A View Too Good Not to Share

The view from my afternoon, Times Square

NYC's Rough-Cut Diamonds: U.F.Os, Apocalyptic Weather & The Joker of Death

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring…” 

- Marilyn Monroe.

It only takes one breath of pretzel-scented air before you know that NYC is the most beautiful, mad, and completely ridiculous city that you'll ever have the divine pleasure to become acquainted with. 

In no other city will you spot a naked cowboy on your lunch break, grind with a leprechaun, or witness a traffic cop waving through mustard cabs on Broadway while (in the words of Snoop-D) popping it like it is HAWT.

There are enough restaurants in New York to eat somewhere new everyday for 54 years and never eat at the same joint twice. You'd definitely die of some form of cholesterol-induced heart attack after about year number four (give or take a few months, depending on how often you opted for low-fat ranch sauce) but one can dream. 

I have already sampled some pretty incredible NYC cuisine (shout out to the awesome fish shack in Williamsburg with margaritas so good I almost wept salty-lime tears) and come to learn not to question when it comes to American produce. (This chickenzilla breast is bigger than me, how? Why hasn't my bread gone mouldy after seven weeks? Wait, my sausage is actually a burger, is this normal?  All chewing gum is only available in strips, could I be stuck in a time warp of the nineties? What the hell is this strange piece of bright red meat in my Cuban sandwich?) 

U.F.Os: Unidentified Fried Objects. AKA: The hangover cure

And then there is the apocalyptic weather. I kid you not, the NY weather will mess you around more than Don Juan on Tinder.

Seriously. On Saturday, I sunbathed in Central Park. Men were topless, life was good.

On Sunday, shards of ice fell from skyscrapers onto the sidewalk, creating scenes worthy of 'The Day After Tomorrow'. The wind chill was so high that the Naked Cowboy nearly lost his most profitable asset. 

Another of NYC's roughly cut gems? The Subway. It's as creepy as it is brilliant, which is a bizarre cocktail by all accounts. Sights and smells which once would have made me wince are now familiar and inoffensive, a bit like growing accustomed to your eccentric aunt's moustache. The sight of a rat's tail as it flickers over the tracks, the guy taking a leak in the corner, the stalactites of rotting god-knows-what that drip from the grimy ceilings… A fuzzy-lipped kiss straight on the lips.    

I've even taken to making new friends on The Subway. All those lessons on Stranger Danger clearly paid off, especially at 3am after a night on the razzle.  One guy had seven black stitches in his face, a quilted overcoat so large that it covered three plastic seats, and a well-thumbed pack of cards in his grasp like some form of Dickensian pilferer. The deal clincher? Every single last card was a joker, and his favourite happened to be the Joker of Death. What else? 

The pleasure was all mine.

Mum, if you're reading this, he was actually a very lovely chap. I never thought he might take me hostage in his huge Lord of the Rings overcoat. Not once. 

Become a Technicolor Dream (For Holi)

I've been in New York for two months, and I've celebrated St.Patrick's Day with a black gangster leprechaun, marched down 6th Ave to the beat of the bagpipes for Tartan Day, and drank enough cut price tequila to turn someone blind for Cinco De Mayo. Needless to say, these Yanks bloody love an excuse to get involved. Culture vultures. 

This weekend, it was Holi time; the Indian spring festival to celebrate love, colours and frolic. And y'all know how I love frolic. 

So right in the middle of Uptown New York, (Hammarksjold Plaza, to be precise) this technicolor extravaganza took place, with strangers of every age and ethnicity wishing you 'Happy Holi' before chucking paint powder directly in your face.

Paint does not taste so good.

Obligatory before and after: Go hard or go home

The NYC Bhangra Dance Company performed traditional Indian dances on stage. And because this is America, the land of the free and awesome, everyone busted out their inner Bollywood. Every now and then a bus load of tourists would go past and the whole crowd would cheer, throwing handfuls of colour into the sky. Who needs dollar bills when you've got purple rain?

I <3 NY