When my friend Daphne wrote me, “Hey…do you want to go to New York?” I didn’t know what I was in for. I’d told her generally that I wanted to travel more, but actually booking a flight to an unknown city seemed so beyond my grasp.
Why not? Asked the daring voice in my head, the one that usually doesn’t win out over my way louder Let’s stay home and crochet mental voice. So, without thinking very hard, I said yes.
After all, isn’t this what all the girls in the movies do? In their twenties, they’re hopping on planes going to foreign lands (okay, foreign cities). So why can’t I?
IMPRESSIONS FROM AN LA TRANSPLANT
“Welcome to New York City,” came a voice over the airplane’s intercom. I couldn’t stop the goofy grin growing on my face; this was just like the movies. This was the opening credits scene, where the main character peeks out the window (nose pressed to the glass) as upbeat music plays. The Empire State building and other tall buildings I didn’t recognize greeted me like a second set of flight attendants, signaling that I was in the right place.
The Uber driver chauffeured us through a landscape I’d never seen before, a tiny yet congested highway sandwiched between too-close brownstone building mountains straight from Westside Story. If I blinked enough, I could see Maria grinning at her beau from the top of the black stairs that clung to the sides of buildings like iron vines. My excitement grew as we entered the city, and the scenes reminded me more of You’ve Got Mail. I knew I’d been an LA resident too long when I saw trees and thought of them as friends. They were just your basic, run-of-the-mill, nondescript trunk and branch combos, bathed in the fire of fall. But we don’t have trees like those in LA; of course, there are a lot of palm trees and the actual trees just stay green until the cold snap in mid-November when they immediately die wearing brown overcoats.
I didn’t expect much from Times Square; I figured it would basically be like downtown LA, but more compact, and unfortunately I was right. A sea of beige and black coats speedwalked down the trash-covered, graffitied streets. People on various scales of crazy stacattoed the city rhythm, some mumbling to themselves, others yelling out a symphony only they understood the words to.
A BAGEL FROM A KINDLY MAN
We settled into our room. I was surprisingly energetic, despite my midnight redeye flight. The hustle of the city set deep in my veins, and I was ready for a bagel. Our first stop was a jam-packed bagel shop. I listened intently for someone to yell I’M WALKIN’ HERE but unfortunately, that part of the NYC experience is much exaggerated. The man taking bagel orders was surprisingly courteous, taking my order quickly yet kindly. I eyed the rainbow cookies behind the glass as they workers efficiently exchanged names and credit cards for bread doused in cream cheese glue. We got our bagels and headed over to Bryant Park, where I lost my mind for some reason at the pigeons. My friend correctly called them flying rats, but they seemed to fit the occasion perfectly. Pigeons fit New York just like jazz.
Next stop was hot chocolate from Angelina Paris. On the way, we passed the New York Public Library and, to continue racking up my bookworm points, I had to take a photo with the famous lions. And stand in front of the library door. And wish it were open.
We grabbed our hot chocolates (Have you ever tried real hot chocolate?! I am ruined. It was so luxurious. Like drinking chocolate. The powder mix will never suffice again.), then headed back to the Christmas craft market.
Now. I am a craft market fiend. I’ve been to so many in LA that I’ve started recognizing vendors, shamefully. I love seeing what people come up with, and it just feels so American to support these small businesses. Plus, I feel so at home with these fellow creatives. This was a great introduction to the city, and I felt pretty spoiled.
AN EXPERIENCE LIKE THAT OF A LOCAL I GUESS
The next couple days were full of the local experience. I’d researched some bookstores, and we went to Albertine—a charming French bookstore in East Manhattan featuring a gorgeous celestial ceiling—and The Strand—which boasts 18 miles of books and a magnificent tote bag selection. We also searched out some local vintage boutiques and thrift stores, because Daphne and I are thrifting aficionados. She even found a secret vintage mall hidden on the second floor of a Chinatown mall!
And, of course, we hit up two coffee shops a day. They ranged in look, price and size. There was one that was inside a motorcyclist clothing brand, one branded after two cute Frenchie pups, and another practically the size of my fist but with a mean honey-and-cinnamon latte (yum yum).
Daphne mastered the subway system and I followed her loyally. We only had two scary encounters, one of which is slightly funny now that we’re safe and sound. A crazy man came on the subway and was fighting one of the poles people hold onto, yelling, “Ain’t nobody gonna fight for you! You gotta fight for yourself!”
Apt advice.
We also found a really cute build-your-own-charm-jewelry store in Brooklyn called Brooklyn Charm. I made a necklace inspired by the Fruit of the Spirit, and my friend made a bracelet with little knick knacks reminding her of her life story.
One of my favorite events was the night before we were going to leave. My friend found an independent movie theater called The Metrograph. As soon as I walked in the door, I knew eccentric film geeks hung out here. It had that musty yet somehow intoxicating pretentiousness about it. We watched Rope by Alfred Hitchcock while I snacked on peanut M&Ms.
A WALK IN THE RAIN TO A TOY STORE
It was the last night, and I’d gotten it in my mind I wanted to go to FAO Schwarz. Don’t ask me why, maybe it was living in my head because I’d seen it in movies as a kid. It was raining, not cats and dogs but an uncomfy cold drizzle that still chilled your bones. Daphne was a champ, even putting off dinner so we could do a 20-minute walk in the rain before the store closed at 8. We came back, wet and starving. We’d ordered pizza, thinking we were so smart to think ahead…but we were outwitted. The pizza hadn’t come for over an hour, and the hangry fog was coming over me with a vengeance. We looked at each other and finally made the decision to give up on the New York Pizza Experience and instead order burgers.
Wouldn’t you know, as soon as I hopped in the shower, the pizza arrived. And then the burgers. So that night, we had pizza with a side of burger.
A GIFT FROM THE HANDS OF GOD
What an adventure it was. I can’t explain how grateful I am to God for every aspect of it:
- For having a close friend I can travel with
- For giving us safety
- For giving me the financial ability and health to even go on this trip
- For the beautiful life He’s given me. It’s not perfect, but in moments like this it’s just like…how can I ever be discontent? Not that I can only be content when I’m roaming the streets of New York with my best friend, of course—that’s unrealistic. But it was just a reminder of all the beautiful moments God has saved up for me, and all the joy to be found in life.
The trip was fantastic. Fantastic not even because of the city itself—to be honest, big cities scare me. I’m always on edge, waiting to be robbed or grabbed or sworn at. Everyone looks through you like you’re made of glass, and it’s unnerving. Everyone is in too much of a rush; I’m far more of the slow living, enjoy the moment type person.
But we can learn from cities. We can see what kind of people we do and don’t want to be; what places we do and don’t want to live in. We open ourselves to experiences, to architecture, to types of transportation. The streets, the clothes, the food, the activities: it all comes together as a patchwork of humanity, located over goodness knows how many square miles. And for three days, I got to experience that.
How will I ever be a writer if I don’t go places? If I don’t do things? I took this trip, wrote it on my heart, and have inserted it into the piggybank of my experience. And now, in my stories and songs and poetry and even designs, you might just find an MTA subway seat. A green metal chair outside of a Brooklyn café.
Or a bird lady tossing crumbs at a family of pigeons.
Wallflower Garden 
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