "If the shadow of an 8 feet tree measures 4 feet, and a nearby building's shadow measures 16 feet, how tall is the building?". I realised that I don't remember any of the hard-learned mathematical formulas of my youth but the solution was very easy of course and didn't require them - this is a problem intended for 11 years old children after all so even I can manage that! The hardest part came in trying to guide her to the solution, without giving it to her on a plate, despite her insistence that I do so.
In our second to last session, we were asked if we wanted to pair up again next year and I am happy to report that we both agreed to. I am glad that I will carry on mentoring Jenny and see her hopefully flourish over the coming months.

But the reality of New York City or, more precisely, the New York City that our Littles live in, dawned on me in a particularly gruesome way this week.

We learned that the mother of one of our Littles was brutally murdered last week. We were all shocked by the news and have been coached on what to say, should our respective Littles want to talk about it. Jenny has not mentioned it yet but I can't imagine how I would have felt as young child if one my school friends' mum had been killed ... In fact, I can't even imagine what it would feel like as a 33 years old woman as I've never lived in an environment where something like this could happen.

New York is a much safer place when it was in the 80s, at the peak of the crack epidemic, and by the end of the 90s crime had dramatically decreased (as explained from a very interesting angle in "The Tipping Point"). But even in 1998, the year in which I first visited the City, I remember mistakenly ending up on a corner of Bowery, feeling watched and unsafe despite the afternoon hour. Bowery is now an up & coming area, rapidly filling up with edgy designer boutiques, a cool new museum and trendy restaurants, and I often stroll through the very same corner when walking from the Lower East Side to Soho.

My New York is incredibly safe and I have never felt in any danger, however mild. But I am now even more aware that it is in a very privileged New York that I live and play in every day ...

SATC

A Sex & The City craze swept New York a few days ago.

Cinemas across the city started screening the movie from midnight on Wednesday and every half an hour thereafter. Absolutely every girls and gay guys I know had plans to see the movie, usually with a group of friends as part of a night out, and it has been a major topic of conversation and source of excitement.

On Saturday night, Larry, Marie, Samantha, Jules and I met outside the Loews Theatre on 3rd Avenue and 11th Street, on the edge of the East Village. Queues outside were a colourful display of party dresses and glittering high heels. As we had a quick drink at the bar opposite the cinema before the screening, we noticed another large queue forming outside Webster Hall, down the street. They were hosting an Eighties Prom night and I have never seen so many tiaras and puffy metallic dresses in my life. The mix of the two crowds made the atmosphere that little bit more surreal.

The movie itself was both satisfying and disappointing. It was great seeing the characters five years after the end of the series, but it didn't work very well as a film. While that annoyed me at first, I was able to enjoy it a lot more once I saw it as just an extra-long episode. But what I loved the most was the ambiance inside the screening room - people were cheering, clapping, laughing and crying throughout the movie. I don't remember the last time I witnessed so many diverse feelings openly expressed.

I think it is a testament to how important SATC is as the first TV series addressing some of the concerns of my generation of women - we have romantic visions of love but know that it's not easy even after you find it, we see our close friends as our chosen family, we care about our careers yet we want to have fun too, we want to see the world, we want to improve ourselves (physically, intellectually, emotionally), we want to give back to the community, we want to make our parents proud ... and yes, we love fashion and especially shoes!

While I often think that the characters are overly one-dimensional (the romantic one/the career-driven one/the traditional one/the sexually liberated one) and lack depth, it is when you take the four of them as a whole that you get a better understanding of the multi-faceted personalities of women today, often balancing conflicting desires and priorities.

The night wouldn't have been complete had we not ended it in typical Sex & The City style ... sipping Cosmopolitans and talking about men. It's good to be one-dimensional for a few hours sometimes!

Eating

I think that it is about time for me to share reviews of places I have been to in the last few months and hopefully provide further valuable insights on where to go in New York on a night out. Again, I am only reviewing places that I particularly like, as I have been to well over 150 restaurants and bars since I've been here. I know that because I keep a list - very anally retentive of me, I know.

* Mercer Kitchen - 147 Mercer Street, corner of Prince Street
I was a little wary about going to Mercer Kitchen the first time. It is the restaurant of the Mercer Hotel, right in the heart of Soho, and as such the venue of choice for celebrities and models. Lindsay Lohan famously trashed a suite once and Kate Moss always stays there when she is in town. Going to this kind of places usually mean seeing no celebrities (not that I would really want to anyway) but instead being faced by a room full of poseurs and wannabees - incredibly stylish but hopelessly snooty and boring. But I like Mercer Kitchen - an underground brick walled space, quietly luxurious and bathed in candle light. The food is wonderful as well, my favourites being the steamed shrimp salad with avocado, mushrooms and tomato in a champagne vinaigrette, as well as the sea scallops with french lentils, crisp pancetta and lemon creme fraiche.

* MercBar - 151 Mercer Street, between Prince Street and West Houston
MercBar is the bar next door to the Mercer Hotel and part of the stable. It's my favourite bar on week nights, as it becomes too loud and busy at the weekends. The decor is similar to Mercer Kitchen, and again there is an understated luxurious feel to it, along with a smooth, chilled out atmosphere - enhanced by the fantastic "Hotel Coste" compilations softly playing in the background. In addition to the exposed brick walls, seats are covered in cowhide, deer horns hang on the walls and a suspended canoe glows above the bar - giving the place a very distinctive feel. They also make the most perfect Sour Apple Martinis.

* Tomoe Sushi - 172 Thompson Street, corner of West Houston
Upon learning that my friend Joe is not only as much of a sushi fanatic as I am, but also makes regular trips to Japan, I asked him what his favourite Japanese restaurant in the City was and Tomoe was his answer. We've been there together a few times and, as he is the expert, I always insist that he chooses our food.
The restaurant itself is nothing to rave about - probably about 12 white formica tables crammed in a small space, specials scribbled on pieces of paper stuck to the wood-paneled walls. It is a cash only restaurant, usually indicative of cheap food, although I have never spent less than $100 per person there.
But the queues, which start forming outside the tiny venue at around 7pm, speak for themselves. The sushi there is simple but incredibly fresh, in a melt in the mouth kind of way. I also tasted more unusual japanese dishes there, such as Ankimo (monkfish liver pate) and small fried fish that you eat whole... both surprisingly delicious.

* Ocean Grill - 384 Columbus Avenue, between 79th & 80th Street
On the few occasions that I stay in my neighbourhood to have brunch - usually when I have people staying with me - Ocean Grill is my first choice for brunch. It is located in one of my favourite corners of the Upper West Side, 79th & Columbus, opposite the Natural History Museum. I love the building itself, surrounded by old trees and a lovely arts and crafts market at the weekends, and as such always buzzing with people.
I never eat in the main dining area, which I find too formal for brunch, and instead always head to the banquettes in the bar area, with large windows looking onto the museum.
The atmosphere at the weekends is very relaxed, the bar populated by an incredible variety of people - from elderly couples, to families and young professionals. I usually order one of the few versions of Eggs Benedict they have on offer, tuck into the bottomless coffee and enjoy the soft jazz music and the company of the friends I am with.

* Barneys Greengrass - 541 Amsterdam Avenue, at 86th Street
I read about Barneys Greengrass before I actually experienced it. It is one of the most famous and oldest Jewish delis in the City and happens to be about 2 minutes walk from where I live. There is nothing fancy about the place but there is something very old-fashioned and endearing about it ... from the formica tables, to the muddy beige walls adorned with rather average murals.
The service can be either incredibly friendly or rather rude, depending on the mood of the waiters. But the atmosphere never changes: hot, almost smoky (from the kitchen) with barely any tourists - a primarily Jewish neighbourhood crowd . They, and I, come here for the amazing bagels accompanied by the simple, but tasty, eggs scrambled with lox (cured salmon).

* Lure - 142 Mercer Street, corner of Prince Street
I fell with love with Lure the first time I went there in January this year. Whenever I describe the place to friends in an attempt to convince them to go there, they look at me with disblelief - it is meant to look like the inside of a yatch, which smacks of a theme restaurant. But it really isn't.
Yes, it does feel like you are on a boat but not in a cheesy way. The sushi there is very inventive and probably my favourite thing to order in the evening, along with some of their more conventional, french-inspired, fish or seafood dishes.
The bar area, which I sometimes go to on weekend afternoons, offers delicious cocktails - my favourite being the Blueberry Gin.
My only criticism of the place is the music. They play an endless selection of Eighties songs, a little too loud for my liking, and oddly jarring with the atmosphere of the place.

* Per Se - 10 Columbus Circle
I literally fantasized about going to a Thomas Keller restaurant since reading Anthony Bourdain's "A cook's tour" a few years back, where he documents his most memorable meals around the world. Keller's most famous restaurant is located in the Napa Valley ("The French Laundry") but his New York outpost is "Per Se", in the swanky Time Warner building at Columbus Circle. Both are notoriously impossible to get into (they only accept reservations 2 months in advance of the dinner date and telephone lines are notoriously jammed) so I had lost all hope that I would ever experience his legendary art ... until the Washington Post Online invited me to an industry dinner that was taking place there.
Per Se was hands down the best restaurant I have ever been to in my entire life, with the most attentive, yet friendly service. As we were sipping champagne before sitting at our tables, smiling waiters offered us a selection of canapes - salmon tartare with red onion creme fraiche in a light as air crispy cone, foie gras mousse on tiny croutons and cheese feuillete.
Our main meal consisted of 7 courses, all paired with a different wine. We started with hot smoked sturgeon, served with picked apple slices, horseradish cream and dill infused olive oil. This was followed by caramelized endives, roasted beetroots and steamed small onions. The mains were seabass (the best I've ever tasted) with globe artichokes and then ribeye beef with fingerling potatoes and chanterelle mushrooms. The beef was much rarer than I would usually have it but simply sublime. We then had a very light salad with beans and rocket, before finally finishing off with desert: apricot sorbet - which reminded me of my mum's apricot jam with melancholy - and petits fours.
Everything was so simple and yet refined and executed to perfection. As they poured us a delicious 20 years old port at the end of the meal, along with amazing American cheeses (3 words I never thought I would put together), I literally thought I had died and gone to heaven.
I feel guilty about recommending this place as it is so hard to get into. But if you know you are going to visit New York in the next 2 months, make sure you at least try to get a table there. I promise that you will be blown away.

* Salt - 58 MacDougal Street, between Prince & West Houston
I have a special fondness for Salt. Not only because I wish my flat looked like the restaurant - exposed bricks, long white tables adorned with bouquets of roses, white bookshelves on the walls filled with quirky ornaments but with a very homely, lived in feel. But also because it's tucked away in an odd corner of MacDougal Street and almost difficult to find.
The menu is short, making food decisions much quicker. The quirk is that you can choose from a list of sides and a list of proteins and combine the two together to your own taste. The food is amazing - clean, fresh, tasty and very good value.

Amazingly, the City still holds an endless supply of restaurants for me to try - and I have the very hard task of sampling as many of them as I can ...

Bonding

There are two events in the year that I would never spend without my family - my birthday and Christmas. Not because of the presents but because being with them on these milestones is a tradition I am not willing to change.

And so I made my way to JFK for the former event at 6 am at the end of April, blurry eyed and craving caffeine, having woken up too late to grab a coffee before jumping into the cab.
I was less than amused when the BA clerk told me that my luggage could not be checked all the way to Lyon as I was landing in Terminal 4 in London but my onward flight was departing from the new Terminal 5, leaving me no time to transfer. My mind worked fast, despite the despicably early hour, and within 30 minutes I had called my friend Marie, arranged to stay with her in London for the night and booked myself on the first flight out to France the following morning.
The unexpected extended stop over gave me 12 hours to catch up and gossip with her over dinner - a very pleasant interlude as it were.

My family and I quickly settle into a reassuringly familiar routine as soon as I arrive home. The first few hours are usually spent decyphering what I am trying to say as my French always takes a little while to come back. After that, it feels like nothing has changed much since I left home 13 years ago.

My sister lives at home with my parents and my brother, despite living a few miles away with his girlfriend, usually takes time off when I am in town so that we can all spend as much time together as possible. And so, for a week, our family unit is intact, almost suspended in a time warp where we are somehow ageless - not quite children anymore, but not quite adults yet.

Each day is anchored around dinner, a sacred time during which everything is discussed but primarily politics - how bad Sarkozy is, the collapse of the sub-prime market, the state of the national health service ... Our extended family also keeps us busy, my mother having 10 brothers and sisters - and therefore us having a myriad of uncles, aunties and cousins - mean that life is sometimes uncomfortably, but entertainingly, close to a sitcom.

But the main theme of my holidays back to France is "bonding".

Bonding with my brother and my sister as we play squash every day - 45 minutes filled with raw energy, excitement but mainly laughter as we nearly miss hitting each other with the racket on numerous occasions, swear in a perfectly bilingual manner or giggle at my sometimes Monica Selles'esque grunting! We leave the court exhausted, high on happy hormones and ready to do it all over again the next day.

Bonding with my father as the two of us head off for our daily cross-country bicycle ride along the river and the neighbouring fields and forests. I remember the days, only a few years ago, when Dad (the man who can never sit still) had to force us to go cycling but I am now the one asking to go. I thoroughly enjoy these rides, whizzing through the small paths, hitting rocks and tree roots, jumping obstacles, crossing muddy puddles. This is when my long lost Tom boy comes out to play again.

Bonding with my mum, usually while helping her prepare dinner, trying to explain that it is normal to have to kiss a lot of frogs before finding a prince, while never actually telling her how many frogs there are or have been ... Trying desperately to make her understand me and my decisions, while knowing she never really will as our generations are so utterly different.

Another tradition I love is my mum recounting the day of my birth on my actual birthday. While I could probably do with less of the gory details (12 hour labour without a peridural or even gas and air!), I never tire of hearing it. I am looking forward to my next birthday already ...