El Escape Dulce

One of the many things I like about New York is its wonderful proximity to warm and sunny destinations during the bleak winters. In a mere 3 or 4 hours, you can find yourself on a white sandy beach, staring at the turquoise sea while listening to the gentle sound of crashing waves.

I normally favour a more active and adventurous holiday, one involving a challenge (either physical or personal) or some kind of novelty. This year, I had planned to head to Cuba to listen to Jazz in Havana, or to take a whale watching trip to Alaska or perhaps to finally go Gorilla trekking in the dense Ugandan jungle.

But as the end of the year drew near, I realised that I just didn't have the strength to challenge myself anymore. That moving across the Ocean, taking on a new demanding role, making new friends and whole-heartily embracing the fanatical pace of New York had drained me beyond description. This year has been one of extreme and opposite emotions for me: joy and sorrow, excitement and fear, fun and stress ... some dreams achieved and others shattered. So much so, that all I wanted, to my shock and horror, was to lie on a beach with plenty of books and a good friend.

And so I found myself, a few days ago, on a plane heading to Playa Del Carmen on Mexico's Yucutan Peninsula, with my gbf Larry. Playa seemed to offer a slightly more rural alternative to Cancun's large all-inclusive resorts (which I despise) and we opted to stay in a lovely boutique hotel tucked in a small palm tree lined street, minutes from the Caribbean sea.
The town itself was a dichotomy, retaining the feel of a small place yet still touristy. Mexican joints happily cohabiting with trendy upmarket restaurants, tacky souvenir shops with sophisticated art galleries.

The whole short trip was exactly what I needed and I completely relaxed. Reading a book a day, on the patio of our villa overlooking the serene miniature pool while birds were singing. Interrupting my sunbathing on the beach only to swim in the crystal clear sea. Walking on clouds after having a facial and massage at the local beauty salon. Taking an early evening solitary dip in the sea to watch a breathtakingly pink sunset that seemed to have been staged just for me. Tirelessly enjoying guacamole and fajitas ...

Adventure was had however in the form of a wave-runner ride. I have an irrational but very genuine fear of deep water, where the sea turns a dark shade of blue ... which is unfortunately the only place where one is allowed to do wave-running, far away from swimmers. Facing my fear should have been enough of a challenge, had it not been for the additional adrenaline provided by Larry. He's very experienced and fearlessly rode the waves at alarming speed, creating higher ones so that we would literally be propelled off the seat and almost lose balance, swallowing gallons of salty water in the process.
I scarcely opened my eyes and gripped onto him so tightly that I was still shaking for 2 hours afterwards. It was exhilirating! I was petrified but loved it and even had a go at driving the infernal machine - eyes opened this time but screaming like the girl I am!

I should have been dreading going back to New York after spending a few days in paradise but instead found myself unable to stop humming "Start spreading the news ..." as soon as I boarded the plane. Not even the news that snow had fallen on the city (delaying our plane by a couple of hours) deterred my enthusiasm. You can take the girl out of New York, but you can't take New York out of the girl ...

Hear it to believe it

You just have to love a place where you can hear conversations like the ones below, which are some of my favourites from overheardinnewyork.com.

Conductor: Due to train traffic ahead, this train will be going local to Roosevelt. Local to Roosevelt.
Three-year-old kid: Fuck!
(Overheard on the F train)

Chick: Yeah, I've been dating my new boyfriend for two years now. About to make the big move into Brooklyn. Really exciting, except Brooklyn's so scary. We saw some neighborhoods that I really don't think I could walk around in late at night.
Dude: Yeah, but the East Village can be like that, too. The other day, there was this couple having a fight over their crack pipe. There were children present! But then they saw the kids and took it somewhere else.
Chick: Yeah, there were some people smoking crack at my birthday party, but I just thought they all had really fancy cigarette holders.
(Overheard on L train, between 1st Avenue & Bedford)

Girl: This popcorn is soft. I hate soft popcorn.
Guy: I know, I hate soft-core, too. It's such a tease.
Girl: No, no. I was talking about the popcorn -- it's soft. But I agree: if there is no penetration, it's not worth my time.
(Overheard in the Ziegfeld Theater)

Little boy pointing at mannequins: Bitch!
Mother: Hey! Didn't I tell you not to say that word? It's a bad word!
Little boy: That's not fair! You never yell at Daddy when he says that to you!
(Overheard in Macy's, Herald Square)

TSA employee to people in line: All liquids and gels are prohibited beyond this point. Dispose of them now.
Four-year-old boy to father: Aw, man! Does that mean I have to get rid of my pimp juice?
(Overheard at LaGuardia Airport)

Young boy to another, whispering: I'm gonna knock you off ,and then I'm gonna steal your M&Ms.
(Overheard in FAO Schwartz)

Little boy to little girl while nanny is distracted: I love outdoor shopping, because it's easier to steal things!
(Overheard at 11th & University)

White mom: Which kitty is your favorite?
Little girl holding book of baby animals: The black one!
Mom: The black one? He sure is a cute kitty.
Little girl, loudly: Once you go black, you never go back!
Passing thug, flashing her a thumbs-up: Word!
White mom: I don't care what your father says, we are so moving to Westchester.
(Overheard at Commodore Barry Park, Fort Greene, Brooklyn)

Conductor: Okay everyone, we're going to evacuate the train now. Just stay calm. This isn't the Titanic. I repeat, this is not the Titanic.
(Overheard on Acela, to NYC)

NY-er, as visitor friend hesitates at crosswalk: It is so touristy to be afraid of getting hit by cars.
(Overheard at 34th & Broadway)

Father to young son: The species tourist vulgaris is identified by the fanny pack and the new white sneakers.
(Overheard at 45th & Broadway)

Tourist: Excuse me. where's the Golden Gate Bridge?
Cop, puzzled at first, then nonchalantly pointing north: Just keep walking that way, you can't miss it.
(Overheard in Times Square)

Hot girl on cell: She moved to Oklahoma? People don't go to Oklahoma -- people are from Oklahoma!
(Overheard at 72nd & Columbus)

Old woman #1: How many times have you beaten the video game Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas?
Old woman #2: I'm not sure. Maybe three or four times...
(Overheard on the A train)

Tourist dad with family, bumping into another tourist family: Excuse us! Thank you!
Other family's tourist dad: Ugh! Rude New Yorkers!
Nearby cop, to both: You do realize you're both tourists, right?
(Overheard on 48th & 5th Avenue)

Upper East Side trophy wife #1, in black dress: ... And the dress was only twenty-six hundred dollars!
Upper East Side trophy wife #2: Wow, that's fabulous!
(Overheard in David Burke & Donatella Restaurant)

Mom: Do you think they use dildos?
Dad, indicating 20-something daughter: I don't know. Why don't we ask our resident expert?
(Overheard on 116th & Broadway)

Receptionist: I'm sorry, Mr. Jones is out of the country... He went to Florida.
(Overheard at Hunter College)

Chick #1: I just felt sad, so I slept with him.
Chick #2: But... he's gay.
Chick #1: But he's a good kisser.
(Overheard on the 1 train)

There is something sad, endearing, funny, scary and yet fascinating about these exchanges and I'm not convinced they could have been overheard in any other cities in the world ...

The age of innocence?

I went to a "Big Sister Big Brother" training session last night and only wish I had attended it earlier in the programme, as it gave me some terrifying context into what my little sister's life is like.

My childhood was clearly so sheltered & idyllic that I didn't even conceive of the kind of things that the children we are mentoring are exposed to or are experiencing first hand.

Sure they are going through the same upheavals we all did as young teenagers - peer as well parental pressure, the desire to fit in, feeling uncomfortable about how they look, worrying about grades ...

But this is New York City and they face a lot of other, darker problems I never confronted as a child. Gangs - not just as a victim of them but also the pressure to actually be in one. Crime - the police raid their schools regularly, weapons are commonly carried and it is likely that they have seen someone being stabbed at some point. Drugs and alcohol - pot is passe and mixing up cocaine and amphetamines is all the rage apparently. And even sex - I was shocked to hear that the city had to eradicate the very popular "rainbow game" that girls as young as 10 were playing in all the schools: they would wear bracelets of different colours, each representing a sexual act and if a boy snapped one of them, they would have to perform that act on him.

Our "Littles" (we're the "Bigs") all come from inner city schools and receive benefits. This means that they live on or below the poverty line, which is a shocking $17,000 a year for a family of 3! I can't conceive of anyone being able to survive, let alone live, in one of the most expensive cities in the world on just $17,000, when this figure barely covers half of my rent for the year.

This leaves me with a moral dilemma ... How can I possibly justify my rather shallow lifestyle - centered around working, going out, traveling and dealing with boy troubles - when someone much younger and more vulnerable than me is going through trials I will never experience in my entire life? The guilt is something all the Bigs go through but it doesn't make it any easier to cope with.

I am more determined than ever before to make a difference for my Little, to be there for her and to be as much of a positive role model as I can be. Our last session was a vast improvement on the previous two as she is starting to feel more comfortable around me, and me around her.

There is a certain irony in the fact that it is taking a child to make me grow up a little at last ...

It's hard work being a big sister ...

I have started bi-weekly sessions with my "little" as part of the "Big Sisters & Big Brothers of New York" mentoring programme I signed up for .

I'm not sure what I expected exactly when I am well aware that I find it hard to relate to children at the best of times.
With my favourite topics of conversation ranging from music, politics, travelling, all the way to relationships, Richard Dawkins' evolution theory and shoes, it was always going to be hard to find some common ground with a child!

The early ice-breaker that the organizers set up involved us sharing what our favourite books, movies and hobbies are.
But how do you explain to an 11 year old child that your current favourite book is "One hundred years of solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez? That you really liked "Brokeback Mountain"? That one of your most regular pastime combines a rooftop bar, friends, cocktails and cigarettes!? Well, you don't ... but I have to thank Harry Potter for crossing the generation gap!

The fact that she's shy, clearly a little intimidated by me and replies to most of my questions with just "yes" or "no", doesn't help either. I will persevere of course - I can't (and would never) just walk away from the commitment, no matter how frustrating the 2 hours we have to spend together are sometimes.

It will take a little while for her to open up and for me to re-discover my inner child but I'm sure we will both learn from the experience.

In the mean time, I'll be raiding my local Barnes & Nobles children's books section to get up to speed and tune my DVR to Nickelodeon!

The French Invasion - Round 2

I always expected my parents to be overwhelmed by New York and I was right - after all, they are happiest when they are in our country house, in a tiny village surrounded by forests. So the scale of the buildings, the crowds of people and the dirtiness were a little hard for them to get used to at first.

But above all, they were overwhelmed by the constant noise, yearning for some piece and quiet which is impossible to get, not even in the confines of my apartment which overlooks busy Broadway... The taxis' horns, the constant sirens varying from the alarmist to the comical, people's tendency to chat loudly in restaurants, the rattling of the subway ... the noise was deafening to them and I realised that I had never really paid attention to it before. I was too busy marvelling at the energy to be annoyed by its by-product - the incessant sounds of the city.

But in their first couple of days, I managed to give them a feel for the different aspects of the city and show them why it is so special - from the madness of Time Square, to the quaint streets of the West Village, the luxury right next to the squalor of the Meat Packing district and the neighbourood feel of the community gardens in the East Village. They loved Central Park and Dad even rowed us on the lake before our gorgeous lunch at the Boat House.

They embraced the lifestyle much more than I thought they would - shopping for groceries at Zabar's, tightly clutching tall Starbucks coffees while walking around the city (this is from the people whose country demonstrated when Starbucks opened its first shop in Paris!), eating out almost every night (sadly, I was hoping for much more of mum's fantastic home cooked dinners), drinking cocktails on rooftop bars, eating sushi & Cuban food (where Mum got hilariously tipsy on one Mojito), enjoying the live performers in all the parks we went to, walking around the antique markets in my neighbourhood, falling in love with bagels in a big way ... They did manage to bring a little bit of France with them though - buying baguettes from Balthazar's bakery and shopping for cheese in Dean & Deluca. I even managed to find an Irish pub playing the rugby match for my dad to watch - I felt so bad about leaving him there on his own but he came home happy (if only a little disappointed by the result of course), with a broken voice from all the shouting and lots of new French and British friends.

They made me feel like I was a child again, my dad insisting on taking a picture of me as I was leaving the flat to go to work in my work attire ... just like he did on the first day I went to school!

It was wonderful having them here - they finally got a (parents-safe) glimpse of my life, know that I'm safe and settled and are completely won over by the city.

It was also an eye opener for me to realise that New York is not necessarily easy to love - you have to take the rough with the smooth ... I seem to have embraced both with equal fervour and can now make anyone fall in love with NY in 2 days flat!

Home Sweet Home

I once read somewhere that if you live in New York City, it has to be in an interesting building. And mine definitely fits the bill, in more ways than one.

I remember vividly talking through my requirements with the real estate brokers back in January. Watching Sex & The City had set my expectations too high. I was looking for a one bedroom apartment in a brownstone walk-up, ideally in the West Village but definitely below 14th Street... oh, and for $2,500 per month of course.
I essentially wanted to live in Carrie's apartment, perhaps hoping I would live the same life - without a closet full of size zero clothes and designer shoes in my case however!

When I came over for my relocation trip - 3 days in which I had to find a flat with the help of the brokers - I was surprised that the estate agent wasn't taking me to see brownstones, let alone in the West Village. All he had in my price range were portered buildings (with a concierge) in West Midtown (well, that's what he called it, the non-marketing friendly name being "Hell's Kitchen") and the Upper West Side. $2,500 barely gets you a small studio in trendy downtown.

But when I first visited the flat I eventually chose, I knew it was the one. Granted, it was the largest one I saw and had actual sunlight - 2 of the rarest things to find in the city - so the choice was an obvious one. The large walk-in closet that would comfortably house my shoe collection was another very persuasive factor.

I wasn't sure about the building itself at first, the hallways reminding me of the ones in "The Shining" - to this day, I still expect the evil twin girls to appear around the corner on their bicycles!
But I could feel the history and former grandeur of the place. It was built in 1902 and was formerly know as the Bretton Hall Hotel and still retains an impressive Beaux Arts facade.
Much to my sadness however, management seems intent on eliminating original features. I had to witness how they covered up the ornate cornices in the lobby and tiled over a beautiful mosaic floor during a recent refurbishment project.
Some original features I wish they had changed are still there though - I swear my cast iron radiators date from the turn of the century (they certainly sound like they do) and the plumbing is temperamental at times to say the least.

I love having concierges, as it's not only very practical (they take delivery of your laundry and collect your mail) but also very safe as you have to be buzzed in to get inside the building. They knew my name within 2 days of me moving in (impressive considering there are 461 flats in the building) and we always exchange pleasantries as I walk in and out.

But perhaps what I love the most about my building is the fact is that it contains some rent-stabilized flats which really contribute to the rainbow selection of inhabitants in the building.
I have seen every race and every type of people - the dope smoking students on the 3rd floor (you know as soon as the lift doors open on that floor), the frail looking elderly folks who look like they should really be looked after in a retirement home by now, the urbanites carrying small dogs in big designer handbags, the 2.4 children families along with the 8.2 children families, the sharply suited business men anxiously typing on their blackberries, the musicians cramming their instruments in the lift, the single girls toting yoga mats and perfect make-up, the weary taxi drivers on their way home from a night shift ...

I still harbour hopes of living downtown - the spiritual home of my social life - or so I tell myself every weekend as I take the unpredictable subway down to Prince Street ... but the fact is that this building feels like home and so does the relative tranquility of the Upper West Side.

The New York Man

I believe I now have the statistically significant sample size to describe the New York man, a very distinct breed, fairly accurately.

I usually hate to generalise and I realise this will make me sound bitter (I'm not), but the following observations are not based on my experiences alone, but also that of my girlfriends.

They are obsessed with their appearance - 5 times a week gym sessions, pedicure, manicure and eyebrow threading are all part and parcel of being a New York man.

They really believe that the grass is greener on the other side, not letting a small detail like being in a relationship get in the way of trying to sleep with you or at least flirt with you. There are many more single women than single men in the city, so you *almost* can't blame them.

Their blackberry is surgically attached to their hands and any attempts to distract them from it will induce withdrawal symptoms and a strange, vague look in their eyes - until said eyes settle on your cleavage or legs.

They come in 5 categories: married (50%), gay (30%), in an open relationship (a fact their girlfriends are unaware of - 10%), opportunistic single (5%) or desperate to get married (5%).

They always try to impress you, usually with tales of their glittering careers, marvelous friends and refined tastes in wine or food. If that fails, they will resort to flashing their membership card to the latest trendy club.

They never call the morning after the night before, no matter how much they want to. That would be, like, so uncool. There is an unbreakable 3 day rule that men have institutionalized here.

Their concept of commitment usually only stretches as far as booking that elusive table at the latest trendy restaurant for next week.

They are intelligent, successful, well read, up on current affairs and completely at ease with women - making them great company and irresistibly attractive unfortunately.

In 32 years of existence and with, what I thought, plenty of experience under my belt (no pun intended), I have never been made more aware that men are indeed from Mars ... it does make dating in the city that little bit more challenging but never dull!