The city has its intrepid way of figuring out a story for itself. That’s maybe why it was so hard to get started on writing a story about the city. But finally, my fingers started to literally point out the emotions I tried to keep locked in for so long and here it is: my own version of the American dream.
It all started on a warm August night when we arrived by cab in the big apple. The same big apple I had been raving about for so many years, the one I’ve dreamed about since watching Sex and the City and the adventures of a wild PR called Samantha that gets up in the morning with two thoughts: to make cash and to make love.
The first glimpses of the city seemed very promising and as we headed towards our hotel directly across Times Square, things looked amazingly bright around here. Our first night included a hot dog delight and a walk around some blocks of Midtown (42nd to 48th and Broadway, to be precise). The following days would bring a touristiquey perspective to the setting as we moved throughout the whole city on a double deck bus. And it was great, and it was grand, and it was not like Sex and the City, but rather like Girls. Fine with me.
What to say about the rest? The top of Empire State Building was cloudy, yet amazing. My passionate department store shopaholic sense still needs to develop, since I am definitely more into one brand at a time than 10000 at once. Got my first Guess shoes, my first Levi’s jeans, my first Dooney & Bourke bag (and nobody in Vienna has a clue what that is) and…my first collection(s) of VS lingerie. The rest lies in the details.
From the Central Station to Madison Avenue to Union Square and to the High Line, I tried to soak in as much information about the city as I could, while still obliging myself to stay focused for the future. My refusal to visit both the Met and MoMa will probably be the reason why I’m planning on returning in 2013, maybe for more than a week next time, to check out these big points of interest. Still, I was delighted in my own book-reading student way by the famous, yet quiet Bleecker Street, which housed us for my early birthday lunch and late birthday presents. We got Pizza at John’s (and next year we’re getting one at Lombardi’s, promise) and celebrated with wine and meatball spaghetti my turning of age. I’m 21 baby, legal in the States!
And then came THE Manhattan. That cocktail I had long been craving for, served with just a slightly bit too much Bourbon, that will always remind me of the first taste I’ve had of New York. Fruity, yet very rough at times, it’s a place to be and a place to get lost from.
It’s up to you, New York, New York.