When watching the helicopters on a NY rooftop...

...there is much to ponder. And there is much, much to disclose as well. I have come to striking, illuminating, yet somewhat staggering conclusions on my latest trip to New York. To begin with, I discovered that the West Village or more specifically the Meatpacking District can unquestionably be a most forthcoming host, anticipating one’s every wish - Three glorious cheers for B$ who I feel infinitely indebted to…Who else would be able to perfectly harmonize a Saturday night dinner at Jean Georges’ Spice Market with a more down-to-earth Taco Bell lunch?! ☺ (OK, I did have my say in this, I have to admit.)

And while most of you might already know, I have only now concluded that New York City is the biggest bitch ever. Alas, don’t we all somehow fall for them well aware of the passionate pain this will cause us?! With sweet ache penetrating our system and paralyzing our minds, we are being carried away by an ecstatic wave of … (feel free to fill in the blanks)!

I’m wondering whether there might actually be some truth in what Don Fra keeps saying when referring to life as a bitch we will eventually marry. Maybe I’ll find out on my next trip to New York…? Who knows…at least I don’t.

G’night!

Ö.

PS. And yes, things change quickly in NYC: My precious Maya was no more what I had known it for. So, I had to take comfort in something else: I found the French to be quite solacing. There is no need to feel blue in NYC if you have places such as Les enfants terribles and if you get to enjoy genuine fish 'n grits soulfood prepared à la lpk in the artful atmosphere of his Brooklyn apt.