New York, I love you.

An ode to my favourite city and some very good recs.

This city is physical. It knocks you around the same way the subway jolts you from your seat or leaves you clinging on to the carriage handles, yet it gets you from A to B and nobody makes a sound. This city is physical. It’s the way, without any intention, you can walk thousands of steps each day. Up and down the magnificently long blocks. Blocks lined with everything you could need in a day but never the exact one you want. The subways run so deep underground. The concrete hard under the soles of your feet. 

I was traveling to New York for work, which was a first, and it became my favourite visit. I decided to fly out a day earlier to have the time alone in the city I desperately wanted. I made the decision to spend a bit more and get a nice hotel. If I’m being honest, I think I was also a bit nervous about staying by myself. I’ve travelled alone a lot but not in recent years and hadn’t realised how out of practice I had become navigating the world solo. I booked into the Hyatt Hotel in the Chelsea location. Book the room with a view; it’s what all of your daydreams are made of. Apart from the spectacular view, it was just a perfectly fine, hugely tall New York City hotel.

I landed later than planned due to the long, slow line at the border, followed by 5 O’clock traffic. I was too late for the dinner reservation at Cervo’s, but it was still early enough to meet my colleagues for a drink afterward. I walked from West 24th Street to meet them downtown. I stopped off for a drink at King, a beautiful and classic in-style restaurant. I had a spritz at the bar and was sad not to have been able to stay for a meal. It’s at the top of my list for next time. I continued down to Soho and met my colleagues walking down Broome. We were at a loss as to where to go and accidentally ended up on Mulberry Street. We giggled at the neon lights but felt drawn to the comfort in the unpretentiousness of its blatant commercialism. 

The next day, after a pretty bad sleep, I took a final look at the view of the city from the 42nd floor and headed first to the flower market on West 28th Street between 6 and 7. Sami was checking out what was available for our press event that Thursday evening. It was gorgeous to walk in and out of the different vendors, like technicolour amongst the severe grey of the street outside. It was a Tuesday, so I headed to a coffee shop to work for a couple of hours before moving to my next hotel with my colleagues. I headed to Variety on 7th Avenue, which was in a beautiful building. It had rich caramel wood paneling and cream ceramic floors. The staff and coffee were lovely. It was the perfect spot to work in and one I hope to return to one day. 

This was my fifth time coming to New York. The first time, I was 19, 12 years prior. I remember coming to the Chelsea market and walking the high line, but other than that brief jaunt, I really hadn’t spent much time in this part of the city. I certainly didn’t understand or appreciate the cultural significance. At 31, I’m a late bloomer when it comes to knowing the artists and icons from the infamous time of the Chelsea Hotel. I had no intention of exploring this part of the city, but I am so grateful I did and, maybe oddly, that I did it alone. Walking around this part of New York, I felt the fabric of the city’s being in a way I’m not sure I did before. It was almost serendipitous, really, that a month later, I read Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City. A book written entirely about spending time alone in New York and a deep exploration of many of the artists who made this time and place in New York what it was. In one section of the book, she quotes Greta Garbo, who once said, ‘walking is my greatest pleasure.’ Greta infamously walked the streets of New York in her retirement. Her sartorial choices much historicised into pop culture. Walking is also my greatest pleasure and there is nowhere better to walk than New York.

The hotel work booked for us was in Downtown Brooklyn, right at the lip of the Manhattan Bridge. It’s a pretty built-up area of Brooklyn made up primarily of schools, university campuses, and office blocks, but it was a short walk Forte Green. I spent one of my favourite days in New York in Forte Green. It was the last Sunday before I caught an evening flight home, and it was perfect. I wandered the most beautiful streets lined with quintessentially Brooklyn brownstones and daydreamed about another life lived here. I met some friends at Bittersweet for a coffee and a sandwich before we made our way to the park to enjoy the last moments of spring’s sun. It’s probably the only area of New York that reminded me of home. 

The week I was in the city flew by in a New York minute (forgive me), and it was delightful to pretend it was home for this time. My colleagues and I ran ourselves across the boroughs with work and had some brilliant meals along the way. One that particularly stands out was a dinner at Diner in Williamsburg. It was cosy and delicious. Order the Caesar Salad. 

One of the events we were running was a life drawing class hosted at Happy Medium. An art space deep in the heart of Chinatown, with huge windows and walls covered in drawings and paintings, and fabric. Taking the class was like taking a deep breath. It’s a beautiful space and worth a visit.

I left New York as I always do, missing it and hoping I’m lucky enough to visit again soon. I think the feeling most have when leaving a place they love is generally one of leaving behind a part of themselves, but selfishly, I felt the opposite. I always feel that little bit more complete.