Notebook and Pen

This morning started off with a scene that could have been mistaken for thinking what we had in front of us was the last remains of food we'd see before we got home, and in a way it was. As we were regretfully leaving Cazzamia today a double effort was made to consume the majority of everything the luxury breakfast offered us before we limited our options to a cream cheese bagel or overpriced individual cereal bowls again tomorrow.

Since we arrived in New York and saw Manhattan hostel prices, we've been searching for Couch Surfing hosts around the city and finally received a reply from an American/Irish guy who went by the name of Fitz.

Though glad to be back in Manhattan and closer to what was beginning to feel like home, we were reluctant to leave Cazzamia, what had rapidly become the best hostel of the trip, not to mention the comfiest bed too, especially as we learnt our host lived in Northern Manhattan, in the neighbourhood with a reputation, Harlem.

Although first impressions of Harlem didn't give us anything to worry about, we were still thankful that while figuring out which direction to walk in we were approached by a woman who obviously knew the area, and knew that we obviously didn't. An educated guess that we were Couch Surfers, and she introduced herself as Fitz's girlfriend, and led us to his apartment up the street.

Meeting Fitz told us exactly what his references had told us: he was extremely welcoming, if slightly eccentric, but with stories that could be told all day about his adventures and people he knew. Due to this we were keen to go and meet some of his friends at a party later so went out and tried to fit in as much as we could before then.

Our first stop was at the Television and Radio Museum further Downtown. I'm sure a visit here would be more than worthwhile but its unconventional way of displaying its artefacts as a timetable of short films and television episodes throughout the day meant it was here and nowhere else if we chose to stay, having to view the items we wanted at a particular time.

Unfortunately there was still so much to do we had to leave this one behind, and opted for a tour of the Brooklyn Brewery instead, located in the trendy area of Williamsburg, now home to many artists and young professionals.

For once our timing was perfect and we joined the back of a group just about to begin the tour, conveniently stood nearest the bar to use our tokens once the tour ended. I chose my complimentary beer to be a light drink, supposedly with hints of vanilla, while Dave opted for the original Brooklyn lager. Unfortunately my lack of beer knowledge taught me only that mine was more bearable than Dave's, but a free drink is never to be dismissed in a city where an hour's pay would only buy you one bottle, and enjoyed the beer garden feel of the warehouse.

Back in Harlem later on Fitz gave us one of the classic New York experiences we had yet to divulge in: a yellow taxi. This was more to do with how late we were to the party more than our benefit, but still, we weren't complaining, especially when we were pleasantly surprised by the price of around $11 for driving five of us, (only slightly illegally) all the way from 135th to Pier 66 in Chelsea.

Aside from extremely rude bar staff, and just as extremely priced drinks ($9 for a coke and bottle of Corona) and slightly industrial air, the pier party made an interesting location for a weekend meet-up on 'The Frying Pan', the name of the boat sat alongside the pier, illustrated by a 6' tall frying pan we stumbled across and was rather impressed by after a few drinks.

The benefit of attending parties hosted by complete strangers is the variety of people you get to meet and how interested they all are in meeting you. From this night alone we met Kevin, an ex-work colleague of Fitz, who now works at the largest Cathedral in New York and invited us to a complimentary tour in exchange for conversation and some stories about our home town.

After feeling like we'd exhausted the bar for as long as our budget would let us, we made the slightly nerve-wracking trip back to Harlem, with the only reactions to our presence being a few teenagers staring in amazement at the four white people walking through their streets in the middle of the night.

A walk around the corner onto 133rd St however painted a different picture, this time being our turn to be amazed as we found the end of the road blocked off by the police, stopping cars entering what was far from the gun scene we'd heard about, but instead a gathering of neighbours from the whole block, barbequing, drinking and dancing around the fire hydrant the fire dept at the end of the street had opened for them.

As tempted as we were to join in, we were reassured the block party would still be going on this time tomorrow night, and so opted to listen to the community spirit from the apartment as we went to bed, knowing that we had found yet another example of something that would be almost unheard of back at home.