So I was a few days living the American life in New York City.
My six girlfriends and I left JFK Airport in a black stretch limo with a cosmic roof, duty freed warm champagne and crappy radio music, ready to head to the city that never sleeps. Our rented flat was located in East Village, lacked heating and a second bathroom. It was a very good deal though, with a 27 € fee per night and per lady, and a “naughty nanny” wifi which almost never let us down.
Our first night aka “the doors night” had us walked from place to place without being able to find hospitality. Charlotte managed to get a buck from a dude though. We finally went to Backroom, where we didn’t actually visit the so-called backrooms. Then, our male friends, Julien the French banker and Jerry the American former lawyer, had us walk to Meatpacking to eat burgers & french fries before a good night sleep. At Pop, we had the best fries I had ever eaten and some quality mini burgers in an awful place with bright white neon light and a windy door that would never give us a rest.
On Saturday, I was invited to have a walk in Soho – I barely knew Manhattan – but understood quickly that it meant some day-long shopping. Topshop had just opened its first American store, and I was really disappointed by the vulgarity of the place. A huge mess, with bad and loud music, with low selection. Looked like Newlook. Urban Outfitters was rather cool, and I’m a huge fan of their interior design collections. They have a current collaboration with the movie “Where the wild things are”, which reminded me that we can’t miss this. Remember, our Neverending Story.
For lunch, we skipped La Esquina which was crowded, for Spring Street Natural where we saw Model Doutzen Kroes. I have no idea who the hell she is, but she’s worth it, according to L’Oreal.
Saturday night, I like the way you move. After some sushis, we tried again the Gold Bar (we were denied the day before), and with some strategic moves, we finally got in. I can’t say I liked this place. Though there is a special host at the restrooms to take care of you, I was not fond of the skulls everywhere and the music, neither of the population, thirtysomething bankers, and local turkeys dancing around the table. We moved to Motorcycle Club in Lower East Side, which was quite sleepy, but the flipper had us be teens again. With adult money. More to play, more to lose. Then, we somehow ended in a third bar, but my eyes were already closed and I just remember having drunk a vodka shot.
See you tomorrow for the rest of the story.