Travel & Hotspots

OUR GIRL IN NEW YORK

I can't believe that the boxes, which now almost fill the entire hall, are each filled with items from our first home, where 6th Avenue crosses twenty-third street. Our first apartment. The beginning of our New York adventure. I hug Nick one more time. And Nino. And Ruben. And all the others who took care of the packages in our building. The door. Clogged pipes and all those things. The gentlemen from downstairs. I'm going to miss them. Meanwhile, my husband is signaling that the taxi is waiting. Okay. Here we go. We're driving towards the bridge, I look back one more time. Goodbye towers, goodbye hustle, goodbye dear Manhattan. See you soon.

The sun is shining, I roll down the window and there in the distance by the water I see our new house slowly appearing. The building was designed by a famous Dutch architect and shines in all its glory. The beginning of a new period. One in Williamsburg. Our ‘new’ gentleman from downstairs hands us the key. I turn it around my silver heart that was still very lonely before the bridge, and with that, it’s official. This is our second home. It’s much larger, much taller, and has a lot of windows. So many that on our first morning there I see the sun rise from my bedroom.

And then there was snow. A few days before the ‘big crossing’ we are in Tarrytown, for the office's Christmas party. We sleep in Tarrytown and eat nearby at the famous Blue Hill Farm. The food is delicious. The band is fantastic. We take over the use of the photobooth and wake up to snow. A whole lot. And there I had to do a snow dance while all the champagne is probably still in effect.

It was pink there too. At Pietro in Nolita, the brunch and dinner café named after the owner, it’s fun. Very fun. And very pink: from the coffee cups to the toilet. Everyone who suffers from a slight winter depression should come here. On prescription. Because getting happy here is no art.

All the boxes are now inside. They apparently only lined them up neatly in Manhattan, because in Williamsburg they are everywhere. Open, closed, half-empty, half-full, and torn. Oh yes, and toppled over. Time to bring order to the chaos. Fortunately, my coffee machine is already in its place. Cappuccino three is now a fact. And me? I'll see you again next week.