ADP: Just six weeks to go between now and D-for-departure day, but we're already itching to explore parts of the planet that haven't been covered in Daily Candy and every glossy travel magazine. Surprisingly enough, we discovered such a discretely cool and under-hyped spot right in our very own backyard, y se llama: Spanish Harlem.
True, this was once a neighborhood where nice young ladies were warned not to tread (we haven't decided if that group includes us). But thanks to some slick real estate brokers who nicknamed it "SpaHa," and the lure of cheap square footage, it's become a magnet for young professionals, artists, students (and anyone else who'd rather not pay three Gs for a one bedroom below 96th Street).
Digitals in hand, we ventured north to see what's been happening since Holly moved out of "El Barrio" few short months ago. Apparently, in a New York minute, everything can change, because we found luxury high rises going up next to ancient tenement buildings and trendy new restaurants putting down stakes where bodegas and incense shops once dominated.
After meeting up at Eye Spa, the salon where Holly still gets her eyebrows threaded (ouch!) we decidede to weave our way past a street carnival in full swing (complete with whirling teacups, a ferris wheel and low-stakes dice games) on a mission to get lunch from Ginger, an organic Asian restuarant that recently opened on 116th street.
Despite our radiply dropping blood sugar, we kept stopping to take pictures of the random acts of artwork: graffiti decorating the sides of buildings and chalk drawing poetry spilling onto sidewalks. The coolest canvas? "Homage to Picasso," a riotously red-white-and-blue mural painted by local celebrity artist James de la Vega. It takes up almost the entire side of a building, transforming a boring brick wall into an larger-than-life tribute to another great artist. Not exactly subtle, but then again, neither is the neighborhood.
As anyone who's lost hours of their life scraping invisible shreds of packing tape from a roll can attest, moving day--and the week leaving up to it—truly suck. Actually, we hear it's a little like childbirth in that it's supposed to be miserable, but you have to be the one actually doing it to experience just how much.
Jen and I are spending one of NYC's most gorgeous Saturdays inside our stuffy apartment, trying to sort out exactly which items to keep, chuck, donate, send home, throw in my Aunt's damp basement for the next year and which precious things will actually make the trip around the world with us. Sounds pretty easy and orderly, but in the last week, we've found ourselves staring at the same items again, and again and again, utterly confused about where they should go.
I guess I should be grateful that we've all gotten this far, and that we're really, finally getting ready to leave after planning and talking about this trip for so long. There was a big part of me that was convinced something would happen--that one or all of us would chicken out, that Jen would get a job offer she couldn't refuse or Holly would decide to move to Los Angeles with Enver. But, we've had the going away party, finished up our final days at work (Jen was at the office last night 'til 4:00am!!), booked the airline tickets and are finalizing itineraries. With a resounding knock on wood, everything's going well. Let's hope our good luck continues!
