Svetlana's Elephants

After a very tasty brunch at Ristorante Asselina at the Hotel Gansevoort Park Avenue, I went on a bit of an experimental journey to Soho. Mapless and therefore clueless, I boarded the N train Downtown and got out at Prince Street.

Now fortunately Prince Street is a block from Houston (entirely where I wanted to be) but then I walked in the wrong direction for three blocks - in high heels and in extreme heat. Not pleasant. Spinning myself around, I got on the right track but ultimately realised Houston is a very looong street, and I was at least 8 blocks out of my way. I could feel the blisters forming on the underside of my toes; it was all very gross.

With confirmation from a gaggle of Soho firefighters that I was indeed headed the right way, I almost belly-flopped into the cool and welcoming arms of S.O.Bs, a neat little bar/brunch venue with a live band playing mellow Latin American tunes. I only wanted to cool off and have some icy cranberry juice & soda, but the live music was an added bonus and I made a mental note to come back there another time.

A little before 1pm I rounded the corner and headed into Film Forum, the premier independent movie house in New York City. I was cashing in a Groupon certificate I had bought (naturally) for a year-long membership to the cinema. When I was in Chicago I was a real devotee of The Gene Siskel Film Center, and I figured that Film Forum seemed to be NYC's equivalent. Film Forum has been around since the 1970s and though the screening roster is not large, it offers a lovely collection of American and foreign films, documentaries and even throwbacks the golden oldies.

Today I went to see "The Woman With The Five Elephants", the story of 87-year old Svetlana Geier who has translated the five major works of Dostoyevsky from Russian into German. She is widely considered the most masterful translator of these works in the world. Screened in German with English subtitles, the film tells the story of Svetlana's life and her family, from growing up in the Ukraine and then as a young girl being forced (by wartime circumstances) to move to Germany and work for the SS as a translator. As time rolled on, Svetlana raised a beautiful family in Germany and honed her linguistic crafts. The film follows Svetlana as she returns to the Ukraine for the first time in 65 years, to deliver a series of readings and lectures about the art of translating.

I know a lot of people would yawn and roll their eyeballs at a movie like this, but I really liked it (or maybe Svetlana just reminded me a little too much of my own Granny). To see her wispy white hair, and her wrinkled hands smoothing her beautifully hand-made lace tablecloths, it was just really lovely. Her mind as sharp as a tack, Svetlana speaks fondly of friends she has made over the years, admiring them for being well-read, articulate and punctual. It was interesting to hear her speak about making a home for herself in Germany, knowing now (and even then) what the Nazis had done to people she cared about back in the Ukraine. Having worked for the SS, she only spoke of the kindnesses her employers had shown her. She found it hard to reconcile the bosses and colleagues she remembered with the atrocities that the regime had committed. I just thought that was a really astute and honest observation, not to mention a point of view I'd never considered before.

Having scratched my language and literature itches, I emerged into the hot sun and undertook more experimental train travel home. Remind me never again to take the train to Penn Station on a Sunday - I keep forgetting that people, lots and lots of them, still like to shop at Macy's. Ugh!

What would William Blake have thought?

Today was another stinker in New York - lots of sun, little breeze and yet off I trotted to Pilates at 2pm, to strengthen my core and try not to scream obscenities at my teacher.

Let me tell you that I rocked the sh*t out of the class today. It was really different to last week - this time we really focussed on our Pilates breathing and finding our "neutral pelvis" (uh huh), and the instructor said "pubis" a lot, which gave me a fit of the giggles. I don't feel as sore this week, but I suspect my core is still in shock. Come Tuesday I will probably be paralysed again but at least for now I feel really good.

Tonight I went to a fabulous restaurant in Hell's Kitchen on 9th Ave (where there are SO many restaurants). I mean, if you can't find something to eat on 9th Ave, it probably doesn't exist and you should just leave town.

Anyway as I was saying, went to Ember Room and I thought it was great. I am still keeping up my good eating plan, so I had some grilled shrimp (prawns to us real people) and then for my main course I had a beef salad. Because of my Pilates efforts earlier in the day, I had a scoop of real vanilla icecream for dessert - it was delicious. And to drink? A cranberry juice and soda water. I know, it is TOTALLY not like me to do that and I have to be honest, I was dying for a glass of white wine but I am really taking this seriously and I'm trying hard to do all the right things. The food, the decor and the service were really great and I want to go back. Guess what I saw on the menu? If you give the restaurant at least 48 hours notice, you can order a whole suckling pig! I couldn't eat that all by myself of course but damn, that would be good. I will totally do that, after the wedding when I can slacken off this healthy eating regimen a bit.

So after the restaurant we wandered up the street to the Music Box Theatre to see the production of "Jerusalem". I'm still trying to work out what I thought of this production, to be honest. I'd seen the main star (Mark Rylance) back in London when he performed in "La Bete", and I thought he was fantastic. And then when I knew that he'd won the Tony this year for Best Actor for his role in "Jerusalem", I was all the more convinced I wanted to see the production.

The title of the play comes from the English hymn of the same name, adapted from the poem by William Blake. In my Playbill book, the Director's Notes suggest that the hymn's sentiment is "so optimistic, yearning and human". I'm not sure the play is all those things though; in fact, I found it to be quite dark, at times unsettling, but very compelling. There is also an element of mysticism underlying it - because the character that Rylance plays is about to be evicted from the caravan he has illegally squatted in for years, to make way for a new housing development. Except the land is on an energy highway line that runs all the way through the area, through Stonehenge, and then up through Rylance's beloved plot of land. Sure he's a drunk and a drug dealer and prone to bouts of verbal diarrhea, but you also get the impression that he feels a spiritual connection with the land that underscores his obvious disinclination to leave. I might have to think about the play for a few more days before I decide if I enjoyed it or not. I can certainly say I enjoyed Rylance's performance (again). He was intense and a definite scene-stealer, but he just commands your attention and you can't look away.

On the way home in the cab, we had the misfortune of driving through Times Square but at least we got to see The Naked Cowboy. High brow to low brow in two short blocks. That's New York for ya!

Desperate Times, Lunatic Measures

I fly back to Australia four weeks from today to be Maid of Honour at baby sister's wedding. I have decided to kick my own a$$ for the next month and implement an eating and exercising program that I hope will help me feel (and look) trim, taught and terrific.

I've got three more weeks of Pilates to go [Author's Note: it's Day 2 after my first class and I'm in a bit of pain but predominantly okay, as long as nobody makes me laugh or drops something that they expect me to bend down and pick up). In addition to this I'm ramping up my Global Corporate Challenge efforts and taking myself off on rambling walks after work (in my new dance pants, of course). Nothing crazy - just an hour of aimless power walking while rocking out to my fantastic (read daggy) iPod playlist. None of these ventures scare me in the least.

The diet part is another story. I am resolved to eat well over the next four weeks. I don't eat badly now, but I am committed to an eating plan that excludes all the usual nasties, but also:

• bread
• pasta
• rice
• corn
• potatoes
• pretzels (especially of the Snyder's cheddar cheese persuasion)
• chocolate
• caffeine
• alcohol

I know, I know. The first couple are manageable, right? But cutting out the last two is probably going to kill me. I will be interested to see what happens to Snyders share prices over the next four weeks when I'm not buying 'em actually ha! So here I am on the cusp of voluntarily giving up my favourite things for my favourite person (who, it is fair to say, has not asked me to engage in this silliness - this is all my own doing).

Follow me on this crazy journey for the next four weeks, if you dare. I will be tired and I will be grouchy, but when that Maid of Honor frock zips up the whole way, I know it will all be worth it. Let's do this thing.

Getting to the core of it

So I've signed up for four weeks of beginner Pilates classes at the gorgeous Gramercy Pilates Fitness Studio.

I was so nervous about today's first class that I called ahead a few days ago and asked the instructor what I was supposed to wear and to bring. Yoga pants were okay, she said, but something a bit more fitted would be better as it gave the instructors more chance to see the alignment of my body. Good grief! Off I went and bought myself some three quarter-length fitted dance pants (uh huh) and I was ready - sartorially speaking, at least.

I was up early this morning and I had plenty of time to walk to the studio. I couldn't find motivational music on my iPod so I settled on Bon Jovi's Crossroads album, figuring that if I were thinking about Jon and Richie, I wouldn't be thinking about the impending torture I was about to put my body through.

Arriving at the studio 15 minutes early, as requested, I met my two other classmates. The girl was also wearing dance pants (phew!) but hers did not match her tshirt and sneakers. She had obviously done this fitness "thing" before. I distanced myself from her and instead stood alongside a very friendly gay man who chatted incessantly, and who was not wearing dance pants (thank you, Jesus).

Our instructor arrived and I liked her immediately. She had a friendly demeanour and an enviable, Pilates-sculpted body that filled me with confidence that I might be doing something right for myself.

With the introductions out the way we climbed aboard our own "mat" (or "Cadillac", as our instructor called them). It's weird to call this machine a mat, because it's not even on the ground level. Imagine a medieval torture rack and you have something close to the Pilates Cadillac. With a footrest bar at one end, and a place for your head at the other, you can reach up and grab all manner of stretchy arm bands and pulleys that take you through your workout and slowly kill you in delightfully creative ways.

With only three students in the class, I was determined to stay alive. We started by working our abdominals to strengthen our core. I didn't even know I had a core. But given the way we worked it today, I'm going to know EXACTLY where my core is by this time tomorrow morning....if I can breathe at all, that is.

We had to do the Pilates version of abdominal crunches, tucking chin into chest and pulling ourselves up (by the strength of our core), vertebrae by vertebrae. I was actually pretty good at this part, until we had to bring our knees up "to tabletop" (ie as if we were sitting at a table - but still lying down), and then do the same thing. Trickier. Then we had to extend our legs out to a 45-degree angle and do the same thing. I think I passed out, but I did not die. I did, however, regret not putting a fresh coat of nail polish on my toes.

Then we moved on to leg exercises and we had to manipulate our own Cadillacs to the settings that the instructor wanted. Seriously it's like total sadism. What other prison in the world asks you to tart up your own torture chamber before they put you in it? But again, I was determined to do this thing right, so I paid attention and strapped myself into my tailor-made Cadillac. The leg exercises were actually much easier for me. Alternating your foot position, you push yourself up and the Cadillac has springs in it that move with you. So effectively you're doing squats, but you're just lying down to do them. I was pretty good at those. Then we did exercises to stretch our calf muscles and I was down with those too. Afterwards we did some exercises with the long stretchy straps and they were fine - rotating our strapped-up legs around and around, knees out "like chicken wings, folks!", all the while working the blessed core.

Then our arms got involved and I realised with some dismay that I am totally devoid of upper body strength. The instructor recognised this but cheerfully motivated me nonetheless. I hardly noticed: I was too busy reminding myself myself to breathe. Then we spun around and did some work with the hand bar, giving our cores some more lovin'. I could almost hear my core whimpering, so I know I was doing the right things.

Before I knew it our hour was up and we were putting our Cadillacs back to the way we had found them. On the hard wooden floorboards we did a couple of deep squats to stretch our legs back out, and then we were done.

After the class I honestly felt like I could have leapt over the Empire State. I felt limber and relaxed yet full of energy. Even as I sit here, some 90 minutes after the class finished, I still feel good. I am enjoying this period of happiness, because I get the distinct impression that tomorrow, even blinking is going to be tough. My core is definitely going to have the last laugh, no matter how much that hurts.

Armpits and Pee

So I have just submitted my first assignment for the online writing class I'm doing. I am very grateful to the small team of unofficial editors whose wise counsel helped drag me over the finishing line.

The submission is officially due tomorrow, so I won't have any feedback from my lecturer for a few days yet. That's probably a good thing anyway, because it will take a few days to process this piece and determine if I'm entirely happy with it or not. We shall see.

What I will say is, keeping to a 500-word limit is very tricky. The lecturer was never going to criticise us for exceeding it - or even totally disregarding it - but I was trying to be disciplined.

Le Souvenir

The phone booth was a greenhouse that sunny May day; the unseasonal heat amplifying the typical phone booth smell of urine and stale sweat. I pulled the door shut behind me and resolved to breathe through my mouth. The conversation I was about to have demanded complete privacy; or as much privacy as I could expect to have in a public phone booth on a busy French street in lunch hour.

I had been making these distress calls home so frequently that I had committed the dialing codes to memory. Nevertheless my clammy hands rummaged for the phone card hiding in the abyss of my school bag. Brushing a hot, fat tear off my crumpled tee-shirt, I pondered my decision not to unpack. My clothes still smelled of home. Assigning them to unfamiliar cupboards would taint them with a sense of belonging that I knew I did not feel here, and maybe never would.

The blast of a car horn startled me. Looking out the booth window, I could see my language classmates across the street, sitting together in the dappled shade of the public park. No more than strangers ten days ago, this motley crew from at least nine different countries was effortlessly doing what I could not – swapping stories and laughing casually, in their wrinkle-free clothes.

Card in hand, I dialed the number, with no idea what time it was back home, or what my call might have been interrupting. The phone rang twice, three times, and then connected. I immediately discerned the sleepy voice of my father at the end of the line. It must have been the middle of the night in Australia, but Dad had answered the call because he had known it would be me. And that broke my heart.

For a split second, my breath caught in my throat and my vision blurred with new tears. Squeaking a hello, I could hear my Dad sitting up in bed and my mother leaving the room to pick up the phone extension in the study. It was the middle of the night and both of my parents were again ready and willing to provide telephonic therapy. More tears fell.

For ten minutes the calm common sense of my parents punctuated my incoherent, snuffling sobs. Falling into our familiar roles, I whined and wailed as my parents cooed and consoled. From somewhere amongst my self-pitying moans of homesick solitude came the firm voice of my mother. “You could just come home, you know” was all she said. Her words echoed in my brain. After a few silent moments, my father sighed, bade me goodnight and announced he was going back to sleep. I thanked my parents, made my own hasty farewells and quietly replaced the receiver.

With dry eyes, I looked up towards the park and heaved open the phone booth door, breathing in the warm aroma of freshly-baked baguettes.

You've Got The Write Stuff

About 10 years ago, HR officers across my home state were carrying on about the concept of “lifelong learning”. Jargon though it undoubtedly was, the idea nevertheless spread like wildfire across the public service and underpinned every training course we were asked to do; every seminar we were invited to attend; and every performance review we had to endure. It seemed that nobody in the workplace was too young, old, junior or senior to learn.

While I am loathe to admit it, I became quite a fan of the “lifelong learning” idea. Whenever my early administrative jobs offered more troughs than peaks (as happened quite often in those days), I remember being buoyed by the notion that old dogs could learn new tricks, and were in fact being encouraged to do so. Needless to say this dovetailed beautifully with the other piece of intelligence I acquired around this time; namely that these days, a person changes careers at least 11 times in their life. I don’t recall aspiring to that number necessarily, but the very idea that “lifelong learning” had overtaken “lifelong career” as a modern-day aspiration filled my twenty-something’s heart with hope.

I poke fun at “lifelong learning” only in jest, because I do believe it has influenced a lot of what has happened to me over the years, in life and at work. There’s no question that it explains my current enrolment in an online non-fiction writing course with Gotham City Writers (cool name, huh?).

Over the next six weeks my virtual classmates and I will learn about what it takes to produce quality non-fiction work. We’ll dissect the elements of memoirs, personal essays, biographies and similar. I will have to participate in online discussion boards (not my strong suit) and complete weekly assignments that are peer-reviewed (eek!).

The first assignment is a bit of a cracker. In 500 words or less, I need to:

Think of a specific moment when you were at a crossroads, major or minor. Zero in on that moment. Remember all that you can about that
moment, perhaps even jotting things down. What did you see, hear, smell, touch, or taste? What were you thinking or feeling?

In a way it’s quite amusing because in the spirit of lifelong learning and moving ahead, I have to first look backwards. No chance of writer’s block in this class, baby.

What Makes America Great

In addition to Snyder's Cheddar Cheese Pretzel Pieces, I do believe there are lots of things that make America great. Oh sure there are lots of things that make America kinda nuts too, but because today is July 4th, I reckon it's a much better idea to say nice things about the old girl.

So take diversity for instance - it makes America great. Yesterday I had a long overdue brunch date with C&K, two friends from The Cheese State who I met through LH back in Chicago. Yesterday was something like 91% humidity and it honestly felt like I was breathing water. But hunger is an obvious motivator and so it was that I heaved myself down to the East Village and we met up at Veselka, a New York institution since 1954 that serves up Ukrainian soul food, 24 hours a day. Trust me - the potato cakes alone were worth the 20 minutes we waited to be seated. Sitting there at the restaurant and catching up for almost 3 hours, the tables around us were chock-full pretty much the entire time. Kids, parents, grandparents - that restaurant was a microcosm of New York yesterday and it was great.

After bidding farewell to C&K I wandered around the East Village for a bit and found my back to a little piece of Australia, The Tuck Shop. I settled in to read a few more chapters of the third instalment of "The Hunger Games" trilogy when the bartender, a British fella, asked me what I was reading. I made the mistake of telling him I'd stayed home all day Saturday to read the second book. The look he gave me said everything. "I know," I admitted rather guiltily, "such a loser". He had the good grace not to agree with me outright. What followed was a bit of a conversation over some Coopers beers about the differences between Aussies, Brits, Scots and Americans. Our collective travel experiences, plus a healthy bullshit factor, meant we considered ourselves eminently qualified to dissect our respective cultural nuances. But even I was at a loss to clarify for the bartender why a bunch of Aussie tourists who had visited the bar earlier in the day had felt compelled to steal fistfuls of free napkins from off the counter. Perhaps some deep-seated and irresistible return to their convict beginnings? Or perhaps they were just morons. I think a little from Column A, a little from Column B to be fair.

Heading home briefly, I then ventured out in the cooler evening air to meet up with P at The Hill to redeem a Groupon certificate I'd had for a while. When I got there, the bar was pretty much empty and I had a good opportunity to make google eyes at the cute tattooed bartender (in spite of his trucker hat). I mean, seriously - the guy opened my beer bottle with the bottom half of the cocktail shaker. Could I have done that? Could you do that? Talent and showmanship, my friends. They make America great. So me and P sat outside in the fresh air, having beers and delicious white pizza (truffle oil also makes America great, by the way). As time went by, I watched the bar fill up with pretty young things, all of whom would have been at least 10 years younger than me and fortunately P agreed with me that it was time to head off somewhere else.

So we went around the block up to Wolfgang's, a steakhouse (this is definitely another thing that makes America great). We sat up at the empty bar and had a great chat with the barman, a French/American Vietnam Vet who was full of stories of 9/11, Jimmy Carter and Scotch. I was also quite taken with the beautiful tiled decor of the steakhouse, and will likely come back there soon for something cooked medium-rare with a side of mashed potatoes.

Tonight though I'm heading off to my boss's place to watch the July 4th fireworks and to help The Big Apple celebrate this great - and sometimes crazy - country's birthday. Here's hoping there's cake. But I will settle for some Snyder's pretzel pieces, of course.

Geekylocks and the Three Beers

I know that summer in New York is one of those fleeting things that is meant to inspire me to break free, dash outside and greedily seize the season with both hands.

Yet here I am on a sultry Saturday, holed up inside doing loads of laundry, drinking beers and getting totally absorbed reading "The Hunger Games" trilogy. If there were a bigger nerd on this earth, I'd like to meet her.

This week has been quite a busy one. I was occupied with end-of-financial year madness at work and in an effort to amuse myself more than anything, I created some pretty dazzling budget spreadsheets. My boss even felt sorry enough for me to approve one of them, and thus our tentative budget for next financial year was set. Whether it remains so is a mystery to us all.

I have also caught up in my studies for an online course run by the United Nations Institute for Training & Research (UNITAR). My office was kind enough to pay for my enrolment in a course designed to give me an Introduction to the United Nations System. In the sixth months I've been at work, I know a lot of my knowledge has come by osmosis and yet I was still feeling a little behind. I had begun using acronyms and phrases without really knowing what they meant or where they come from. The six week online course really just skimmed the surface of the UN System, but at least I feel now like I have some more context for the things I do and why. I was even quite proud of my consistent 90% exam results across the board. Multiple choice exams they might have been, but 90% is still 90% and I was pretty pleased about that. I think I still have one more module to go although as with the budget stuff, I won't know more until the email comes out next week.

I also finally bit the bullet and bought a new computer this week. I have finally bitten the Apple and my Macbook Pro gets delivered next week. Of course the idea of going into the NY Apple store terrified me, so I chickened out and did all my ordering online. As I did with my last PC, I also ordered "stupidity insurance", to guard against any Diet Coke spillage or unfortunate rolling-off-the-bed incidents that might occur. As an added perk, I treated myself to an iPod nano - a blood red one - and I got it engraved with my name on it. I suspect that might be the most ridiculous and pathetic thing to do, but I was caught up in the consumerism of it all. Anyone who finds my iPod and listens to the dodgy music selection won't need the engraving to know who it belongs to - and yet I couldn't resist inscribing it. Oh well, it's too late to back out now. Once a geek, always a geek.

But for now, this little geek is going to imprint the sofa with her butt and settle in for a few more chapters - and maybe a few more beverages. Isn't this what weekends are for, anyway?

Hair pulled back. Wayfarers on. Baby.

This past weekend was a festival of summer – a celebration of all things sunshine, outdoors, beer, food and friends.

Owing to a rather monstrous hangover on Friday and the obligation to go to work in spite of it, I tucked myself in for an early night on Friday and emerged on Saturday morning looking and feeling substantially more human. Hooray for rebounding!

We had Little Miss Korea staying with us over the weekend, and while she went to the airport to farewell her Aussie boyfriend, I hoofed it down to South Street Seaport (Pier 17) as part of my ongoing Global Corporate Challenge efforts.

It is really quite sad that my sense of direction is so totally woeful. Even on 2nd Avenue, which is pretty much a straight road until you get to Houston, I managed to take a bit of a dodgy turn and end up going the wrong way. I was still heading towards the river (phew), just way further out of my way than initially intended. Thanks to the ravings of a lunatic ahead of me, I got myself back onto Broadway, and followed the signs to Market Street and down to the water.

Saturday was a pretty warm day, and having jostled through the crowded Chinatown streets (sensory overload to boot), I was quite hot and bothered. The cool breeze off the river was absolutely beautiful. Families dangled fishing rods into the cool, murky water and I remember thinking I wouldn’t be too keen to eat whatever took their bait. But maybe they never intended to either, and perhaps the fishing was just an activity to get together and pass the time. Judging by the lack of activity on the end of their lines, it certainly seemed like a relaxing one.

Having made it to Pier 17, where I had agreed to meet Little Miss Korea, I settled down at a long trestle table at the Beekman Beer Garden, facing out over the River and the uninterrupted view of the Brooklyn Bridge. I could just make out the pedestrians and cyclists going across the giant structure and I sipped my cold (and local) Sixpoint Ale and read a couple of chapters of The Hunger Games, hardly noticing the beer garden filling up with tourists and locals around me.

When Little Miss Korea arrived, we enjoyed a delicious beer and bratwurst lunch (plus sauerkraut and grilled corn cobs of course), and then we left to walk home. We headed up through the South Street Seaport shopping precinct (cute market stalls and handmade goods); through Little Italy (vintage stores and loads of cafes and pastries); past the World Trade Center site; skirted around Soho (lemon & pomegranate sorbet? Don’t mind if I do); and plopped into El Parador for some restorative happy hour margaritas.

Even though my feet were throbbing by this stage, I was pleased to have explored some new parts of the City (some of it accidentally) and chalked up 19,900 or so steps (woohoo!). After a day of activity like that, I really think the kiss of death is sitting on the sofa. How hard is it to get back up after you do that?! Yikes.

We had another quiet night at home on Saturday, emerging on Sunday morning with enough get up and go to visit Pipa for brunch. The fantastic tapas place has great decor (chandeliers dangling overhead and all), plus a very cool brunch menu, including my favourite dish on the menu – Huevos Rancheros. It’s fun to say and fun to eat. But Pipa also has passionfruit caipirinhas on the drinks menu; made with sugar cane rum, lime and sugar. They are very delicious but very strong. One serve of huevos rancheros does not adequately absorb the rum from two of those little beauties, trust me.

The restaurant is located behind the gorgeous ABC Carpet store, and it was lovely to browse around there afterwards, trying not to let the rum get the better of me. We even had a bit of a celebrity encounter, seeing Aussie chef Curtis Stone and his lady friend Lindsay Price (plus baby-on-board), shopping for goodness knows what. We didn’t say anything of course – we are far too cool for that. Plus I didn’t want to get maced, or breathe rum all over a pregnant lady.

On leaving the store we could hear the whoops and hollers from the nearby Gay Pride Parade, but we kept our distance and instead wandered through Union Square. A sporting injury prevented K from striding along too much – the best the poor thing could do was hobble around valiantly. When it all got a bit crazy and we were ready for home, we took the subway and collapsed in a heap on the sofa. Blissful.

"Drinking Mammal Shit" and other stories

There is a reality show on some cable network or other here in the US called “Extreme Couponing”. Actually I don’t think that’s what it’s called at all but whatever.... Anyway, the show basically focuses on these people who are completely obsessed with clipping coupons – even for things they don’t need, want or could ever use. They get a rush from clipping coupons for 9 hours a day just so they can walk out of a store with 400 tubes of toothpaste, having paid nothing for them. It’s pretty compelling TV actually.

While I’m not an extreme coupon-clipper, I do like to save a dollar where I can. I had heard about the Chicago-based Groupon company a while back and since I moved to New York I’ve become quite a devotee. Unlike clipping coupons, the Groupon site doesn’t give me free stuff (so far anyway), but I do buy things at a discount – often a significant one – and giving me lots of opportunities to see and do interesting stuff in my new home town. Bonus!

Yesterday I had a long-overdue catch up with RS who I have known for a while and works upstairs. I had wanted to use two new Groupon certificates I had bought (henceforth referred to as G1 and G2), and RS and agreed to keep me company on the excursion.

So after work yesterday we caught a cab to Limelight Marketplace – a place I was convinced I’d never been to, until we got there and I realised I had walked past it about two weeks before. Originally a church, the interior was gutted years ago and the building transformed into a nightclub. Then some years later, the club closed down and developers turned it into a bright and ultra-modern market. The space is really beautiful, if not a little rabbit-warreny, but you could easily lose hours just wandering through the funky stores selling many unique pieces from independent retailers but with a flashy department-store feel.

Our first stop was Jezalin’s, a fancy gourmet food market nestled in a far corner of the Limelight Marketplace. G1 was good for two cups of coffee – but not your standard-issue, over the counter coffee either. Oh no, friends. This G1 gave me two cups of the Rolls Royce of coffee. Normal retail price? $30 per cup. Yes, you read that right – per cup. WTF?! We’re talking about rare kopi luwak arabica coffee that comes from Sumatra. The coffee is fancy all because a civet (or luwak, to the locals) eats the ripe coffee cherries, chemically treats & ferments them in its stomach and then poops out the beans. Yes, G1 was good for two cups of luwak poo-coffee. And I have to tell you, it was actually pretty good – if you can get past the notion that you’re drinking something that started its life as an excretion from a mammal’s furry buttocks. Reading the tasting notes online this morning, I don’t recall the coffee tasting like chocolate, but it was certainly smooth and easy to drink. RS and me agreed that it didn’t have that harsh, almost-burnt aftertaste that coffee can sometimes have. Even though I normally take milk in my coffee, I wouldn’t add milk to this one. I liked it, but I wouldn’t pay $30 a cup for it. Unless of course I could drink it in St Mark’s Square, while Venetian minstrels serenaded me; then it would probably be okay.

Having been somewhat revived by our Sumatran adventure, we headed upstairs to Cana Wine Bar, a cute little place on the Limelight Marketplace mezzanine level, to redeem G2 (for $20 worth of food/drink). Surrounded by stained-glass windows and overlooking the busy shops below, we enjoyed a bottle of Cava and a cheese plate. As boring as it sounds, I think the parmigiano reggiano was my favourite – and the raspberry (?) jam offered alongside was pretty delicious too. Bear in mind if you visit that the toilets at Cava are very tricky to find but if that is the only thing I can complain about, that’s quite good. Oh wait, the music there was pretty loud but I think that’s just because I’m an old lady and I’m aurally sensitive and crotchety when it comes to these things.

I think by this point we were feeling rather peckish, and so we figured we’d walk uptown and stop in at whatever restaurant took our fancy along the way. We didn’t get very far, because right next door to Limelight Marketplace – part of the tenancy, in fact, is a brand new restaurant called CrossBar. It opened about a month ago and while I didn’t remember it at the time, I now recall reading about it in my “New York” magazine. They have pig’s ears on the menu – not just for dogs anymore, guys! We didn’t have that though – we enjoyed a lovely bottle of Willamette Valley (Oregon) rose, some duck sliders and also some pulled pork tacos. So tasty! Despite the threat of rain, we sat at a table outside, under an exotic umbrella. It was definitely another success story of the evening.

At this point we finally decided to leave the vicinity of Limelight Marketplace and we walked up Fifth Avenue, through Madison Square Park and over to RS’s old watering hole, The Crooked Knife. Strangely enough, I’d actually been there before – but only for brunch. In the evenings the place comes alive and they have a fantastic collection of 80s tunes on their system – I was in heaven! As we chatted and people-watched, I had one too many ciders and at 1.30am, we removed ourselves from the venue and taxied home. But in typical New York fashion, the bar and even the city streets were still well and truly buzzing.

The One About The East Village

Every day for the past few weeks I've been faithfully recording the steps I've walked as part of The Global Corporate Challenge (GCC). I know you're supposed to walk 10,000 steps a day as part of a healthy lifestyle and some days I've definitely exceeded that target. But to be honest, my daily average tends to hover around the 8,000 steps mark - not ideal, but still nothing to sniff at really.

Today I accompanied K to the East Village where she had a brunch date, and I had resolved to walk around and give my GCC pedometer a bit of a workout.

My first stop in this healthy dose of fitness was to Butter Lane, the cupcake emporium. I know, I know but bear with me. I redeemed one of my Groupon vouchers, good for six assorted cupcakes. Ordering anything in the US is not my strong suit and the sheer expanse of the frosting/icing menu at Butter Lane was totally overwhelming. So I asked the cashier to just make me a box of her favourite cupcakes and she ended up giving me all manner of toothache-inducing options. Peanut butter & banana; caramel and vanilla; and key lime pie - just to name a few.

Next stop was another calorie-free enterprise, The Chocolate Library. I mean, come on - its name alone blends two of my favourite things in the world. How could I go wrong? Somewhat disappointingly, the store has nothing whatsoever to do with books. But on the chocolate front, the store well and truly delivers. Offering tasty treats and gourmet bars from all over the world, it really was quite hard to choose just one thing. So I chickened out and bought a tasty sampler from the Chicago chocolate company Vosges, oh and then I pinched a couple of samples from the front counter.

All that calorific shopping worked up an appetite, so I called into the second Tuck Shop store on St. Mark's Place. Ice-cold Coopers Pale and a meat pie? Hell yeah! The strong flat white coffee I had afterwards rounded out the lunch perfectly.

By this stage I was feeling completely stuffed and the drizzly rain was showing no sign of letting up. So I crawled from shop to shop on the 30-block walk back home. Coming through the front door I was met by our Super, who was proudly holding aloft a plate of cupcakes that he swore to me were home-made...by him, no less. Stuffing in a vanilla cupcake with delicious chocolate icing, we chatted for a few minutes before I had to excuse myself to come upstairs and lie down.

6,000 steps and the calories to match. Now that's doing the East Village in style!

Silver, Bubbles, and Chinese manipulations

Before I launch into my story, I should probably explain the radio silence we've been experiencing on this here website.

I have been away for the past few weeks back in Australia for a combination of work and private reasons. Work-wise I had the great fortune to participate in a week-long induction course for overseas-based employees of my agency. So not only did I get to meet my counterparts from some of our wonderful offices around the world (Vanuatu, PNG, Burma, Nairobi - to name a few), I also got to say hello to some Australia-based contacts who had, up until that time, only been names on the bottom of an email. I got a lot out of that exhausting week of training, but especially the confidence that I have made another career move in the right direction.

Another positive outcome of the training week was that it afforded me the chance to visit Canberra, our nation's capital and a city that I have not visited since a school bus trip in 1992. Oh my God was it THAT long ago? And yet I'm only 21....it's a maths miracle! Canberra is a confusing city - at street level anyway. I'm assured that if you climb up Mount Ainslie you get a birds-eye view of the metro area which actually makes the city look like a feat of architectural genius. Something that would have been useful to know beforehand, perhaps. But I will not slag off Canberra, because I really can't. I'm just used to grid cities, that's all. Canberra is laid out in a seashell shape, as far as I could tell. Once we found them, the restaurants and bars were fantastic - Tongue and Groove, Cream, Milk and Honey took my money but they were totally worth it. Canberra is also home to some wonderful cultural institutions - The National Gallery of Australia, The National Portrait Gallery, and the Australian War Memorial - all of which are within walking distance of one another, and definitely worth a visit. Breaking up the walk with a constitutional around Lake Burley Griffin was also really fun.

Then I spent a week at home with my family, which is always a plus. No real tourism potential this time around, though I did get to call into the Haighs factory and replenish some much-depleted chocolate stocks.

Before I knew it, it was back to real life in NY and I have to say I really did miss the City. Even getting off the plane at midnight at JFK (after a flight path from Adelaide to Canberra to Sydney to LA to New York), I was really pleased to be "home". But I have to tell you, when I got back to Australia, the Customs & Immigration guy said "welcome home" to me - and then when I got back to the States and went through Customs in LA, the dude there said the same thing. Total spin out, to be "welcome home"-d in two places. I remember thinking that was weird and yet kinda cool at the same time.

So yes, back to yesterday and what was quite possibly the most girly-girl day I have had in a long time.

The beautiful summer weather has arrived in NY and with it comes the bright sunshine at ridiculous times of the morning. It's not unusual to have searing light burn your retinas at 6am and sure it's my own fault because my bedroom windows are wide open; a) because I am clearly an exhibitionist; and b) because the weather has also been so humid lately that I need as much fresh air as I can get. So I've been sleeping with my QANTAS eye mask on and feeling very in the manner of Audrey Hepburn - though admittedly my mask is plain black, and not satin with fake eyelashes glued onto the front.

So in a very Hepburn way, I got up yesterday and decided to walk to Tiffanys to get my necklace fixed. My chain has had a knot in it for some time and I have neither the patience nor the dexterity to untangle it myself. So after breakfast I put on this dress with a simple pair of black ballet flats, and set off on my walk to Tiffanys. En route I stopped off at Culture, a fantastic coffee place that serves strong flat whites - just the way we make them back home. Excellent fuel for walking the New York streets on a busy Saturday morning.

By the time I got to Tiffany's, 5th Avenue was already swarming with tourists. Once safely inside the gem-filled inner sanctum, I marched straight to the elevators at the back of the store and got some lovely compliments on my dress from the elevator dude and some Tiffany's customers alike. Blush. In the repairs department, I bonded instantly with the staff who were not only able to untangle my necklace chain, but they also talked me into paying for a polish (they are so smooth). While I waited for my necklace to get all sparkly-like, I chatted with one of the sales staff and learned about his apartment, his recently-deceased cat, his previous career with Ralph Lauren, and his advice for where I might spend fantastic holidays with incredibly rich people (Nantucket, anyone??). By the time my necklace was ready, me and the good fellow were best friends and he gave me a bunch of free stuff to keep my necklace in tip-top condition. Blush. I swear, nothing bad can ever happen to you at Tiffany's.

After that, I took my new sparkly jewellery out for a walk and headed for home. On the way past Grand Central Station I thought it might be nice to have a glass of bubbles and an oyster or two. As you do. I usually get a bit "thingo" about eating seafood so far from the ocean, but the Grand Central Oyster Bar is supposed to be fantastic. Unfortunately with all the crowds around in the terminal, I got all turned around and couldn't find the damn bar so I just wandered upstairs to Cipriani Dolci and had lunch there instead. The little restaurant looks over the Main Concourse of the iconic train station, but you're high enough up that you don't feel part of the rushing madness. My bellini and mini steak tartare rolls were just delicious.

Heading for home, I looked down at my hands and realised that my nails and cuticles were truly in a disgusting state. Oh sure, they've been in a disgusting state for a long time but I've never really been too inspired to fix them. Heading down my street I literally walked past a nail salon so I didn't have to go out of my way or anything. Looking inside the shop I could see a few empty chairs so I just took the chance and went on in. The Chinese ladies know a non girly-girl when they see one, and instantly they swung into helpful mode. Welcome, Come In, Sit Down bla bla. So I played my part and pretended to be completely useless, muttering something about ugly hands, weak nails, liking French manicure tips etc etc. Next thing I know I have not one, not two, but three sales assistants peering down at my hands, getting stuck in to fitting me for some false French nails. Sort of like the ones you can buy at the chemist but the prep they did beforehand was really thorough and the nail glue they used is a lot stronger. The end result is a set of talons that are well-fitted, feel really secure and don't make me look like a Vegas stripper. The Chinese girls told me never to get acrylics because those nails will give me cancer. At least that's what I think they said. I was too distracted by the post-manicure shoulder massage that all three of them insisted on giving me after the appointment. Most distracting.

After an early night, I've awoken to a sunny Sunday and a strong desire to get outdoors again. I have some reading to do for work so I think I might have to scope out a spot early and set up camp somewhere close to clean toilets and an ice cream stand. Not that I'm picky or anything.

Fleas, Beads and Pork Bellies

Having hosted a very casual and laid-back Mother's Day brunch at the apartment on Saturday morning/afternoon, we wandered up our street to The Affordable Art Fair, just opposite the Empire State Building.


Now I don't know anything about art, and I don't even pretend to, but I found it really amusing that "affordable" really is a fluid concept in New York. The set up for the AAF was very similar to the art & design shows I'd seen at The Merchandise Mart in Chicago, so I was hoping to find some legitimately affordable pieces amongst the more expensive items. There were a couple of exhibitors with unframed prints on sale for about $100, but most of the pieces were easily hovering around the $400-$1,000 mark.

Despite my disillusionment at the cost of things, I really enjoyed the fact that artists and galleries had come from all over the US, Europe and even Australia to exhibit their work. The lady from the Brisbane gallery had some lovely Indigenous Australian art (mostly dot paintings) and the colours were particularly beautiful. Unfortunately the price was just a little - or maybe a lot - out of my reach. Next time, maybe.

After the AAF we crossed the street and went into The Morgan Library & Museum - well more accurately, we went into the Museum gift shop. Now I'm a sucker for libraries but an even bigger sucker for Museum gift shops, and this one is gorgeous. Their collection of reference books for sale is just lovely and I happily browsed for a while in there. I'd like to go back to the Museum and see its latest exhibition of private diaries - Jane Austen, Mark Twain and others are apparently in there. Mrs H said the Museum is architecturally gorgeous too, so I'd like to check it out. When we went there, the main Museum space was being set up for an event (a wedding, we presumed - given the sheer amount of flowers being arranged). What a lovely venue for it...

We were all starting to fade by this time so as we headed for home we called into The Nordic Center - again, to check out the gift shop. Meatball fans that we are, I know K and me will be back for brunch at the cafe - plus I think I will need to buy a jar of those lingonberries that I picked up and put back a couple of times.

Dinner on Saturday night was a cheap and cheerful affair at a BYO Asian restaurant up the street from our place. I think I was almost asleep on my feet at this point, and when we got home we stayed up long enough to greet Mr H and then we all just crashed.

Sunday morning was full of promise - bright sunshine, a hint of breeze - just gorgeous. We had decided to spend the whole day over in Brooklyn, browsing the antique shops and the flea markets.

We caught the subway and rocked down to Atlantic Avenue, home of some lovely antique shops. It was funny snaking through the piles of vintage chairs, tables, and assorted home decor items. Everywhere you looked in those antique stores, there was a dusty hidden gem. I had my eye on a lovely mahogany writing desk and matching chair but as with my experience on Saturday, these items were not as affordable as I had hoped.

It's amazing how quickly you can work up an appetite in those antique stores though! We had a quick bite to eat at a little Middle Eastern place called Bedouin Tent. We got lucky enough to find a table for 4 outside in the restaurant's little garden space and it was just beautiful out there. The food was really tasty too - delicious fresh salads, straight-from-the-oven pita breads and my leg of lamb sandwich with minty mayonnaise was just yummy. The peppermint tea and slice of baklava finished the meal beautifully.

But there was no rest for the wicked yesterday and we caught the subway to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens in the hope of seeing the cherry blossoms. The festival was over of course, but the trees were still in bloom so we thought it would be a good spot to walk around and enjoy the sunshine. None of us had remembered that the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens charges a $10 admission fee and we really didn't feel much like paying that, particularly not when Prospect Park is pretty much right next door and is totally free. K was very helpful in reminding us that Prospect Park is the perfect dump site for bodies in "Law and Order" but we didn't see any corpses yesterday. Phew!

I loved walking around Prospect Park yesterday; not just for the weather, but families seemed to be out enjoying the sunshine and having picnics and playing frisbee and playing with their dogs - it was lots of fun. A perfect Mother's Day really. We wandered along the footpaths just soaking up the atmosphere at a very leisurely pace. A quick stop for a restorative icecream across from the Park, and we were back on the subway bound for the Williamsburg neighbourhood.

The view of Manhattan from Williamsburg (or Billyburg, as some people know it) is just beautiful. You really can't beat that panorama. On a much smaller scale, people had spread their picnic rugs out on the patches of grass and they were set up to enjoy the view. Right next door to their makeshift picnic ground is the newly-expanded outdoor Brooklyn Flea Market. Just as we arrived it was getting close to 5pm closing time and the vendors were starting to pack up. But we stil got the chance to see the sorts of wares on offer - furniture, old books, vintage clothes and handmade jewellery. Wandering up towards the Bedford Avenue pubs & bars, we called into the indoor Market, and browsed some more of the vintage clothes and handmade jewellery stalls.

By this time our feet were throbbing and we desperately needed a nice cold drink and an opportunity to sit still for a while. We walked over to Rye, a great little spot with a lovely wooden bar and old NY filament light bulbs and even an antique-looking cash register at the bar (which turned out to be purely ornamental, but still looks pretty cool). I had a couple of vodka, lime & sodas and they were very strong, but very refreshing. Just what I needed!

Just as my feet and calves had relaxed a bit, we were off again to walk to our restaurant for dinner. K had made reservations at Dressler, in the shadow of the Williamsburg Bridge. A Michelin-starred restaurant, Dressler is a really beautiful place. The service is excellent and we were well taken care of, as we sat at the bar and enjoyed some wine and oysters before dinner. Once we were seated, we shared a delicious octopus starter and then I had the pork belly for my main course. I could not fit dessert in, but we did share the rhubarb/meringue special and also the banana tarte tatin, both of which were sweet and delicious.

By the time we finished our meal, I think the pace of our day had finally caught up with all of us. As we piled into the taxi to head back to the apartment, sure we had sore feet, but we also had full stomachs and contented smiles. A really great day out.

Tipping my Sombrero to NYC

For this, my 1005th post on this blog, I need to bring you up to speed on last night's Cinco de Mayo celebration.

A friend on Facebook summarised yesterday's 5 May anniversary as the day that the Mexicans kicked Napoloeon's ass. Succint, and true.

I suspect the original Cinco de Mayo celebrations were just as rowdy as the ones I've experienced over the last few years, firstly in Chicago and now here in NYC. And Cinco de Mayo is a bit like St Patrick's Day, in that you don't need to be from Mexico to join the fiesta.

My Cinco de Mayo date this year was K's mum, who is visiting us at the moment. My neighbourhood is full of Mexican restaurants (for no other reason than coincidence I think) and naturally I didn't think to make dinner reservations because I can be a bit useless like that. And so in rather optimistic fashion, we hit the streets to see if we could just get in anywhere.

Drunken revellers were spilling out of the crowded bars selling $4, $5 and $6 margaritas and drinks specials on Corona beers. Some people were looking a little worse for wear even early in the evening, but you could tell that a good time was being had.

The closest Mexican place to us, El Parador was chock-full and showing no signs of slowing down. Ditto several other places that we visited. By this stage I was getting hungry and suggested to Mrs H that we just eat anywhere and maybe enjoy a post-dinner margarita on the walk home. Suggestion accepted.

So in we went to Cavatappo Wine Bar and I absolutely loved it. Browse the website at your leisure but do not go to the restaurant itself because then you'll love it too, and then everyone will go and I'll never get a table. Cute and straight waiters - an extensive wine list - yummy food menu - it was all there. We split a carafe of easy-drinking red wine, and I had a delicious baked pasta dish (duck ragu).

After our meal, the pubs - and the crowds - were still pumping, but we took another chance at El Parador for a tequila-flavoured digestif.

Again, browse the El Parador website as much as you want, but do not go to the restaurant. I never want to miss the opportunity to have their margaritas. They are so, so good. The staff there are always lovely and last night, as we sat on our barstools downstairs in the event space, Mrs H and I happily sipped our drinks and watched the Cinco de Mayo chaos reign all around us.

Like most cocktails, margaritas are like eyes - one is too few, three is too many. An aside, why do I never remember this cautionary phrase when I'm actually imbibing the damn things? I woke up today feeling quite human but admittedly I've been getting foggier as the day wears on. I don't actually blame the margaritas for any of this though. I think it was the shots of tequila mixed with pineapple juice that really did the damage. I mean seriously, why would you taint tequila with pineapple juice anyway?! Its muy loco, muchachas!

Walk This Way, Talk This Way

No alarm necessary this morning - some nearby disaster brought with it the lights & sirens of the NYPD so that was enough to get me out of bed fairly early today. Nothing that a strong coffee couldn't fix though.

I caught the subway up north to the Upper East Side today and walked along Fifth Avenue in the dappled sunshine along what is known as Museum Mile. It's not a very creative name when you think about it, given that the forty (or so) blocks are home to some of NY's most iconic arts and cultural institutions. In fact, during my walk I saw a flyer for the Museum Mile Festival in June 2011 and I have to go back and check that out. The whole area is a beautiful part of NYC - particularly in spring time with all the flowers in bloom and the weather putting on a fantastic show. Even with my horrible Lego hair and dirty sneakers, I was in a great mood. PS - I am totally fixing my awful hair next week - I have an appointment and everything. Phew!

Before long, I had walked from East 96th Street, all the way along Central Park and down to The Plaza Hotel at E58th-59th Streets. Not a bad walk at all. I sat in the shade at the Pulitzer Fountain and did a bit of reading and people watching. It was great to look across at the Apple Store and FAO Schwarz toy store and realise that I didn't have to be part of those crazy touristy crowds, unless I really wanted to be, of course. The pedestrian traffic on Fifth Avenue was pretty nuts today but everyone seemed to be in a good mood which I think really helps.

I got up and wandered the couple of blocks along Fifth Avenue into Tiffany & Co, just for a bit of a look. I headed straight up to the silver jewellery floor (much easier to blend in up there, than downstairs with all the blingy jewels). I didn't need the emotional uplift of the silver department but hey - who ever needs an excuse for Tiffany's?!

After getting my fix of shiny, pretty things I headed back out into the sunshine and over to the very cute Paris Theatre to see Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu in their new movie, "Potiche" (The Trophy Wife). From what I could tell there is only one cinema in the whole place and even that's not very big. There were not too many people in the theatre either, so it was quite nice to just lose a couple of hours in there.

Emerging from the darkness after the film, I walked home and now my legs are starting to feel the after-effects of all my exercise but I am really pleased I got out for the day.

Again, today was one of those days were I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything in particular. I could have quite easily detoured into some of the museums I walked past this morning, but in a way I'm glad I didn't. It just felt really nice to walk past them this time, confident that I will come back to them one day soon. I am starting to get a bit more oriented in the City and that is cheering me a great deal. I even gave some girls directions to Park Avenue today, and I was 100% sure that I was pointing them the right way (we were 2 blocks away, so it wasn't that hard). I still have a lot of this island to discover, I'm under no illusions about that, but while these weekend walks are aimless, I still feel like I'm getting somewhere.

Stop, Collaborate and....glisten?!

There is no denying that spring has well and truly sprung in New York City this weekend.

The Brooklyn Botanic Gardens is showcasing its Cherry Blossom Festival at the moment and I wanted to get out there this morning to see it. Unfortunately some silly bunny forgot to set the alarm and sleep held me prisoner until very late this morning. Not that I'm complaining - I'm pretty sure the early start yesterday (thanks to THE Royal Wedding) was to blame, so I must have needed the lie-in.

All was not lost though, and I hit the pavement and wandered over to the Chelsea neighbourhood to look around. It was great not to be under any pressure to go anywhere, or to see anyone or anything in particular. I wandered in and out of vintage and thrift stores, and even visited some local art galleries. The good thing about having horrible hair, dirty sneakers and a foreign accent is that all the snooty art gallery owners thought I was a tourist so they said hello and then left me alone to browse. Sweet!

Unable to resist a good bookshop, I was attracted to the sign for Idlewild Books on West 19th Street and so I headed upstairs to investigate. In the front of the store, at a large dining table, a man was leading a class in discussing an Italian book. Not that a book club is an unusual thing, except that this book discussion was happening in Italian. Groovy! Then as I wandered around, half-listening to the class dissect tenses, explore themes and grammar, I heard a similar discussion happening behind a large velvet curtain - only this time, it was in French! What a great store - language classes AND books, all in one place; I was very intrigued by the whole thing. I wandered around with a couple of books in my hands, but I ended up putting them back - I have a long enough list of 'must read' books back at home so I was glad to show some restraint at lease. All the same, I loved the vibe in that store and I really enjoyed seeing the shelves of kids books in different languages - sure there was "Le Petit Prince", which I would have expected, but I had never before seen "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" in French. Nice one, Idlewild!

Then I found myself amidst the chaos of 5th Avenue chain stores and so I kept striding along aimlessly. A group of young guys - presumably off-duty construction workers - channeled Kit from "Pretty Woman" and told me to "move that booty....work it" as I cut around them (nice!) and pretty soon I found myself in the back streets of Greenwich Village, heading into Soho.

A quick pit-stop for lunch at a grimy cafe restored me (by the healing powers of grilled cheese and strong coffee) and before long I was off again for the long meander home.

As far as I'm concerned New York is a really welcoming, inclusive city. That said, I honestly don't think I belong in Soho. If you're a fashion plate or a bit of a hipster (i.e. not me), then Soho is a really great neighbourhood for you. Cute pubs and wine bars break up the boutiques and funky one-off stores that line the side-streets. Someone like me, rocking the aforementioned "bad hair-dirty sneakers" combo just doesn't seem to fit somehow. So I kinda kept moving through Soho, past the restaurant accessory wholesale places of Little Italy and ended up in Bowery where I totally don't belong. There is a really 'cool' vibe that punctuates Bowery and it's not even a particularly nice part of the city - but I can see what attracts people to it. A slower pace, less traffic, great street art (some of it even in development as I wandered around), and lots of cute little organic coffee shops and brunch spots. Anyway I scooted out of Bowery pretty quickly, but not before giving a gaggle of real NY tourists some directions to the Empire State Building. I know, me giving directions?! The world is totally nuts.

2nd Avenue was having a kind of street fair down in the East Village and I checked out some of the stalls. There are really creative people that exhibit in these street fairs I think, but I really didn't need to buy anything that they were selling - except for the guy with beautifully cold pineapple pieces - those I had to have.

I contemplated stopping for a glass of wine just so I could sit outside and enjoy the sunshine, and possibly read a couple more chapters of the truly terrible Sweet Valley Confidential book that I am battling through. A lot of the outdoor cafes and bars on 2nd Avenue were pretty full already around that time, so I abandoned the wine idea and just kept walking home, soaking up the sun the whole way.

The weather dude on the radio assured me that tomorrow will give me the same sort of climatic conditions that I enjoyed today. So here's to rocking the bad hair and dirty sneakers two days in a row!

What's the buzz?

What is it about people and celebrities? What prompts otherwise normal people to turn into pushers & shovers just to inch ever closer to the Secretary-General of the United Nations; and/or singer and actress Mandy Moore? These were the questions that plagued me tonight at the launch of the Champions to End Malaria photo exhibition at the United Nations.

Today is World Malaria Day, so the launch of the exhibition was very timely. I was out of sorts from the start of course, having sat on a wet bus seat that gave the unfortunate impression that I'd soiled myself en route to the exhibition. Sometimes I really hate my life. I don't even know what I'd sat on, and I really don't want to know, but the upside was that my dress didn't smell as a result and in any case, I was fortunately able to dry my dress off under the hairdryers in the UN bathroom. I still shake my fist at whomever dampened my seat in the first place. Curses!

I attended the UN photo exhibition solo, wandering around and viewing the photos and reading the really inspirational stories about the subjects who had made simple yet truly effective inroads into eradicating malaria from developing nations around the world. How easy it sounds to buy insecticide-covered mosquito nets to protect families from the horrible mosquitos. How admirable it is to hear about the young children who had been inspired by the fight against malaria, to draw the world's attention & fundraising efforts to the disease. How proud the Secretary-General obviously is of all the hard work that individuals, NGOs and Governments are doing to make their mark.

But how nauseating it is to watch seemingly sensible people basically run each other over trying to get photos with these celebrity philanthropists. Why can't people just applaud their efforts, have their glass of wine and go home? Promise me that if ever I chase a celebrity down, you whip me with a wet towel. Promise me!

Getting Back To Where I Once Belonged

Like fabulous bookends, Easter and ANZAC Day gave me an extra long weekend in Chicago - a wonderful chance to revisit my old sweet home and catch up with good friends.

I was up early on Friday and at JFK airport just as the cafes were warming up their coffee machines. Delta Airlines still didn't have its shit together though, and so I was delayed for about an hour for reasons altogether unclear. Why can't people teach airport staff how to speak properly into a microphone? A little diction is all I ask, really. But my fear of being tackled by the Air Marshall kept me quiet and after a late but uneventful flight I somehow made it to Chicago O'Hare, hitting the tarmac in pelting rain. Tremendous. Fortunately the Blue Line train to the city starts right inside the airport terminal, so I didn't get rained on until I got Downtown and was walking to my hotel. It's a horrible feeling when the bottom two inches of your denim jeans are soaking wet. Worse still when you realise that you don't have a dry pair to put on instead.

Collecting myself at my hotel, I called LH and arranged to meet up with her for lunch next door to her office. Poor Americans and their lack of public holidays. Lack of annual leave in general really. But it was great that she could at least abscond for an hour or so and honestly our food court lunch was really good. Then again, I've never met a burrito I didn't like.

Later that afternoon, I paid a small fortune to have my eyebrows torn out with hot wax at the Nordstrom Spa, and praised all the deities I knew that the lady didn't send me blind when she dyed my eyelashes a gorgeous shade of blue-black. By this time I was wearing a new pair of (dry) denim jeans - not boot cut ones unfortunately, these ones are straight-legged. Admittedly I was - and remain - a bit concerned that someone with my lower body shape should probably steer clear from straight-legged jeans but they were the only ones on the shelf in my size, so what was I going to do? Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

I took my new eyelashes and absent eyebrows into Sephora and flattered the makeup man into slapping some products onto my face in time for my dinner engagement with LH and the boys. Visiting LH's new studio apartment for a quick cuddle with her puppy Preston, we drove down to my old neighbourhood for dinner at Mia Francesca. I had a sausage pasta and only remembered later about it being Good Friday. The pasta was good, but the guilt was still there. Two glasses of wine helped ease it, but not eliminate it. Then the boys applied the pressure to visit Sidetracks and enjoy a couple of slushies ("you only need two - the first one, and the last one," they said). So of course I went. And in typical fashion, LH and I were the only girls in the place but we were totally in our element. The music was fun, the slushies were delicious and we got right into the Easter fundraiser and L&D won so many raffle prizes it was quite ridiculous towards the end. A little before midnight and before the slushies could catapult me into oblivion, I took my leave and LH & B drove me back Downtown to my hotel. One episode of "Criminal Minds" and I was ready for bed.

The next morning I was up early and visited the good people at the adjacent Lavazza coffee shop for a large and very strong latte, and a breakfast sandwich. Watching the clock rather carefully I took a taxi to Union Station and bought my Metra train ticket to get out to Naperville, a beautiful suburb about an hour west of Chicago.

I was heading out to the burbs because my old friend Bork was getting married at the Cress Creek Country Club, not far from her childhood home. In the four years that I lived in Chi-town I never visited Naperville and I now know that was a big oversight. The train trip itself was a beautiful journey through some really lovely storybook towns and a very easy commute from Chicago. Bork had secured a block of hotel rooms at the nearby Courtyard Marriott and so I settled in early, watched an in-room movie ("The Rite") and took a nana nap.

At 5.15pm, I took the hotel shuttle bus to the Country Club for the wedding. It's really hard going to a wedding on your own, even if you know there' s a chance you're going to know people there. The other travellers on the shuttle bus were all gorgeous and skinny young things, dressed impeccably in the latest fashions. All of a sudden the control-top pantyhose and grandma heels that had seemed so practical when I packed now seemed a bit silly. I tried to make small talk on the shuttle, telling people how I fit in to the guest list but it was obvious that as the much older and only single one on the bus, I did not really fit it all.

The wedding ceremony was absolutely beautiful. Bork and her groom looked gorgeous and the setting for the ceremony out on the country club verandah made maximum use of the amenities and the lovely late-afternoon sunshine. What a difference 24 hours makes to the weather! Bork could not have asked for a more beautiful day for her wedding.

The reception was a lot of fun - delicious food, great company and free-flowing drinks. I had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner but then restricted myself to cranberry juice & soda, a new favourite. Sensible shoes called for sensible drinks. Before I knew it, the shuttle bus had returned to take me back to the hotel. I got a chance to say my goodbyes to the bride & groom, and the bride's family who were very kind to welcome me to the party. By the time I got back to the hotel, I didn't have any strength to watch even a single episode of "Criminal Minds". I just dove into my pyjamas and under the feathery quilt for a stone-dead sleep.

Easter Sunday morning was another early start, mindful as I was of the Metra train times for the day. I needed to be back in Chicago for Easter lunch at noon with Courts & CS. By sheer brilliance, I got coffee and a taxi in plenty of time to be at Naperville train station for the 10.30am train back to the city. Complete with Cubs fans already tucking into barely-concealed cans of beer. Yikes.

Courts picked me up at the train station and we headed back to her house a delicious home-made lunch of lamb & leeks, roast potatoes and a very yummy faro & barley salad. Dessert was a very sweet but creamy Indian-inspired pistachio & almond ice cream with rose syrup on top. Accompanied by a glass of very cold Tokaji and I was in heaven. Delicious!

Like all good things, the visit with Courts & CS came to end quickly and before I knew it, we were back on the road and bound for O'Hare. For the most part the journey was very slow going but we ultimately made it there. Checking in, I was not at all surprised to learn that my Delta flight was again delayed so I settled in to read my new book (that I cannot put down). Time passed quickly and I was back on the plane and landing at La Guardia in no time. In pelting rain. Tremendous.

Fortunately it didn't really matter that the bottom two inches of my jeans got drenched because I knew that at home, I had a fabulous - and dry - pair of pyjama pants just waiting to be put on. There is something so comforting about sleeping in your own bed again, even after just a short trip away. Today is my Easter Monday/ANZAC Day public holiday and I have absolutely no plans to be anywhere, other than a work event later tonight. So I have taken the day slowly, enjoying a sleep-in and multiple cups of Nespresso, ignoring all the piles of laundry that I am expertly stepping over. Blissful, don't you think?

But you don't need a bipopsy

You know in the cartoons when Popeye eats his tins of spinach and all of a sudden his muscles grow big and he gets all that energy? Obviously we're all supposed to recognise the uplifting benefits of putting vitamins into our system.

Well when I put vitamins into my system, I seem to have more of a wimpy reaction. Ha, perhaps I really should switch to hamburgers!

But seriously. When I lived in Scotland, I got sucked into the vitamins aisle at Boots and I bought a pack of those pills that were supposed to make your hair and nails grow long and strong. Instead of enviable locks and talons, I end up with a raging case of pink eye.

Then later on in Chicago I had a horribly persistent viral infection that presented in a delightful and unpredictable all-over rash. Cue the appointments with the allergist and the prescription steroids that not only made me retain water like a camel, but I ended up with a severe Vitamin D deficiency. GP spooked me with warnings about brittle bones and non-existent immune system, and he prescribed Vitamin D pills that I have been on ever since.

And this week, suspecting that I might not be getting enough citrus in my diet, I decide it's a good idea to start taking Vitamin C pill. Nothing like fending off scurvy, right? It was just an idea, nothing to be concerned about. So I tok care not to exceed the daily recommended dosage, and I was pleased to have no discernable reaction to the tablets. Well that was until Sunday, when I woke up with a disgusting blemish on my cheek. And it's the type of blemish borne of vitamin overdose, and not the sort borne of pretzel and chocolate overdose. Ugh, Wicked Witch of the West, eat your heart out. Needless to say I have shelved the vitamins (in pill form, anyway) and have upped my dosage of water and pimple cream.

Did you ever see the episode where Popeye had these biological iss-ues? Nope, me neither!

Voulez-vous manger une salade, ce soir?

It's actually quite hard to sit quietly and listen politely to someone tell you stories about their life in Paris and their cooking school and vineyard in Provence. It's harder still when you realise that you actually paid to put yourself through such torture. And yet this is the very position in which I found myself tonight at the French Institute Alliance Francaise (FIAF) and the first in its "Art De Vivre: Garden for Gourmets" lecture series.

Tonight's event was ably hosted by the lovely Ina Garten (the very Barefoot Contessa that I basically stalked in the Hamptons a couple of years ago). I was sitting in the very back row by the Nespresso machines - hooray for corporate sponsorship! - so I couldn't really see Ina, but it wasn't too bad cause I could still hear everything. And then Ina introduced her good friend and fellow gourmande Patricia Wells, who was on hand to launch her new cookbook, Salad As A Meal.

Both Garten and Wells are good friends, and their banter clearly reflected that. But it's really hard to feel any sort of camaraderie when one guest speaker has fabulous houses in East Hampton and the other has a cooking school in Paris and a house and vineyard in Provence (for whose Cote du Rhone Robert Parker recently awarded 90 points). Ugh - hearing stuff like that really makes you feel like you haven't achieved anything in your life at all.

Then of course the ladies talked about what inspired them in terms of cooking, and how important it is to to have a really good time when you're in the kitchen. Just when I thought that Garten and Wells were miles from my reality, they talk about recipes that are "exotic yet do-able for everyone". Even I had to laugh when Patricia talked about buying Julia Child's old stove from her in Provence, quipping that "owning Julia's stove would be like owning Freud's couch".

Both ladies agreed that the kitchen essentials one must own include a good knife; a food processor; a good sheet pan; pasta pot; and a mandolin. Though when using the latter, Wells recommends you need to chant "I am slicing, I am slicing" so you can be sure to concentrate fully and not cut your fingers off. Good tip!

At the end of the chit-chat the moderator opened up to Q&A and other people asked dumb questions about a bunch of stupid stuff. Then Wells demonstrated two recipes from her book (which I couldn't see and none of us got to taste) and then she did a book signing. I didn't hang around for that part, nor did I even buy the book.

Primarily I went to tonight's lecture out of loyalty to Ina Garten as well as a curious interest in Patricia Wells after K's ex-room mate in Paris reviewed the book on her website. I don't doubt the book is excellent and I do love all manner of cookbook (let's face it), but I wasn't quite prepared to shell out $38 just yet. Maybe another time? I'm a sucker for these sorts of lectures anyway - I'm even signed up to go to one in June featuring the lovely Eli Zabar, whose deli on West 79th I absolutely love. Can't wait.