New York State of Mind: 2015 in a Nutshell

So I've been very bad. I'm sorry. I let the city consume me, swallow me up alive. This magical place has stimulated, inspired, depressed, abused, and elated me all at the same time. Over and over and over again. You see, the problem with all of this overstimulation is that it has resulted in my inability to sit down and write. Because the city that never sleeps doesn't really allow time for such things. Pshh, hell no. It's impossible to stop moving long enough to formulate thoughts, let alone write them down. But I must. Because, alas, that is what I came here to do, afterall. So I promise to make a valiant effort to keep writing, keep cataloging my adventures (there have been so many!) and keep doing what I do in an effort to keep the inspiration alive and thriving. Because, well, I don't really know what else to do. So without further ado I present, the cliffs notes version, of what the hell I've been up to the past year. Go ahead, have a seat, get comfy, because this might take a while.

In the past year I have...

• Moved 3 times. First landing in my brother's teeeeeny Sunnyside apartment he shared with his girfriend (he has since moved back to Cali to attend UCLA), then to Lefferts Gardens (to which I experienced more violence than I was admittedly prepared for) and finally to South Williamsburg where I decided to stay put. Score! I found a home.

• Gotten lost in Prospect Park, admired some neat sculptures, and met a magical man (of a rare native New Yorker breed) who took us through the secret passageways of the park to perform a standing bass solo.
• Celebrated my first NYC NYE at the Down Town Association, a private club in Financial District, for a Celestial Ball. This was some Eyes Wide Shut kind of shit -- minus the orgies. 

• Faced my first blizzard. Got snowed in. Ate a bunch of cookies and drank whiskey with my roommates.
• Had not one, but 2 private karaoke parties. Wassup, American Idol?

• Ate a duck feast at Momofuku.
• Danced until 4am, got asked to apply lube to a man dressed as a "lizard lady" in a patent leather catsuit.

• Ate lobster rolls aboard a lobster boat.
• Biked the West Side Highway.

• Attended a Holi festival.
• Saw a few outdoor concerts at Prospect Park.

• Went to Coney Island.
• Visited the MOMA after operating hours for a special showing of the Picasso sculptures. 
• Went to gallery opening nights in Chelsea just for the free wine and street style stalking.

• Watched men in tight tights perform ballet.
• Attended an art show by someone I was actually friends with. And was blown away by her talent.

• Went to Woodstock.
• And one trip to Philly.
• And a bunch of trips back home.
• Cried a bunch about leaving the California sun behind.
• Admired the many, many sightings of street art across the city. (One of my favorite things about the city.)
• And the subway station musicians. (Second favorite thing.)
• Saw the cherry blossoms and tulips bloom across the city.

AND FINALLY! Spring has sprung and a fresh new season begins.

I promise to be better this time around.

Welcome to New York

I'll be honest, I've always wanted to live in NYC. Ever since I was a little girl and my parents would take us on family vacations there every year (both of them we born and/or raised there) and there was something about the energy of the city that spoke to me. Even as as wee one I felt it. That electric energy that envelopes the city. One really just needs to experience it to understand. So...when I was given the AMAZING offer to work at ELLE magazine in the NYC HQ offices I HAD TO. The starry-eyed child inside would never forgive me if I passed it up. The energy had pulled me like a magnetic forcefield from 3,000 miles away for the vast majority of my life. And now it was calling for me. And I had to answer.

So after two weeks of packing, a ton of tears, and two suitcases filled with my most coveted pieces, I hopped on a plane and didn't look back.

Welcome to the New York chapter.

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.

Chasing Waterfalls in San Gil

Day 2 was much less eventful than day 1. Less action, more napping. And watching Netflix. And eating pizza. And sitting wrapped in a comforting blanket. The events of night 1 still remain a mystery to me but one thing's for sure...they hurt so good. It was somewhere between the Hunger Games: Catching Fire and dozing off for the 6th time that I decided perhaps Bogota was too much for me, so I hit up the Aussie bloke I had met the night before (total doll) and agreed to skip town. It was actually more like a self-invitation but details, details...

I woke up day 3 feeling revitalized and ready for yet another adventure. Destination, San Gil, Colombia's adventure capital. After a short local bus ride we arrived at the terminal. Steaming with exhaust, boisterous street vendors and an impressive mega market. We grabbed a six pack and were ushered to an impressive line of mega buses, men yelling random destinations as we walked by in awe. Between the two of us (Guy and I) we managed to make out enough Spanish to locate our bus route, so we sat on the curb and cracked open a few beers. The bus was massive, much larger than I expected, air-con, bathrooms and American movies playing on the TVs. As I reclined my large cushy chair, I gazed out the window, watching the concrete jungle slowly fade away into lush greenery, quaint villages and cobblestone streets. Now this is the Colombia I was looking for. 

The bus ride ran smoothly, with the exception of the policía stopping us for a passport check half-way in, and the creeper that followed me into the women's bathroom when we stopped for a meal break, whispering "silencio" in my ear (not even gonna get into that). Nonetheless we arrived in San Gil one six-pack and 7 hours later, with just enough time to check out our digs before settling in.

San Gil was illuminating at dusk. Bright red bricks topped the tiny buildings that trickled along the hillsides. Dudes on motorbikes congregated in the town square and the air was filled with laughter and the smell of smoking street meat. I knew in an instant that this was the place I was supposed to be.

We wandered around the city center for a bit, grabbed a carne asada kebab and a bottle of aguardiente and headed to our hostel.

Never having stepped foot in a hostel before, I hardly knew what to expect, but Macondo was like a little slice of heaven. A boutique hostel hidden away amongst the hilly streets of San Gil, equipped with a gorgeous kitchen, hot tub and hammocks galore. I immediately felt right at home. Guy and I were shown to our cozy 3 bed suite (shared with a cute doctor from NYC, ooh la la!) and were greeted by 2 rowdy Brits and a bottle of rum. The only problem presented now was never wanting to leave.

From Bogota to Sal Gil

Day 2 was much less eventful than day 1. Less action, more napping. And watching Netflix. And eating pizza. And sitting wrapped in a comforting blanket. The events of night 1 still remain a mystery to me but one thing's for sure...they hurt so good. It was somewhere between the Hunger Games: Catching Fire and dozing off for the 6th time that I decided perhaps Bogota was too much for me, so I hit up the Aussie bloke I had met the night before (total doll) and agreed to skip town. It was actually more like a self-invitation but details, details...

I woke up day 3 feeling revitalized and ready for yet another adventure. Destination, San Gil, Colombia's adventure capital. After a short local bus ride we arrived at the terminal. Steaming with exhaust, boisterous street vendors and an impressive mega market. We grabbed a six pack and were ushered to an impressive line of mega buses, men yelling random destinations as we walked by in awe. Between the two of us (Guy and I) we managed to make out enough Spanish to locate our bus route, so we sat on the curb and cracked open a few beers. The bus was massive, much larger than I expected, air-con, bathrooms and American movies playing on the TVs. As I reclined my large cushy chair, I gazed out the window, watching the concrete jungle slowly fade away into lush greenery, quaint villages and cobblestone streets. Now this is the Colombia I was looking for. 

The bus ride ran smoothly, with the exception of the policía stopping us for a passport check half-way in, and the creeper that followed me into the women's bathroom when we stopped for a meal break, whispering "silencio" in my ear (not even gonna get into that). Nonetheless we arrived in San Gil one six-pack and 7 hours later, with just enough time to check out our digs before settling in.

San Gil was illuminating at dusk. Bright red bricks topped the tiny buildings that trickled along the hillsides. Dudes on motorbikes congregated in the town square and the air was filled with laughter and the smell of smoking street meat. I knew in an instant that this was the place I was supposed to be.

We wandered around the city center for a bit, grabbed a carne asada kebab and a bottle of aguardiente and headed to our hostel.

Never having stepped foot in a hostel before, I hardly knew what to expect, but Macondo was like a little slice of heaven. A boutique hostel hidden away amongst the hilly streets of San Gil, equipped with a gorgeous kitchen, hot tub and hammocks galore. I immediately felt right at home. Guy and I were shown to our cozy 3 bed suite (shared with a cute doctor from NYC, ooh la la!) and were greeted by 2 rowdy Brits and a bottle of rum. The only problem presented now was never wanting to leave.