Tag Archives: London

Noticing the Newness of New York

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You know that saying, “The more things change, the more they stay the same?” Well, the past five days have totally supported the cliche.

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That glorious view of the skyline from the LIE was still glorious; the barber next door to my apartment still popped his head out, raised his scissors and said good morning; the kickboxing fiends in the Wednesday Zen Combat class at Equinox were still all in their same spots in front of the mirror; the old man with the mustache and a hard hat was still sitting on the sidewalk managing the construction on Seventh Avenue.

And yet, there were some things that may seem same-y, but for whatever reason stood out as new to me.

For starters, the streets here really are filthy. Not so much that there’s garbage thrown about, but the concrete itself is just dirty! I never noticed all the black gum remnants.

Celebrities are among us. In the first 12 hours I was back in the West Village, I saw Calvin Klein, Seth Meyers and Philip Seymour Hoffman just walkin’ around, sunnies on, phones in hand.

This city is tall as! I always forget to look up because I’m often so focused on Straight Ahead. Not only was the light so incredible on my first night back in the Apple, but it became so apparent how much more industrial and vertical this city is compared to London.

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There are bikes! Lots of them! This was the case before I left, but not for the masses. In London, they’ve got the “Boris Bikes,” named after the mayor who brought the rent-and-ride cycles to the city. Unfortunately, I was never brave enough (nor was it warm enough) to give them a try, but I did do in Tel Aviv. Now I can do here, too, with “Mike’s Bikes”! There’s even a station on my corner.

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It really is loud. I don’t think I realized how quiet it was in London. Despite being high up on the 5th floor, and on a relatively small West Village block, my apartment here faces the street — a NYC street. I hear the subway roar underground, the garbage truck pick up the trash, the back-up-beep of a bulldozer, the swish of taxis driving through puddles from last night’s rain, the tour guide on a double decker bus pointing out the “pre-war brick buildings of Greenwich Village” and whatever that other noise is that I can’t quite place. It never really bothered me before. In fact, I barely heard it.

Service is stellar. Now, this doesn’t go for every dining establishment on the island of Manhattan and its boroughs, of course. But for the most part, the whole 18% tip-required thing is earned. At the two restaurants I went to with waiter service this week, I never had to ask for a menu or flag someone down to refill my water glass as I so often had to in London and throughout Europe.

Pedestrians rule. I was always afraid to cross the street in London. Not just because of the whole “look right, look left” other-side-of-the-road factor, but because the cars don’t wait. Despite this being aggressive, we-stop-for-no-one NYC, those on two feet have the right of way. Sure, if you find yourself in the middle of a crosswalk when you’re not supposed to, you’ll be honked at and cursed at to no end, but you’ll still make it to the other side in one piece. In London, I was never quite certain that’d be the case.

As the weeks go on and I settle back in for the time being, I’m sure I’ll notice more Sameness that to me, because of the time away, seems more like Newness. And there’s nothing like Newness to make all the Sameness feel more exciting.

You hear it time and time again when returning from travels, a pout on your face and an empty page in your passport that you’re aching to stamp:

“Try to live and see your city the way tourists do. It’ll be different! New! Better! Brighter!”

Heck, I’ve even said it to others! And it sounds simple, right? Like, what’s so hard with striking up a conversation with dapper chap at the bar? Or appreciating the way the light hits a skyscraper?

If only we could always notice the Newness. But we settle in and things become routine; customary. We forget to smile at strangers. To look up.

While reacquainting myself with this city over the past five days, my senses were on high alert. And while most of what I was seeking and craving centered on the familiar — eating certain foods, taking a certain gym class — the Newness that I discovered in between the cracks of it all made the transition smoother and the experience of the past few months as a whole even more worthwhile.

For those curious about what this New Yorker Gone London did after five months away, here’s the play-by-play.

MONDAY EVE

  • Went for classic New York Chinese food with the ‘rents. I’m talkin’ chicken with bok choy, crispy whole fish and an egg roll. They don’t make ‘em anywhere like they do at “So Far, So Good” in Lynbrook, Long Island.

TUESDAY

  • Took a morning bike ride over to Grandma’s house in the town next door for a massive hug. No one gives ‘em like she does.
  • Went for Bagel No. 1 with my mom at 24-Hour Bagel in my hometown. Their bagels are the real deal — perfectly plump and soft with a bit of crispness around the edges. Had it with tuna fish, which was perfectly blended with mayo and celeryless, thankyouverymuch.
  • Unloaded some stuff from storage, remarked about how much unnecessary stuff it all is and then spent three hours knee-deep in dustballs before unpacking said stuff into my apartment.
  • Took a yoga class with Arnold, who was subbing for Nadia. Both two of my favorites, so it was a loss AND a win.
  • Went to Joe’s Pizza for dinner where I slowly ate two slices. It really is all in the sauce.
  • Had a spritz on the house at Gottino, my local downstairs.

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WEDNESDAY

  • Went to the London-inspired Elephant & Castle on my block for my “FAVOURITE” salad: iceberg lettuce, smoked chicken, hazelnuts, apples, avocados, cherry tomatoes and the most sweet ‘n’ tangy orange dressing EVER.
  • Went to Zen Combat with my girl Violet. Sweat my butt off.
  • Walked to Pepe Verde, my cheapie Italian spot that I normally order in, and dined on capellini and tilapia with a limonata — for $15! Score.

THURSDAY

  • Caught up on Game of Thrones. Sat with my hand over my mouth in complete disbelief for a good 15 minutes. Holy hell Red Wedding.
  • Met a friend for lunch at The Grey Dog where I strayed from routine and did not get the “Grey Dog Breakfast” (home fries, eggs any style, french toast or pancakes, & bacon, sausage, or ham), but rather a veggie burger and sweet potato fries, which paired nicely with a pitcher of sangria. Hey, it was Friday somewhere!
  • Got my nails done at Eve. Expect a dedicated post on this next week!
  • Met some of my besties for drinks at Highlands, a Scottish pub (Holla Eimear!) around the corner. Ordered the sausage roll and Scottish egg, which were not even close to being as good as I once thought they were. Guess that’s what happens when you have the real thing for so long.

FRIDAY

  • Ate Bagel No. 2 — this time with olive cream cheese and tomato — at Murray’s Bagels.
  • Went to yoga with Nadia, whose classes I’ve missed the mostest.
  • Hopped in a car and headed out of town for the weekend…

Now where am I going, you want to know? One of the reasons I came home when I did was for my best friend Jen’s “hen do” (bachelorette weekend). As I write, I am sitting on a leather couch in a log cabin (OK, maybe it’s more ‘house’ than ‘cabin’ but it’s definitely made of logs — albeit new and shiny logs) looking out at tall pine trees, a blue sky and a range of mountains reaching high up into its cloudless reach. I am only two hours from NYC and very very lucky.

How new (and sweet) it is.

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A good morning, indeed!

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Into the woods, the light and the Newness.

Pillow talk

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“You know what it means if you leave something behind? That you’ll be back.”

It’s a classic Mom-ism. One of my favorites, actually, because it makes me feel better about having been so silly as to leave something somewhere. It gives meaning to my frivolity. And I like meaning. (I wonder, though. Will I be back to Ljubljana where my Kindle charger and sunglasses are?)

I do know it’ll be true for London, where my squishy feather pillow — that I carried with me from home way back in January — is now sitting on the back of a tufted leather couch in an Islington pub.

What was my pillow doing in a pub in the first place? Well, I had gone to get my bags from Clare’s yesterday morning and in the frenzy of gathering and carrying two large, clearly overweight suitcases down two flights of stairs, I left the pillow behind.

Since my good pal Hannah is just that, and lives nearby Clare’s, I asked her to grab it and bring it with her to The Albion, where some of my dearest new friends were meeting me for a send-off.

So, really, I “left” the pillow twice. In one day. Perhaps I am meant to lay my head down here more permanently after all…

One thing’s for sure: What I’ll miss the most about London aren’t the Scottish eggs or clever cabbies or TopShop or, or, or, or…

But rather the friends I made. I honestly didn’t imagine I’d befriend such beautiful, smart, kind, generous, and fun women (and a few good men, too.)

Forget the pillow. I’ll come back for them.

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A few good women: (from left) Rachel, Emma, Kate, Hannah, me, Fran and Ellie. Not pictured, Victoria and Beth.

Naturally, there wasn’t enough time in the evening with Ellie, my “sister from another city.” We grasped for breaths while attempting to cover all the topics we had to discuss since embarking on this incredible experience five months ago. There’s only so much one can share via WordPress, Gmail and Skype, as incredible inventions as they may be.

But it’s OK. I know this isn’t the end of our story. After all, the papparazzi have only just begun to gather…

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*Almost* Famous New Girls About Towns

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Sara + Ellie: NGAT: SFAC

A HUGE thank you to those of you who found the blog and followed our adventures. Whether you’re new or old friends, family, or strangers out there in the web-o-sphere, sharing the experience has made it all the more worthwhile. Please stick around. This wide world has a lot of towns…

A special relationship

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As I’m writing this, I’m flying high at 35,978 feet and a ground speed of 474 miles per hour. I’ve got about an hour and 35 minutes (and just short of that in computer battery time) until we reach my next, and final, destination before returning home to New York on Monday.

I know I promised a post on Croatia, and certainly there will be one on my week in Israel with my mom, but after just watching the movie Hyde Park on Hudson about the “special relationship” between King George VI and FDR, I felt compelled to acknowledge the city that’s launched me to all these points on the map in the first place: London.

Surely, we have a special relationship of our own.

Hyde Park on the Hudson

It’s hard to believe this chapter, and all its many sub-chapters, is finally coming to an end in just two days. I guess that’s because it’s propelled me toward a new beginning; one that I’m still navigating with excitement and anticipation.

Over the past few months, several people have asked me if I’d ever want to live permanently in London, and if so, where. The answer is: I’m not sure and I don’t know. The city didn’t grab a hold of me immediately, like, say, Paris and its light or Bali and its rice paddies. Of course, I wandered its twisty streets that begin with one name and end up another with a perma-smile on my face 24-7 – despite its dizzying non-grid. But it’s a LARGE city; way bigger than I expected. From its historical pubs to hip cellar cocktail bars, high street shops and heaths, there’s just so much ground to cover.

Since I had an expiration date (and a constant case of FOMO), I rushed around attempting to do just that, which often left me feeling more like a visitor. (Albeit a very, very comfortable visitor.)

I think it just takes time to learn and love and settle into London. To just be with it; in it.

New Yorkers claim you need 10 years in the Big Apple in order to be declared a real “citizen of the city,” so I suppose I shouldn’t expect any less from Blighty’s multi-faceted metropolis.

Still, for such a short time, I managed to memorize various postal codes and give them to cabbies before hopping in; to queue even if there isn’t a queue; to order a large glass of wine – or heck, the whole bottle; that a stone is about 14 pounds and I likely gained at least half of one; to look right first before crossing; to remove my tea bag; to check my train ticket and the carriage car I’m sitting in; to always carry an umbrella; to complain about the weather no matter what; to Sunday roast, not brunch; and most of all, to have patience. Something I’m constantly struggling with.

That said, the clock is ticking. My battery is running out and we’re flying over Antwerp with about 38 minutes to go.

I’m excited to land and hear the “ello” again; to touch my oyster card and to mind the gap; to FINALLY regroup with Ellie tomorrow, and take another yoga master class with the incomparable Stuart Gilchrist, followed by some LARGE beers at a pub with all the mates I’ve made.

It may not have been “love at first sight,” or even bashert, as they say in Israel, but London and I got along just fine. In fact, this separation won’t come without anxiety and I’m not totally convinced we won’t get back together someday soon for a longer haul. As I said way back when all this started, when it comes to great cities, I seem to have a cheatin’ heart…

From running to stunning

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Seeing as my flight was at 1:15p.m. today, there was absolutely no reason for me to be late. I was not drunk the night before. I was not coming from work. It was not rush hour.

And yet, there I was sitting on the Stanstead Express as it slowly ch-ch-chugged along to the airport at nearly 12:40p.m. We arrived and I flew out the doors, up the ramp and toward security. I had half-hour to get through and make my flight to Ljubljana, Slovenia, which was leaving from an unknown gate in less than half-hour. Oh and I had to “wee” (as they say in London) like freakin’ Seabiscuit.

I took off my bangles and my jean jacket, and removed my laptop and the two clear pastic bags of liquids (aka, creams and gels). I thought it’d be smooth sailing.

Then it happened: The guy sitting behind the scanner casually dropped a laminated red “flag” that didn’t at all look like a flag into my bin.

“Excuse me!” I said to one of the security officers.

Oh yeah. I was going full American on them.

“What is that? Why is my stuff on that side of the X-machine?”

“I’m sorry miss, it needs to be checked. You’ll have to wait.”

“But my flight! It leaves in 15 minutes!”

“Well, I guess you should’ve left yourself more time to get here then.”

Right. Thanks. So my things sat in a queue. (And there’s no jumping queues in London!)

I stood there tapping my Nikes, watching as five — FIVE — other bags were searched before mine.

“You going to Ljubliana?” asked a guy, also rushing, but gathering all his things.

“That’s the plan,” I said, gloomily.

“It’s not looking good. For either of us.”

Then he was off.

When they finally got to my bag, I was reprimanded for not removing my Kindle from my handbag and for having not one, but two clear pastic bags.

Oh.

Right then and there I had to go through my “liquids” and decide which of my carefully curated beauty products were coming with and which ones were about to be banished to the “hazardous waste” bin of Stanstead Airport.

I tossed the Charles Worthington shampoo and conditioner (they were free samples and I had washed this morning), my Jurlique cuticle cream (just had my nails done), and body lotion (I kept the SPF). The rest of the “liquids” were either too expensive (Clarins face lotion and SPF, Bobbi Brown eye cream) or too important for my hygiene and vanity (toothpaste, contact lens solution, Korres lip gloss).

Just when I thought I was in the, er, clear, I had to make sure the bag completely zipped, which took some rearranging.

Thankfully, they all came out from the scanner a second time without a laminated red non-flag and I tossed it all back in my luggage and ran like Forest Gump in search of my gate. All the exercise I haven’t been doing was pretty damn obvious as I huffed and puffed my way to…

Oh no. I had to get on a shuttle train!

Breathe. Believe. Receive. 

I wasn’t giving up. I was getting to Gate 7.

Thankfully, gates 1-19 were accessible from the first stop on the train.

Not-so-thankfully, I wasn’t getting there without first going up two sets of escalators. (Actually not very escalating when in a rush with a rollie!)

Finally, I reached the top, rounded the corner and actually yelled, “Wait! Please wait!” as I ran toward them, my DVF rollie trailing behind me and my passport and boarding pass in the crook of my elbow.

They waited.

I couldn’t believe it.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only latecomer to arrive shvitzing and out of breath. Seems security was super tight today and Easy Jet had some “check in” problems.

I was so verklempt that I didn’t even really notice the handsome man with piercing blue eyes sitting in my seat.

Just kidding. I totally noticed. But had absolutely no game whatsoever. Instead, I was unabashedly flustered and all, “Ohmygod, I can’t believe I made it!”, disrobing my scarf, my jumper and then my jacket until I was down to a tank.

He offered me some solace in the form of a smile, and then moved to the seat behind me.

Before I sat down, I caught a glimpse of the guy I saw at security. We silently smiled and gave each other the Travel Recognition Nod. You know, the one where no words are needed, just a casual acknowledgement that you’ve either seen each other before, or are complete strangers  on a similar path. Love those.

Eventually, we were up, up and away and I was able to relax a bit. 

Two hours later, I arrived in sunny Ljubljana, where the skies were blue, the mountains snowcapped and the language hard to pronounce without sounding like a complete fool. The insanity of the last few hours were now a mere giggle-inducing memory.

Just as I got to the shuttle to take me to Lake Bled, about 45-minutes north, I saw them: The Eyes. The guy from my seat! Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to Lake Bled, but rather a small city in Austria where he lives and works. So small, that the only way to get there is to fly into Slovenia and take a shuttle (MY shuttle!) to a train to a car.

This time, we talked travel and work and Croatia and Budapest, where he’s from. He spoke English really well. And those eyes!

When he got off to continue on his journey, a mere 20 minutes later, he asked me how long I was in Bled and whether I was on Facebook. I told him, and am awaiting a friend request.

But even if it doesn’t come, it’s little moments like those that make the journey — albeit a sometimes heart-palpitating-rush-of-a-one — even more stunning than the destination.

Though, the one I reached ain’t half-bad.

Lovely Lake Bled

Lovely Lake Bled

**Addendum: For those curious, I’ll be New Girl-ing About several different towns over the next few weeks. After Slovenia, I’ll be cruising the Dalmatian Coast in Croatia, followed by a quickie jaunt in Stockholm (random layover!) before landing in Tel Aviv where I’m meeting my mom before returning to London for two nights prior to heading back to the states. I hope to continue to update along the way, so please do come along for the ride!