A Lobster Boat Exists (and it is EVERYTHING)

Stop. Everything. I have discovered a lobster boat.

Along the West Side Highway at Pier 81 one can gain entrance to the North River Lobster Company, Part seafood shack, part party boat -- this is seriously the stuff dreams are made of, I kid not. Enter on 41st Street. The boat departs at various scheduled times, check the website for deets, and cruises up and down the Hudson for 45 minute increments.

Now for the best parts. The lobster boat is totally FREE to enter -- no resos required, no minimum order -- there's a DJ on-board spinning tunes (mostly Top 40), drinks are relatively cheap (we got a bottle of wine for around $30, heyooo!), they have LOBSTER ROLLS, and the views you'll take in are nothing short of breathtaking.

The only setback of the boat is perhaps the clientele it attracts aboard. Prepare to see dudes in pink polo shirts and lobster printed belts screaming about God knows what over pitchers of beer. The trick is to pick up a bottle, find a quiet corner, and get to drinking. This is one of my favorite finds in NYC, so get there ASAP before the word gets out.

3 Days on the Central Coast

After a two week stint of cloudy thoughts, uncertainties, and just, ya know, your overall average questioning of existential existence, a quick getaway to the central coast was pretty much the best remedy one could've asked for. Wine tasting, tree hugging, and clam chowder escapades... Fuck you Mercury retrograde. This one is for the dreamers.

The Pirate's Life in Cartegena

Cartagena is unreal. Like taking a trip to Disney World and getting sucked into the Pirates of the Caribbean kind of unreal. A fantasy imagined. A daydream come true.

The city itself sits behind 20-inch thick stone walls built by the Spaniards to keep those plundering ole pirates at bay. Pulling up to the entrance I instantaneously knew I was about to experience something of other-worldly proportions.

Esmee and I arrived in the early evening. The air was muggy and hot. A nice little treat from Bogota's cold rainy days. As our cabby made its way into the walled city, we were greeted by candy-colored colonial architecture, horse-drawn carriages, people singing and dancing in the streets. Again, unreal. Like, how could one even?

After getting settled in our hostel, El Viajero, we decided to set out on a strolling adventure. The cobblestone streets were buzzing with affluent tourists dressed in head-to-toe white, and local street vendors were sprawled out selling anything and everything imaginable. The neighborhood inside the city walls was quite small so it wasn't long before we stumbled onto two of the best things I experienced in my entire time in Colombia: a dance troupe performing to a live steel drum band and homemade Caribbean street ceviche. Honestly, there are no words.

We decided to pick up a bottle of rum, being that we were living the pirates' life and all, and headed back to our hostel. Card games with a group of Argentinians were played, drinks were, well, drunk, and laughs were had before our hostel bartender whisked the entire group out to explore the nightlife. 

Just outside the city walls lies the "Golden Triangle" of Cartagena's best bars, discotheques and restaurants. A little 'hood called Getsemani. Our hostel group hopped around, dancing our faces off in the humid stale air, soaking up the intoxicating energy of Colombia nightlife. It was epic.

The next day we had decided we NEEDED to see the sea, so we set off for the Caribbean coast. Best 3 things of this day: finding (and eating) the largest avocados I had ever seen, bartering on the beach for a cooler full of ice cold beer (and keep 'em coming!) and swimming in the bath-water-warm ocean with bunch of 10 year olds that were trying to spit mad game at us (apparently they start them young here).

The beach sat alongside the city high-rises, while local Caribbeans squeezed fresh juice and grilled fish on the sand. About every 5 minutes a vendor would stop by our cabana (yeah, we took it there) to try to sell us some goods. Now this...was my kind of heaven.

Post beach we decided to go big before we went home so we dined at the Café del Mar on the wall. Where the ocean met the cotton candy-colored sky, we devoured grilled calamari in a mushroom, white wine, cream sauce and shrimp with mango salsa. It was everything I could possibly hope for. And so much more.

My time in Cartagena was brief but beyond beautiful. Truly a magical escape. And while I pencil in the next time I can visit a place so majestic, I take away one key finding. The pirate's life is fo sho for me.

An American Girl in Colombia: Hello, Bogota

Now that I've gotten that post-travel rant out of my system, I'm going to take a few steps (and few breaths) back to relay the magic that was bestowed upon me during my time in Colombia. First stop, Bogota.

I arrived on a rainy Saturday, not quite knowing exactly where I was going, what to expect or even how to complete a coherent sentence in Spanish for anyone to understand. Some may say it was a bit risky, but I was hungry for adventure, so fuck it I said. The city was a dreary grey color, the epitome of a concrete jungle, accentuated by the vibrant colors of street art, hugging the buildings, walls and highways like an electric-hued blanket.

Armed with 2 bottles of tequila in my suitcase and a chunk of Colombia pesos I still had yet to figure out what to do with, I was buzzing with the excitement of the unknown as the cabbie whisked me across the downtown center to my girlfriend's humble abode. European-style buildings poked their heads out of the monotonous skyline every block or two, a street performer walked across a tightrope that was spontaneously hung across the middle of the road, vendors selling knick-knacks and aromatic panaderias lined the pavement, as I inhaled the hustle and bustle of the magnificent town. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

I finally arrived at my friend's house, feeling both frazzled and exhilarated, and was greeted with a squeal and a hug. Yep, I had finally made it. I had arrived. I unpacked my gifts from the states for her, cracking open the bottle of tequila first. Anyone who's ever suffered a hangover from aguardiente would understand the reasoning behind me importing the Mexican goodies in.

A few shots deep, I decided I was starved so we headed to the local pandaderia for my first taste of Colombian heaven. Mushroom, cheese and chicken empanadas. Honestly, there are no words.

One piece of heaven down, I was ready to get back at that bottle of tequila. I mean it was my first day in Colombia after all! Hearing that there was a zombie march going down downtown, a small group of us decided to scour the streets for a costume. A feat that I thought would prove much more difficult -- apparently Halloween is a very big deal. But the party gods got the best of us, and the booze burning in our bellies began calling for more, so after snagging a random Mardi Gras mask and a few palettes of face paint, we headed back to the expat house.

More shots were poured while we lined up to get our zombie faces painted on by the resident makeup artist. Our original plans had gone out the window as the tequila took over. We'd just have to see where the night would lead us next. Bottle killed, zombie faces on -- we headed out to the streets with a massive, rowdy crew. Bogota wasn't even ready for us, I slurred to myself. We walked what seemed like 10 miles to a Halloween house party. Pouring rain. Our clothes soaking wet. And as we entered I was immediately hit with the mug that would only occur from cramming wayyyy too many people into a building. It was impossible to move. Claustrophobia began to kick in. After doing one round (lasting about 2.5 min) around the party we decided to bounce. We'll find something better, or so we thought.

We hopped into a cab with intention of hitting up Theatron -- the biggest, brightest, most ostentatious gay club Bogota has to offer. We totally got this in the bag. We arrived soaking wet, zombie makeup running down our faces, attempting to barter our way into the glamorous venue. I can't even imagine the horrific sight the bouncers had to entail.

Time travel a few hours forward...a small group of us are sitting on my friend's living room floor, quietly listening to music, Twister board sprawled across the dining area as if a serious sesh had gone down. And while the rest of the events that night remain unknown, lost to the Colombian party gods no doubt, one thing's for sure: Bogota, night #1..in-the-motherf*kin-bag. We went nowhere, we did nothing, yet somehow..First Night = Best Night. Ever.