New York City
Sure, I live here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t act like a fucking tourist in my own town. I rang in 2012 in style at a friend’s apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, one of the sketchiest areas populated by hipsters east of Williamsburg and the Lower East Side. There were also multiple sessions of karaoke in Koreatown, pole dance classes in Harlem, and general bar crawling throughout Manhattan – you know, things 20somethings do to feel like they are young again but fuck man, we’re getting old. The convenience of living in NYC is that even when I don’t get a chance to travel, I can still feel like I’m a part of the world.
My boyfriend and I wanted to take a vacation somewhere and try out an all-inclusive resort. I scored a sick-ass deal through TravelZoo for a rooftop penthouse with a private plunge pool at the Marival Residencies. It’s the most expensive vacation I’ve ever taken but it was totally worth it. Skinny-dipping at night, imbibing in top-shelf liquor at breakfast, sunning at the private VIP beach club and having a fridge fully stocked with Corona’s at all times – Puerto Vallarta is the place to go when you want to feel classy but also want to get wasted in the best of ways.
Why the fuck did it take me four years to return to the city I went to college in? Aside from being the ultimate Southern college party town, Charleston is friggin’ gorgeous and everyone should go there because it’s sweet as fuck. I had my fair share of party throw-downs while there but not too many bar experiences, since I graduated early and never had a fake ID (what was I THINKING?!?!). So I went wild this time around, with the two friends of mine who have yet to move to Brooklyn. It was so awesome to show my driver’s license, being served a drink and not be escorted out of the bar for assuming someone else’s identity.
Icelanders don’t typically drink during the week because alcohol here is expensive has hellllllll. It’s so expensive that, as a cute, young female, you can’t even rely on the kindness of a creepy gentleman to buy you drinks – it’s not really the custom there. Luckily, the Duty Free store at the airport was able to provide us with some nice pregame bottles of booze at heavily discounted prices (even cheaper than in the USA). We were able to experience the weekend rúntur, the one day when everyone goes out and gets shitfaced about town. Mostly underage 15-year olds with fake IDs but hey, partying has no age barrier.
It’s been a good year to get trashy, and 2013 is just around the corner. Here’s to the times when travel gets a little “kinky.” Rock on, folks!
They say that the most unique life on earth is created on the isolated nature of an island. Such is the truth for Iceland, whose insane geologic features, odd-ball wildlife and eclectic citizens make it one of the literally “coolest” places to travel.
Lindsey and I, on a hunt to find good coffee at 8:00am, stumble upon one of Reykjavik’s most under-appreciated sites – the graffiti park between Laugavegur and Hverfisgata. The guidebooks don’t mention much about the place, but the locals can attest -
“It’s just a bunch of people who make art, and sometimes throw parties. They play loud music. It’s no big deal.”
No big deal? I suppose in a country where graffiti is not bastardized by gang tags and lewd designs, sure, street art is no big deal. To Lindsey and I however, despite our groggy demeanor, this place is the most badass park we’ve ever seen.
Street art is everywhere in Reykjavik. There’s traditional graffiti, as well as a sort of “bedazzling” of some buildings, by artists who create designs with giant sequins, jewels or my personal favorite, broken mirrors. It adds a sense of life to what others not so used the cold would consider the “bleak” atmosphere of Iceland.
Those people are wrong though. Iceland can be as warm as a tropical island. It sparkles, in public art, in freshly-fallen snow, in local grins and shots of Brennivin.
Taking a couple of days off to catch up on work, life and holiday hangovers. More importantly, updating my new WEBSITE (holy awesome) so watch out for a nice little “Stop looking here, start looking here post” where you can follow me like a professional travel blogger TEEHEE.
Awww, you’re going to miss me? Have no fear. These reads you keep you occupied until I’m back on the grid:
Happy Christmas, everyone. Even if you don’t celebrate this typically Christian holiday, take some time to reflect on your life and the past year. Where have you traveled? What was something new you did that you never thought possible otherwise? Did you survive the end of the world? What was the best thing you did all year? The worst?
I’ll be spending Christmas with some relatives in New Jersey, but here’s a little story about the best Christmas I ever had:
Some of us decided to go up to the Penthouse, a rooftop bar in Lucerne’s Hotel Astoria, for Christmas Eve. The town had been sleepy all day; shops closed up at 2:00pm, no one was seen after three, and even the McDonalds was closed in preparation for the holiday. We’d done some sightseeing and checked into our hostel, at dinner and didn’t know what else to do. So we went to Golden Bridge and walked around.
Peter said to meet afterward at Penthouse, for a celebratory Christmas Eve drink. He must have left before I arrived, but a few of the others have stuck around. I’d assume on a clear day that Penthouse offered gorgeous views of Switzerland’s Lake Lucerne and Mount Pilatus, but the balmy temperature that day had set a thick fog over all the lake, and not a view of the mountain could be had.
So far, Switzerland is disappointing. It was only a pit-stop between Florence, Italy, and the last leg of our journey, Paris. But moreso, I think I am disappointed in the place because I know it means in a few days, I’ll be home again. Christmas will come, and go, and I’ll be on a plane back to the United States -
Evan senses my disdain. He hands me a glass of champagne and pulls up an ottoman cornered with my arm chair. “Hey, it’s almost Christmas,” he smiles. “Cheer up!”
I take a sip of champagne and manage a half-grin. “I don’t want this to be over,” I reply.
He shrugs. “It’s be an awesome trip, but it’s got to end some time, right?”
His words, although not intended to be so, are not comforting at all.
“What are you worried about?” he asks.
I think a moment. “That I’m making a huge mistake,” I admit. “That I’ll go back home and I won’t get into grad school and I won’t find a job and I won’t have anything to show for my life.”
“And what would have been the alternative?”
“Accepting a job as a live-in English teacher for a Czech family and spending the rest of my days…here,” I reply.
Evan shrugs. “Everything happens for a reason,” he begins. “When I got let go from MTV, I was in the same boat. I cowered at the thought of uncertainty and instability. To distract me from that part of my life, I decided to take this trip. It’s been the greatest thing I’ve ever done. Sure, I’ll go home to god knows what in a few days, but at least I know I’ve done something incredible.”
“But I want to keep doing incredible things,” I tell him.
He takes a sip of champagne. “You will,” he winks. “I know you will.”
The clock strikes midnight. It’s officially Christmas Day.
Evan raises his glass to me. “To us, Kat,” he starts. “To new beginnings, with uncertain – but incredible – ends.”
“Merry Christmas, Evan,” I say.
“Merry Christmas, Kat.”
Unconvinced of his words, I clink my glass with his.
I’m still trying to figure out whether or not he was right.