Second week of Inktober was:
Washington Square Park
Museums like The Guggenheim
Second week of Inktober was:
Washington Square Park
Museums like The Guggenheim
A few blocks from my apartment is a peculiar storefront. In the windows are branches arranged in skeletal patterns. If you stop and look close enough at the windows, you’ll notice the common city pigeon and other smaller, migratory birds of unknown origin (to me) perching on branches, hiding in nooks.
At first I assumed this was some kind of exotic bird pet store, which always peeves me out a bit. I’m not a pet store fan. But to my surprise, it’s not a store at all, but a non-profit emergency room for birds!
The Wild Bird Fund rehabilitates the city’s avian wildlife from the city “garbage” pigeon to all the kinds of birds that have migrated to New York City for thousands of years. Our city’s built environment changes the life of birds though, from tall buildings to fly into to toxic trash to eat. That’s where the Wild Bird Fund comes in. People come from all the city bring birds to be rescued here, by a dedicated staff of mostly volunteers. It’s the kind of hidden New York City institution that makes me have faith in the city, it’s people and it’s wildlife.
The Wild Bird Fund is donation run, doing the kind of unseen care that makes an ecosystem work. The Fund treats not only the city’s Pigeons but Owls, Red-Tail Hawks, Robins, Great Egrets, to name a few. I love when I see a large, strange bird ambling inside the storefront.
Wild Bird Fund
565 Columbus Avenue
New York, NY 10024
between 87th and 88th Streets
Rome and Florence are tourist destinations unlike any other I’ve been to. They are in late May and early June also teeming with college kids finishing their semesters abroad, spilling into plazas at night. They are hot, crowded, and wonderful cities that I’d visit again in a heartbeat because sometimes being a typical tourist abroad is blissful.
Maybe it was that we flew into Italy right as the season warmed, a welcome change from rainy spring, because the crowds didn’t bother me in the least. Sure, there were moments of waiting in humid lines. And yes, we did watch a particularly intoxicated American fall asleep at a fountain around midnight, who thankfully awoke before we had to rescue him like awkward faux mom and dad Americans we are. And yet in both cities we ate really, really well. I know that’s what everyone says about Italy but the food and the wine and the gelato and the coffee are really all I need to feel like I’d gotten away from home for a bit. Spending nights in plazas, sipping cheap peronis without needing a plan is exactly my kind of casual respite.
We flew first to Milan on a good deal with Alitalia, hustling on a high speed train to Rome. We walked around Rome by day and night for several days, hardly ever taking the metro. We drank two, sometimes three cappuccinos a day always standing at the counter, speeding into the day but still crashing from heat and walking exhaustion. We rode a double bicycle through the Villa Borghese, which turned out to be less whimsical vacation and more hilariously difficult, battling Italian drivers and skidding down hills while I laughed unlike I’ve laughed in while.
Rome was graffitied, gritty, and pockmarked with with hot trash piling everywhere. Yet it was also beautiful, old, and differently dense than New York City, with quiet back street cobblestone neighborhoods right around the corner from literal Roman ruins. I was most impressed by the Rome of working Italian people living their lives despite the tourism facade, stopping at coffee counters in the morning because it’s just a normal everyday ritual.
We left Rome for Florence by high speed train too, my burgeoning art history afficiando ready to lean into the tourism of such an amazing city. I stood like a child in front of so many larger than life paintings, trying to see right into the grain of the paint strokes, inspecting faces in early Renaissance frescos with amusement.
We waited in line for close to two hours, fending off so many line jumping Italian grandmas for the Uffizi. Brian read me the entire Rick Steves walking guide to the galleries as we meandered around. I loved it thoroughly, like a kid.
We gazed upon Duomo everyday, staying right nearby. We sat in manicured parks as well as open church squares in the Oltrarno neighborhood after dark. We ate late after spending days walking up and down hills, staring at churches so much older than things I can imagine. We shared Florentine steak and pasta with house wine at a small Tuscan restaurant called Osteria Cinghale Bianco where we just happened to get a seat without a reservation. It was absolutely one of the best simple meals I’ve had, the kind of serendipitous moment you can’t repeat.
We flew back through Milan, a funny thing to be a little familiar now with this northern Italian city I’ve stopped over in twice. We too took a moment to gawk at its epic Duomo. More summer tourists arrived for Italy just as we departed, feeling a little like we were temporarily studying abroad in our thirties.
All the greats are here, of course.
I loved the otherworldliness of the Pantheon the most, it felt like it belonged in Battlestar Galatica (nerd alert.)
Walking through the heart of the city to see the Trevi fountain at night.
Stranger but lovely was the Capuchin Crypt.
I found the Vatican Museum not as awe inspiring as St. Peter’s, though.
Capolitini museums were worth it for the awes inspiring Roman statues as well as the view of the forum.
The Monti neighborhood was lovely and very slice of life Rome right by the main tourist destinations. We opted to stay in a hotel there.
Travestere for all dining and especially Dar poeta pizza.
A cute cafe spot for breakfast in Monti called La Casetta.
There’s a mini chain worth it called La Prosciutteria
The best gelato I had was Fanta Morgana.
Pasta Chef for street food carbonara that delicious and budget friendly.
Lunch and apperativo around Campo di Fiori
Antico Cafe Greco for a little posh old school cappuccino
Walking everywhere, especially at night across the Ponte Vecchio.
The Boboli Gardens for meandering and the views.
Piazza della Signoira with a beer in the evening, observing people.
Piazza Santo Spiritu for a lively night scene, too. There was a cute cafe with to go spritz.
Leather goods everywhere, you can tell the more artisan stores if you wander a bit.
Ceramic goods from Tuscany at La Botteghina Del Ceramista
Santa Maria novella for the beautifully patterned church and the famed perfume store.
We stayed right by the Duomo in a side street airbnb on the top floor. It was lovely.
Aperitivo at the Santa Croce hip spot Oibò
Pizza off the beaten path at Marlborghetto
Sandwiches everywhere, in little delis tucked on so many streets.
Old school pastries at cafes like Bar Pasticceria Cucciolo and La Loggia degli Albizi
A fantastic Tuscan dinner at Osteria Cinghale Bianco
I’ve lived the longest on my own in the apartment building we’re about to leave in Brooklyn. It’s been almost four years in one building, crazily enough. Four years back in New York City. I’m happy to have been here and happy to move somewhere else, to buck the nostalgia people always cling to when leaving phases in life.
In my packing, I found this sketch from one of my 2015 sketchbooks. It was the year I decided to start making art again, not really caring why or how. I’m so glad I did because it brings me so much joy outside of the hot subway commute of working life in the city.
We brought both of these bookshelves to the basement a day or two ago. We found them first on the streets of Brookline when we were living in Boston. In the two apartments in this one building I kept the shelves organized about the same way in each. Funny how I repeat life patterns. It’s a bit freeing though to realize they’re old and musty, that we don’t have to keep just so many books.
Our super arranged the boxes upon boxes of books we got rid of into a free library in our laundry room basement. That made me a smile a bit and feel less like I was throwing away good reading material. My New York Times Cookbook was already snatched up by the time I returned to the basement. People are less interested in the literary and cultural theory textbooks with the used label I’ve kept way too long. Ah, ghosts of a liberal arts youth!
I’m keeping the vintage globe because a girl has got to keep some whimsy in her life, and the painting my mother did of a picture I took in France and the ye olde time looking radio. My terrarium died, of course. I’ve got no green thumb, but I’ll keep trying. I’m thinking: ferns!
I’m keeping books that have a sentimental value to me and letting go of the rest. Oh and my fruit bowl, that will live on. I love an apple a day.
I know I’ll be back to Brooklyn, maybe not to the exact spot I’ve lived in for four years, so I don’t feel any kind of fear of leaving. It’s easier to romanticize the past or the way things are than to embrace the change of the current and the future. I am so ready for getting older and moving on with whatever happens along the way.
Recently I told a last-year-of-teenage-dom teenager that every year we are dying so why fear change. She asked me if I was always 65 years old. The answer is yes, yes I have always been.
Here’s to moving back to Manhattan, where I haven’t lived since I was a college kid in 2007.
I have a habit of keeping visual notes of the best things, from what I’ve eaten to days I’ve spent. Bookstores in New York City are on the top of my best things list in life. Even if they’re fewer than before–I still miss the old Rizzoli space, sigh!– they’re still numerous enough to keep me happy. I often just plan a weekend day with Brian around ending up in a bookstore. After sketching my favorite Manhattan bookstores, it took me a while and an illustration class project to get them all down.
My favorite of the favorites is probably Unnameable because it’s the right mix of new and old, as well as in the perfect location for meandering around stores in Prospect Heights. Who doesn’t want Ample Hills AND a book on a Saturday bike ride? A close second is Community Bookstore in Park Slope because it’s cat is on the cover of a Japanese book about bookstore cats. I love a bookstore cat.
*update Feb 2017 Bookcourt closed! But soon enough Emma Straub is opening Books Are Wonderful in the ‘hood.
Am I turning into one of those people, those Americans, obsessed with Japan? Every time an artist I follow on Instagram makes it to Tokyo I go crazy with a fury of likes, wistful stares at rain-soaked alleys of izakayas.
It’s no wonder that though my trip was last fall, I keep sketching and thinking about what I did, saw, and ate in Japan. Just recently I remembered I bought a few style magazines in the airport for all the wonderful Tokyo street style images. I’ve been sketching the silhouettes of Harajuku-styled women from their pages lately.
The best street style was of course found around Harajuku and then Shibuya. But I also just enjoyed the understated everyday look of Japanese women. Observing the culottes, the exaggerated shapes, the love of back packs and sneakers was enough of a reason to wander the city, stopping on benches, lingering in department stores.
Thankfully Kinokuniya by Bryant Park stocks a million and one Japanese fashion magazines.
Sometimes I eat something to immediately think: I need to make a version of this at home. It’s how I have some of my favorite recipes: lemon focaccia from France, an oven adaptation of tandoori chicken from New York’s ubiquitous Indian restaurants, noodles bowls based of Boston’s Bon Me food truck.
And now I really want to bake myself a birthday cake based on this dreaming princess cupcake I had at Little Cupcake Bakery last week. First, there is the meringue frosting that gets me. Next, there is just a little raspberry in the middle. Then, one of my absolute favorite flavors present with an almond vanilla cake.
It’s a simple combination yet I think it would make a killer double layer cake too, perhaps with a lemon almond cake to just get wild for my January birthday! I’ll see you in winter, dreaming princess birthday cake.
30 Prince St, New York, NY 10012