Alphabet City

So apparently we aren’t staying on the East side – according to V’s sister’s brother-in-law (“I only do Manhattan”) we’re in Alphabet City, not Eastside, East Village or Lower Eastside, and we may as well not have been in Manhattan, because he doesn’t do Alphabet City either. He was happy to come to Lower Eastside a few blocks down, but not Alphabet City!

I (heart) New York

I was very very excited about our trip to New York, and so far, it’s lived up to it. We checked into our flat on the Eastside, on East 3rd near Avenue C (thank you Airbnb for coming through on this one!), and walking there I felt like we were walking around inside a film – the way everything was so cliche and familiar. The roads are so wide, sidewalks even more so proportionally compared to London, there are yellow cabs and yellow schoolbuses, and little playgrounds every few blocks. We’ve heard more Spanish than English on the streets, for every supermarket there’s an ethnic grocer’s (Chinese, Hispanic, Ukrainian), and the little outfit V wouldn’t let me bring – teenie tiny white denim short shorts and tight olive green halter with striped trim – would not have been out of place here.

Last night this little (?Jewish) woman with a strong (?Queens) accent stopped us in the supermarket to tell us the blueberries would be 2 punnets for $4 today (we were carrying a punnet and they were 2 for $5 yesterday), and that cherries would be a dollar cheaper too. So we put our blueberries back, and we’ll be back today to buy them!

For dinner last night, we had a couple of slices of New York pizza (average – but we really needed to eat at that point) on our way to hunting out sushi (this was average too but SOOO cheap – and at least we had a healthy start to our 2 week American diet).

This morning the plan is to find Russ & Daughter, and have bagels and babka for brunch. We’ve been for a run, and found some more local places I’m hankering to try out – there was  place that serves buttermilk fried chicken (?! – and a quick glance seemed to suggest they serve this with waffles ??!!), and almost across from this was a paladar-looking place that seemed to serve home-cooked pan-hispanic cuisine (I don’t really know how to describe it – I’ll have to go back and take photos), AND a Cuban place. Now I know we weren’t fan of Cuban food back in Cuba, but V read somewhere that the best Cuban food is actually outside of Cuba, where they have the raw ingredients to actually cook with flavour. What better place, other than maybe Florida, to try it than New York, I say!

And at the end of our run, we went past the Nuyorican Poet Cafe – how could I not stop to look at their signs and posters?! I was devastated to find out we missed their Latino Jazz night last night, but chuffed when I just googled it to find out they have an Afro-Cuban Big Band Sunday night – so this is now pencilled in.

What else what else? Thinking I might turf the Guggenheim (this was the one place I knew I wanted to go since I was quite young) for the Alexander McQueen exhibition at the Met, but also wondering if I want to go to MoMA, and trying to decide if we should partake in any of the Fleet Week events (sailors! :P) at Intrepid (they’re screening Top Gun at their open air cinema on the deck (!) tonight but unfortunately we’re catching up with V’s sister’s brother-in-law).

And also planning on visiting Williamsburg for a spot of second-hand clothing shopping. Not that I wasted anytime in getting started – we walked down 7th on our way back from sushi last night, and past a couple of little second hand clothes ’boutiques’ – two of which were in my price range, and I managed to get a couple of dresses for a little more than $30 in one, and a Banana Republic blazer for $15 and a chiffony yellow Guess top for $7 at the other – why is second hand stuff so expensive in London?!!

Anyway, thinking to myself that it really is true that the ‘high streets’ of New York are far more varied and interesting than London (read somewhere that it’s cheaper and therefore easier to set up shop in NY, resulting in more individual little shops and more variety on the streets in NY than in London, where it’s getting to the point that only big chains can afford to open up shops on high streets).

Well, I think if V decides once he gets his passport that he wants to live here, I will be 100% behind that decision!

The best things on our trip…

I started this, but didn’t ever really finish it – but here’s the half-finished list anyway:

Best cafe – Compass Lodge in Shangri-La.

Best restaurant – hard one, but we did go to Quang An Ngon twice. Three times if you count the copycat restaurant owned by different owners.

Most expensive meal – Sunday brunch buffet at Sofitel Metropole. I decided after this buffets are so not worth it.

Most memorable meal – probably my fish in Vientiane – sooo good.

Best accommodation – Jade Emu & Jade Roo in Dali.

Most memorable accommodation – Zheng Yi Club.

Most memorable accommodation (for the wrong reasons) – Akha village homestay.

Best ‘sight’ or activity – Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Best journey from A to B – the boat trip to Nong Khiauw.

Worst journey from A to B – the bus ride from Yuangyang to Hekou (grrr!)

City/town which most lived up to our expectations (in a good way) – Shangri-La. In a bad way – Hoi An.

Best souvenir – maybe our painting & calligraphy from our workshop?

Worst souvenir – the crappy dresses I got made in Hoi An.

Does anyone else think Catherine Zeta-Jones would make a good Anna Karenina?

An Israeli meets a Lebanese in Utopia. What do they do?

Shake hands and play beach volleyball.

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So V and I are back in London. Arriving in Heathrow, the long tube ride from the airport, walking to our flat from the tube – there was none of the alien-ness I’d felt on previous home-comings – and yes, ‘home-coming’ is the right word, because London really is home now. It felt like we hadn’t even been away, like it was a stretch of the imagination to think we had been on a holiday, let alone for three months. Was it because V was with me, and had been with me, for the three months – not just something from home, like my underwear and socks, but a big part of that home?

It was disappointing to feel not even the smallest, slightest shock at the sights and sounds of London. Like three months of travelling had accomplished nothing, made little impact in our lives. Like the me that was back here was the same exact me that had left three months ago, a bit lost, not sure what next big thing I was looking forward to in my life was – was it a premonition of this that held me back from being excited about the trip before we set off, or was it that I wasn’t excited that then set the tone for what followed?

And so, I have to remind myself, we did enjoy large parts of those three months, if not the whole thing. We did do things we really wanted to do, see amazing things, meet people we wouldn’t have otherwise met, experience culture shock, and were reminded of where we came from, were made to think of the things we want for our children (if we have them), were reminded of all the things we have, and made to think about what we really need of all those things that we have.

And so, if we’re left wondering what to do now, wondering still what we really want, and how to go about getting that, if we’re left unsure if travel is our thing, but still wanting to go to even more places, left wondering if home really is home, if we’re not meant to be somewhere else….

… I can’t help but envy my younger self, who knew she was going to go travelling, and where, and came back mind widened, who once back set to looking for work with single-minded purpose, who knew she wanted to stay in London.

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The Israeli? A young fella we met in Shangri-La (sounds like another bad joke doesn’t it?), really young – maybe 23-24 – who flew F16s in the Israeli Air Force.

As he told us about how he met this Lebanese guy – I imagined another young man, the same age – in Utopia (a bar but much more than that, in Luang Prabang in Laos, where they do indeed have a beach volleyball court), the wonder in his eyes at this chance meeting, something he must have never thought would be possible (shake hands with a Lebanese, let alone play a game not involving bullets or bombs?!), I thought, that is why we travel. 

And then the sadness in his eyes, as he said he would never be able to visit Indonesia, reminded me that there are boundaries that travel still (because I can’t but hope that one day it won’t be the case) can’t cross.