Saturday Morning Vintage Shopping In NY

So Rain left. I went for a swim and had a shower and then hailed a taxi - my second in one day!!! I was so excited - and then crippled the driver with my embarrassingly big suitcase. I did warn him that it was heavy but he said that he was 'pretty strong' and then picked it up and said 'Jeeesus that is heavy'. And I was like, well yeah. I was there for over two weeks!!
It was mortifying having to get someone to help me get it off the luggage carousel when I arrived though.
Anyway, I went to the hotel that me and my family, who were flying out that day, had booked and dumped my bag with the very lovely concierge (who my dad later became, like, best friends with) and got a bit excited about how luxurious it looked in comparison to the YMCA. It was quite luxurious but, looking back, probably not quite as luxurious as my poor hostel-bathroom-sharing accustomed brain thought at the time.

Then I went vintage shopping.

Ohh I felt like such a local!!
(NB: getting really emotional remembering it all. I want to be there now!! I bet it's beautiful this time of year, with all the trees in Central Park just on the cusp of autumn...)
I went to the Chelsea vintage market 'The Garage' which is taken over by all things vintage on the week end so that the cars that fill it during the week have to retreat. I spent ages wondering about and chatting to the owners. They were all lovely, especially the eccentric, jewelled cat eye glasses sporting seller of several beautiful 1920s dresses (all sadly very much out of my price range) who encouraged me try on a fantastic beaded number from the 80s even though she knew I totally couldn't afford it. I swirled about it and we discussed the difference between British and American vintage and how much I love the flapper style and my love of all things 20s and she 'simply adooored' my accent. It was all very jolly.

I got really into the idea of long silk slips worn as summer dresses which would have looked lovely and whimsical on balmy Portugal evenings. Amazingly, I managed to restrain myself. I didn't even buy this gorgeous red mohair jumper!! It was very sad but I thought that really, given the taxi drivers reaction to my bag, I couldn't possibly get any more into it, especially given my v heavy Harper's book and new romper. It was an amazing act of restraint for me, given my past vintage shopping history, and my mum couldn't quite believe it.

After a good hour of vintage immersed happiness I went for coffee at a lovely place opposite Billy's Bakery, where all the locals were eating pancakes. I sat outside and got coffee and watched the world go by.

 

My coffee came with a heart and I realised how deeply I'd fallen in love with New York.

 

 

It was weird, as I sat there contemplating my time in New York, I realised that my independent time as a near local was coming to an end. I'd promised to show my family my favourite bits of the city, but I knew that I would become a tourist. The night before me and Rain had tried to think of best and worst bits (which I always do when I go on holiday) and I think it says something that we couldn't decide what our favourite bit was (too many) and simply couldn't think of a worst bit. Going through security at JFK?? Even that was no where near as bad as I thought it would be.

 

I was sooooo looking forward to seeing may parents and my sister and telling them everything and, I know it sounds cringey, but I was really proud of myself. I smugly sipped my coffee and then headed back to the hotel, savouring my last few hours as an independent New Yorker. But don't worry; I'll return as an independent New Yorker. Have no doubt about that.

True New Yorker

I needed to share this view from my run in Central Park. Not bad, huh?
If only the view in the gym was that interesting, I'd be there a lot more often...

Baseball Lessons and Juxtaposition in NYC

Having been told that the next day would be my last and thus having realised my ambition of surviving my internship with no major mishaps (yet. There's always still time I guess) it seemed like a good time to fulfill my other ambition; that of learning the rules of baseball. Or softball. Is there a difference?? I'm not sure.

Anyway, there's a pitch really close to where we're staying so I trotted off to be American and sit on the bleachers and say stuff like 'Way to go!' Basically, it's rounders, isn't it? Rounders with some added rules for complication and more equipment and some magical cue where they all know that it's time to swap who's batting and who's fielding.

So maybe I'm not entirely sure of all the rules yet, but I'm definitely getting there. Sitting on the wooden bleachers in the warm evening eating cherries and watching the baseball game in all its Americaness was perfect. And it made me want to join a sports team! It was all so jolly and friendly that me and Rain have decided that at uni we're going to become members of every club going. I haven't played netball in years but there's no reason why I shouldn't start again.

We especially loved the white tops with red sleeves in true baseball style.

Once the game had ended (I do know who won but only because of their jubilation - I got the impression that they were the underdogs and not very used to winning) we came up with the really bright idea that we simply had to see the Statue of Liberty at night. Obviously, we're poor students and so never want to spend any more money than we need to, which basically translates as spending no money on anything but clothes and sustenance, and so decided that we could totally not get the ferry and just, like, see it from the shore. And so we headed out to the river.

Once we got there we realised that our bright idea was maybe not so bright and that if you squint really hard you can just about make out the Statue of Liberty in the darkness. So that was a teeny bit of a fail.

But the river at night was beautiful. All the lights blinked back at their reflection in the river and Brooklyn Bridge was lit up like Christmas and the half moon hung over the water. It was like magic, especially as we stumbled upon the wistful clearing of the waterfront out of the urban jungle of the financial district totally by accident and without warning. As we drifted down the river we were drawn to the lights and cool bustle of Pier 17, which once again showed the way that New York is a city of contradictions and juxtaposition. Everything that conflicts is next to each other, and somehow match perfectly.

Pier 17 had loads of bars and restaurants, and some cool little stalls, and a couple of uber cool people dancing, which seems obligitory everywhere you go in New York. We keep making plans for when we all (the six of us girls) come back here when we're all 21. Until then, we've vowed to treat London differently; more like we're on holiday, more like it's the first time we're seeing it and less like everywhere takes ages to get to and probably wont be worth it when we get there.

Rain and Roz go to the Zoo.

We woke up gloriously late after our night of live music and disrupted subways.

I once again headed to Central Park - how can I resist its charm when it's just thirty seconds from my door and the weather is so glorious?! - and sat in the dappled shade listening to the jazz of two buskers. A little girl and her dad danced in front of them.

There is a lot of dancing in this crazy city.

The endless stream of cyclists, runners, skaters and even the occasional horse and cart swept along below me.

I read a book and applied suntan lotion. It was perfect. Again.

And THEN we went to Central Park Zoo. Jump up and down in excitement on my behalf y'all! I certainly know one person who will be very jealous.

There was a bit of a queue, but we were determined to go, so we stuck it out, and it really didn't take very long. Plus, the price of an adult ticket is only $12, which we were very pleasantly surprised by.

It's actually quite small and there are no lions. NO LIONS. However, I got over this when I saw the polar bear. omg excitement. It was huge and much yellower than I expected and very sleepy. The snow leopard turned into The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Snow Leopard which, don't panic, is a lot less dramatic than it sounds; we couldn't see it, there were some grumpy children and one growling fat man threatening to sue but it hadn't actually escaped. The penguins smelt very fishy but waddle in such self important manner that I just find them hilarious. The red faced and red bottomed baboons were so funny and human like that we watched them for hours, as they fought and played and groomed. The reptile house and bug world was seriously creepy, although the giant green frog and inflated toad made me wish other people were here already and every single furry animal and fluffy face made me miss my dog, despite not actually looking anything like the old fat border terrier he is. The sea lion show was very clever, with Frisbee throwing, ball catching, somersault practising sea lions reigniting my childhood ambition of being a zoo keeper all over again. I thiiink you might need, like, a PHD in biology but a Biology AS Level is basically the same, right...?

After we'd seen all the animals and watched the sea lion show, we sat in front of their pool on the steps in the centre of the zoo, surrounded by the trees of Central Park, the beautiful apartments of Fifth Avenue and the skyscrapers of the city. We could even see Hearst tower, probably my very floor, from where we sat watching the sea lions gracefully swim through the water and emerge, jumping onto the rocks, showing off as they splashed and clapped.

We got really into the sea lions actually, clapping along with the toddlers every time that they leaped out of the water. We learnt all about the difference between them and seals (unlike seals they have external ear flaps and their front flippers can support their body weight. Total fact of the day right there. Aren't you glad you bothered reading this just for that titbit of information?? Impress all your friends with your sea lion knowledge!) and practically started naming them.

At that point we decided to make a move back to the park.

So we returned to our fave place in NYC; Central Park and did some more lounging, people watching, outfit critiquing, polite head shaking when approached by beggars/a man selling his poetry in the afternoon sun.

We made plans for the upcoming week, in order to squeeze the most out of our remaining time in New York.

Oh if you could hear our plans...

I'll fill you in as we do them, don't you worry!

A thousand lives: One Saturday in NYC

How does one spend a Saturday alone in New York?
This question has so many answers that planning my day whilst Rain was at work was really quite stressful; my indecision and need for perfection kicked in and I just couldn't decide what to do because ohh what if I picked the wrong thing (and the love of my life was where I'd decided not to go)?? Ohh the stress of having so many choices.

In the end I headed for the Metropolitan Museum Of Art, walking there through Central Park.
Central Park on a sunny Saturday morning is really something else. The spirit of the American Dream hangs in the air and hovers in all the well organised group activities. It is so tangible you can smell it. It sells itself to you. I want to live here and get married and have a job and children and be happy.
Whilst looking at the map of Central Park a man gave me directions, enquiring whether I wanted the quick route or the scenic route. It was very scenic but I did also get really quite lost. It didn't matter though; strolling through the park, with all its people watching and views, was a near perfect way to spend a Saturday morning.

When I did eventually reach the Met, I sat on its grand steps, just because Serena and Blair do in Gossip Girl. I'm so Upper East Side.
As I sat, a middle aged woman in a fabulous straw hat started dancing to the gospel choir who were performing, much to the embarrassment of her son.

The Met was brilliant.
I was truly inspired by some of it, scrawling away notes and ideas in my shabby notebook.
I became obsessed with Georgia O'Keeffe, standing for hours in front of her outrageously suggestive close ups of petals and unfurling flowers. I was reminded of Angela Carter and her celebration of the sensual and female sexuality. I was transfixed.
My spell was only broken when a boy asked me if I liked it. 'Like' is maybe the wrong word; I was attracted and drawn to it. I found myself telling him all about Carter, and its meaning, although our conversation rapidly moved on to my accent, with a demand that I say something British. He genuinely whooped with joy when I offered him a cup of tea and was equally delighted when, thanking me for my time, I shook his hand. The joys of being British.

I also became obsessed with a portrait of a naked woman, stretched out on a bed, her open eyes turned towards mine. I tried to decide what it was that made me return to that painting every time that I left it. It must have been her eyes; they were open but it was almost as though she didn't have any. They were empty and full of a hostile challenge. They were huge and blank and encapsulating.

The wooden artwork from various tribes of Oceania, central to culture and traditions, were like nothing I'd ever seen before and were fascinating and terrifying.

The beautiful Greek bust of a young man with a full head of intricate curls was also stunning; his beauty was made only more striking by the imperfections of his missing nose.

I left the Met feeling truly enriched and inspired, which I know sounds like something a teacher would say, but it's true; I want to paint close ups of flowers and drift wood, and do portraits in the style of Charles Demuth. I plan to do this asap and seriously recommend that everyone visit the Met: the beautiful glassed ceiling hall in which the Greek statues are majestically displayed is alone is worth seeing.

I then walked down Fifth Avenue, feeling very Upper East side in my cat eye sunglasses, stopping off at Barney's and Bloomingdale's for some quick (window) shopping, as well as successfully buying Salt Water Taffy on request of a friend.

It was then just a quick subway ride to my spiritual home: Little Italy. Italian New Yorkers: I couldn't really be happier and thus have already planned dinner out one evening this week in one of the many traditional Italian restaurants that line the entire length of Grand Street, which is nestled, strangely enough, in the midst of Chinatown. I wandered through here and then into Soho and the boutique shops off Broadway. I even found Topshop, which left me feeling very much like I was at home and in desperate need of a cup of tea.
By this point my feet were starting to ache and the air was just beginning to turn old and uncomfortable, the way it does in New York in summer time at late afternoon, as the day wilts and before the night has been newly born, so I hopped on the subway back to 59th Street, Columbus Circle, and once again found myself in Central Park.
I settled myself at the base of a tree and watched the picnickers and toddlers, the tourists and the dog walkers, the soft ball players and the buskers, and enjoyed several Chinese plums I had bought from a Chinese fruit stall in Chinatown (ignoring the warning that they were 'very sweet' - I thought I would probably cope - as well as the temptation of Dragon fruit, also called Chinese Kiwi, as I just didn't know how I'd ever get past the curled waxy pink leaves and into the fruit), as well as some crystallised ginger that was big in Chinatown, and absolutely delicious, although some bits were so strong it made me cough!

I lay there in a calm, heat induced stupor, until I finally found the energy to drag myself back to the hostel and in order to greet Rain from work and make plans for the evening.
I'm not sure why, perhaps due to how much I'd done, or the difference in the places I'd been to, but Saturday seemed to stretch out endlessly, far beyond the six hours I'd actually been out exploring for. The Met seemed like days ago. Time had dissipated and warped. Maybe that's what's so magical about New York City; there's so much to do see and so much to do and so many places to go that it can feel like you've lived a lifetime, as a hundred different lives, in just one short day.

True New Yorker

Yes. I know I keep saying it. But I really am turning into a true New Yorker these days.
I went for a run in Central Park yesterday. Is there anything that could make me more of a true New Yorker?
No, I didn't think so.

It was amazing, running through the green park with the well known skyline of New York before you. I ran past things I had previously only seen in films. It was magical. And I felt like Jennifer Anniston. Always good I feel.

Not a bad view...