Land of the Free

It has been three months and 21 days since I left the golden shores of Australia, bound for the land of the free. Since then, I have been the counselor for 27 beautiful and boistrous teenage girls, had a shaving cream fight in my bikini, swam in the Atlantic Ocean, stood at the top of the Empire State Building, eaten alligator sausage, drunk bourbon on Bourbon St, stood in Elvis Presley's living room, painted the town red in Nashville, surfed on a complete stranger's couch, eaten deep-dish pizza, gained a few too many kilos, seen the trees change in Ohio, spent a lot of time driving a lot of highways with a lot of life-changing people and stood on Carrie Bradshaw's stoop. And after three months and 21 days, my time in the United States of America has officially ended. .

My last post from the US of A is being written from the Philadelphia Airport where I arrived after a two hour bus ride from NYC at midnight. Here, sister dearest and I bid our farewells after spending the week in New York City together. I don't think there could have been a more perfect way for me to spend my last week in America. Each day I was treated to a different side of NYC's mixed personality as I trotted between the east, the west, the shabby and the chic. I bought used books from chatty roadside vendors in Greenwich only to purchase over-priced Christmas decorations from Saks Fifth Ave. I drank cocktails and coffee and marvelled at the strange creatures which inhabit this city. And the cream on top of the New York cupcake - I stood on Carrie Bradshaw's stoop. Even if I never marry or have children or publish a book, this small achievement allows me to die a happy and hopeless woman.   

Having just spent three very uncomfortable hours of the early morning sleeping on a line of chairs in the completely empty ticketing foyer, it's no suprise the Do Not Disturb-look has gone up on my face. And at 5:35 in the morning, this is only the beginning. To reach a town in the country right next door to the USA, I must survive three flights, two stop-overs and a lot of bad airplane coffee. But what, and who, wait for me on the other side are all worth it.

And with that, as my flight is called on the over-head, I must say my final farewell to the USA. Part of me feels a pang to be leaving the country that introduced me to so many 'firsts' - my first independent travel, my first camp, my first pumpkin pie. But another part of me rests assured that it won't be too long before I feast my eyes on her stars and stripes once again.

Ciao for now. xo

I'm In A Carrie Bradshaw State of Mind

It feels like I haven't been a city girl in a while. For three months, I've been living in over-sized t-shirts, denim cut-offs, canvas shoes and wearing little to no make-up. Using a hair straightner feels like a foreign concept, not to mention actually going somewhere which would require I straighten my hair. Let's just say two months of camp and one month of backpacking hasn't given me much opportunity to dress and behave like the city girl I am when at home in Sydney.

Needless to say, I felt a little rusty upon my arrival back in New York. Here I was in one of the fashion capitals of the world where I may bump into Anna Wintour at any moment, get caught in the background of a fashion shoot or get hit by a speeding cab and all my savviest, fashion-forward outfits are at home in Australia, packed in suitcases under my bed! I'm still fine-tuning how to style my new haircut and having come straight out of summer, I don't have any shoes which are suitable for the cold and rainy weather which greeted me upon arrival.

Then a man on a train, in offering me his seat, asked me if I was pregnant.

So now, not only am I unfashionable, but I am also fat.

Not quite the Carrie Bradshaw-inspired arrival I imagined for myself.

But as Alicia Keys crooned - These streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you -and within a day or two of being back in the world of high heels and candy-like cocktails, I got my groove back. I cut out bagels as one of my primary food groups, hit the gym and bought a pair of boots. With what few fashionable items I unearthed from the depths of my backpack, I threw together some savvy outfits and realised that straightening one's hair is indeed like riding a bike. Then with my credit card in one hand and my integrity in the other, I took to the NYC streets channeling the attitude of my New York oracle, Carrie Bradshaw.

Being single and fabulous in New York City is made all the more easier by staying in a swanky hotel and courtesy of my sister, who's work happened to send her to New York the exact same week that I was planning to visit, I'm thankful for getting a bit of much-appreciated red-carpet treatment at the Andaz Hotel. Not only do I get to stay in a suite which boasts its own bathroom, supply of yummy treats which are restocked daily, a flat-screen TV with cable and a big plush queen bed, but I get to share it all in the company of my sister. Our return to Hyde-Sisterhood Status was celebrated by spending Sunday trundling around Brooklyn doing what we love most - eating and taking photographs of street art.

However, with Sister Dearest here for work, the daylight hours are mine and mine alone. With the weather throwing a wet blanket over my plans to wander around the city neighbourhoods on a whim, the rain drove me inside on Monday and Tuesday. I ticked a few more tourist landmarks off my list - the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET), Grand Central Station and the New York Public Library. That's right ladies, I stood on the staircase where Carrie Bradshaw did not marry Big.

The sun decided to co-operate this morning and lavished me with some blue sky, so it was off to Greenwich Village - what was the haunt of the artists and bohemians of the 70s but is now the stomping ground of NYU students and beautiful, if not surprisingly, overpriced apartment blocks. I found the world's most satisfying thrift store - Munk Vintage Thrifts, 175 Macdougal Street - where I bought a giant Nordstrom scarf for a tidy $15. This was followed by a cupcake from Magnolia Bakery (Sex In The City reference) which I guzzled in the Washington Square Park while writing poetry and watching wayward bohemian-types busking Bob Marley tunes. I then walked back to the subway where I accidently came across another Sex In The City landmark, the Jefferson Market Garden, which was the locale of Miranda and Steve's wedding.

And to top it all off, I'm typing this post from the window seat of my hotel where below me, the streets are full of busy New York commuters hailing taxi cabs and scurrying towards subway stations. A pipe protruding from the sidewalk billows a steady stream of white cloud into the air, which dissolves into the twilight sky as street vendors shut up shop for the night. Before my eyes, the street lights are flickering on as the city shrugs out of its business suit and slips into its evening dress code. Just like Carrie Bradshaw, New York City itself has an outfit for everything.

And here I am, writing in the middle of it.

Ciao for now. xo

Empire State of Mind - Part Two

After watching the Miss Universe pageant on television and seeing Miss Australia come in third, we settled down to get some rest before our last day in New York. But if it was a good night’s sleep I was hoping for that night, I certainly didn’t get it. It was interrupted after Nel and I woke to hear rustling coming from the Subway bags we’d left on the floor. Knowing it was either a mouse or the world’s biggest cockroach, we were quick to extract the bags, much to our roommates dislike at 4am in the morning. It seems every dive motel comes with complimentary vermin.

To top off our tourist experience, day three was spent visiting lady Liberty. In every action/end-of-the-world movie where the State of Liberty has been destroyed by water or aliens or fire and brimstone, she has always seemed so big. But rounding the edge of Liberty Island and seeing her draw closer, I was a little disappointed that she wasn’t as big as the blockbusters portrayed. But as with all women, it’s not size that matters, its character and Lady Liberty certainly has plenty of it. The statue, a gift from the French in the 1900s, is a beacon of freedom and independence for America, representing the people who flocked from all corners of the globe seeking refuge and hope in ‘The New World’. Ellis Island, the second stop on the ferry ride to Liberty Island, is now a museum dedicated to the history of America’s social founding. With all this represented by the Lady Lib, you can see why Americans are so proud of her.

Proud and protective. The security screenings for both the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were as strict as you would find in an airport. I had my laptop with me during the security screenings for the State of Liberty and the inspection process was so thorough I had to remove and replace the battery before they would let me board the ferry. The city is definitely a different place post 9/11, even 10 years after the attacks on the Twin Towers.

I was expecting my first glimpse of Ground Zero to be an eerie and off-putting experience, but with the new Tower now under development, the whole area is covered in scaffolding and building works. But even despite that, standing in the very site where that horrific event occurred made me feel uncomfortable. A temporary memorial is located further up the street (the new Tower features a mass memorial as part of the design) which was a museum of sorts, with time-lines and images of the September 11 events. As I read over the events of the attacks and saw the images and dedications to those who lost their lives that day, it was hard not to feel emotional and overwhelmed. Talking to my American friends and hearing their stories of what unfolded in their cities and towns, it’s not worth imagining what it must have been like to be in the country at that time, let alone in New York – so much fear and panic. A decade later and the city appears to have rebuilt itself, but there will always be a scar where those towers stood.

After our long day of travel (not to mention an un-planned journey to Harlem after we caught the wrong express train), Nel, Alyce and I (the three Aussies) donned our Carrie Bradshaw best and headed out to Broadway to see West Side Story. Having pre-bought our tickets at a fairly expensive price, we had amazing seats right on the orchestra and they were certainly worth every penny. It was the quintessential musical to see in New York City and the level of professionalism was unlike any other musical I’ve seen. The dancing and choreography was jaw-dropping and was almost enough to make me want to quit my day job and be an aspiring Broadway star.

Some friends from camp who were joining up with Nel and Alyce to fly to Florida the next day, arrived that evening so being young 20-somethings in NYC, we of course went out on the town to see what we could find. What we found was a bar called Brother Jimmy’s in Union Square which sold a drink named The Fishbowl – a concoction of who-knows-what called Swamp Water which comes served with a large plastic alligator which once tipped into the fishbowl, releases a red shot which turns the swamp water murky. The whole thing is too big for one person alone, so is served with giant straws and shared around the table.

Only in New York.

The 25th was my final day in New York (for this portion of my journey) and my final opportunity to say goodbye to some of my closest friends from camp. It seemed like I had been saying nothing but goodbyes for the last four days and saying goodbye to my ‘girls’ was far from pleasant. But as I waved them off on their next journey, I started a new journey of my own – a week of roadtripping down the East Coast with one of my besties from camp, Caitlin, with our final destination being her hometown of Miami.

One week, one car, one coast. Let’s see just how much mischief we can get into.

Ciao for now. xo

Empire State of Mind - Part One

On my second arrival in New York City, I was relieved that the thrill of being in this sprawling metropolis still sent butterflies flapping through my stomach. It would have been a whole lot more exciting had the bus from camp not dropped us off in Harlem where the excitement fast turned into 'let's get a cab before we get mugged'. But, after 20 minutes of attempting to hail a yellow cab in a non-yellow cab district, we were finally on our way. In New York City.

I had initially planned to stay at a fancy hotel in West End on review, but when those plans fell through at the last minute, some girls from camp were able to incorporate me into their travel plans. We stayed at the Hotel Riverside Studios, a delicate balance between dodgy hostel and dive hotel which offered two double beds, a fridge, a television and a less than appealing interior decorating scheme.

Unfortunately, the rainy weather put a bit of a dampener on our evening plans, but we decided to head out to Times Square anyway. Even though I had seen Times Square the first time I was in New York, getting to see the lights in the evening was pretty remarkable. The whole place looked like a christmas tree of consumerism - everywhere you turned there was an illuminated sign trying to sell a product, a lifestyle. But it was Times Square none the less.

While it was disappointing to wake up to another day of rainy weather, there seemed no better reason to wait it out by touring through New York’s museums. But first things first – breakfast. After nine weeks of camp food, a decent breakfast and a nice cup of coffee was all I was asking for. We popped into a cafe called ‘Gina’ on Broadway, not really expecting much but being happily surprised. Gina’s was a flirty, feminine Italian cafe where fresh bread comes served in a traditional brown bag with strawberry jam (REAL jam!) and the hospitable staff are more than happy to bring refills. On a cold wet day in NYC, a poached egg and tomato dish with a cup of (fairly) decent coffee, certainly recharged the batteries.

We visited the Museum of Natural History first, the setting of Ben Stiller’s Night At The Museum. As one of our girls had to leave at midday to catch her plane home, we were fairly rushed in making our way through the exhibitions. The museum is a multi-level building with exhibits including Asian, Pacific, Indian and Aztec peoples, mammals, marine life, snakes and reptiles, environments and space. As we weren’t able to visit all the exhibits due to our time restrictions, each member of our group chose a specific exhibit they wanted to see and we made sure we visited everyone’s choice before leaving the leaving the museum around lunchtime.

In the afternoon, it was off to the Museum of Modern Art which was not only the crowning jewel of my day, but of my entire trip to New York. As we were once again on a time restriction, we had to move quite quickly through the gallery rooms, which was disappointing and certainly not the best way of experiencing the museum. Of the work we did see, Picasso’s etchings, the architecture and design galleries, photography and sculpture works were most impressive. The museum itself is amazing, situated in a beautiful part of New York which offers views of the Manhattan skyline and it’s hard not to get side-tracked by the architectural art which exists right outside.

But this view was nothing compared to that from the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. While the rain once again prohibited the view I was hoping for, seeing the sprawling metropolis of lights and skyscrapers stretching out over the horizon was no less impressive. Standing at the top, freezing my butt off in the dusk air, I was once again hit with that feeling of satisfaction. That at that very moment, I could be sitting at home in Sydney living my run-of-the-mill mundane life. But instead, I was on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building in New York City.

Sometimes, that perspective is all I need.

Ciao for now. xo

Let's Hear It For New York

I am happy to report that New York is everything you could want, hope, anticipate and expect it to be. Actually, I think I might be in love. I think I might officially I Heart NY.

After managing to extricate myself from JFK airport, avoiding the ‘unofficial’ taxi drivers who cornered me as soon as I walked out the door, I found myself a nice, stereotypical yellow cab to wing me into the city. If the realisation that I was finally in New York hadn’t quite hit, it sure whacked me in the face when I saw the city skyline. Hurtling across the bridge to the West side, the Empire State Building towered bright and beautiful above them all, her disco lights iridescent against the evening sky. It caught me straight in the chest. I was in New York City.

After recovering from my sleep deprivation and with a bit of breakfast in my belly (yes... I had a bagel) I took to the New York streets this morning to see what I could find. With my hostel a few streets away from Central Park, I decided to start my Saturday just like everyone else in New York. If you fancy yourself a bit of people-watching or the occasional eavesdrop, Central Park provides a bevy of opportunity. And the best part is that Americans have a habit of speaking at full volume, so listening in isn’t even avoidable. I had to smile this morning when I had the words ‘flip flops’ actually used in a sentence. All this time, I thought it was a linguistic urban legend.

Central park also boasts men. Lots of hot, sweaty six-packed men who like to jog the length of the park without their shirts on. It’s hard not to outwardly stare or attempt to ‘accidently’ be bumped into as they run past. But if sweaty six-packs aren’t your thing so early in the morning, you can always go for one of the beer guts playing baseball in the middle of the park. Middle-aged men living out their boyhood dreams to be the next Babe Ruth – too cute.

Once I’d made it through Central Park it was onwards to Time Square. Time Square is the geographical version of a pin-ball machine. Everywhere you look there are neon lights and flashing banners and the crowds and cabs buffet you from one street to the next. Being a Saturday, the markets were on, lining the street up to Time Square with a litter of stalls selling NYPD rip-offs and Prada fakes. But in the midst of the tents and the smell of BBQ corn-on-the-cob, the city culture was undeniable. I bought a hat and the man who sold it to me crowned it on my head saying it would bring me good fortune.

You don’t get that in Surry Hills.

From Time Square, I meandered my way through the city streets, surprised at the simplicity of the city’s layout - all numbers and names which lie parallel with each other, making it perfect for women with a poor sense of direction. Everywhere I looked, memories from movies scenes and Sex in the City locations popped up one after another - Bergdorfs, Prada and Fifth Ave. I felt strangely at home.

But the star which sparkled most on this banner was the Cathedral of Saint Patrick – a historical hotspot I wouldn’t have known about had I not been romanced inside by the stunning architecture of the church. The enormity of the cathedral was breathtaking - the ceilings were so high you could barely make out the carved detailing and the stain-glass windows were illuminated with the coloured images of the Saints. I may not be Catholic, but no one could enter that Cathedral and not exit with their jaw dragging along the ground. I was all ready to get snap happy, only to find to my tourist horror that my battery was dead. Thankfully, I get to do New York: The Sequel in September so returning to the Cathedral will be on the top of my photography list.

I have seen maybe an eighth of everything New York has to offer, but from what I’ve seen today, I am utterly smitten.

These streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you – I hear you, Alicia.

Ciao for now. xo

Departures, Arrivals

Hello readers!


Welcome to Where In The World Is KH? I, KH, am currently sitting at my gate at LAX (Los Angeles airport) waiting for my connecting flight to the city that never sleeps – New York – in the big, old US of A.
That’s right – the United States of America and its glorious star spangled banner.

I am still trying to get my sweaty palms around this simple fact. I have officially left the county and am a citizen of the world. And for now, the home of Peanut Butter cups, the New York Yankees and Michelle Obama is calling me its own.

Unfortunately, after you’ve been sitting on two planes for the last 16 hours with another eight hours still to go, not to mention having been awake for over 24 hours (it’s a blessing from God to be able to sleep on planes, right up there with discernment and spirituality) you can’t quite pull as much excitement as you feel the moment deserves. I would love to be swinging from the rooftops at the moment, expressing my inner-most joy at this moment of independence finally arriving, but a). This is LA. You don’t do such things unless you’re high. b). This is LAX. They’ll put you in jail for emotional-overexertion and c). I LOOK HORRIBLE! Like a rat pulled through a drain backwards and I really don’t want to be drawing attention to myself when I’m in such a state. So I’ll just keep it all bottled up inside until I feel up to owning it properly.

So every traveller has a few horror stories to tell in those first few moments of going overseas, the type of stories that have them stressed out in the moment, but which they gingerly laugh about when reliving them later. So here’s mine - four and counting...

1. On the way to the Brisbane airport, we got stuck in a traffic jam. Deciding we might be able to take the back routes, we went bush with the GPS in order to avoid said traffic jam. What ensued were 30 rather horrifying minutes where I was sure the GPS had no clue where it was going, and despite still having two hours until my departure, I chewed my nails down worrying I was going to miss the plane.

2. I get on the plane, ready for my four hour trip to Auckland (first stop over) to find I had been seated in the front row of the plane. Sweet, extra leg room. I turn to my left and what do I see? A baby. Turn to my right – a baby. Look behind me – a baby. Look behind it – another baby. I’m sure this is what it must feel like when an army officer realises he’s surrounded by landmines ready to explode. With nowhere to hide, I was sure it was going to be a long painful journey of burping and poo emissions and crying crying crying. But happy days – they all slept and I swear one winked at me.

3. I get off the plane in Auckland and realise I have precisely 7. 2783 minutes to make it to my connecting flight. So in a fit of stress, I tear down the passage way to the transfer customs, jump the line of about 100people and dash off to the gate, only to discover the flight had been delayed as the 100 people I’d hoodwinked in the transfer line were also boarding the same flight. I kept my eyes down when they arrived for fear they’d hit me with their carry-ons.

4. Before I left the country, I got a concerned talking to by my father about the importance of security and consequently, am now a security freak. In my concern, I put a self-coded padlock on my carry-on bag and during the flight from Auckland to LA was opening and closing it every 2 seconds. Little did I know, the last time I locked it before getting off the plane, I managed to re-code the lock so I couldn’t undo it. No amount of jimmying could fix my own security problem and the whole issue resulted in a very large man with a very large set of bolt cutters having to crack my poor, pathetic bolt in half so I could get to the contents of my bag. So I figure, there’s safety and then there’s stupidity. Needless to say, I’ve bought a new padlock and have learnt my lesson.

Next stop New York. Stop after that – bed.

Ciao for now. xo