Coffee and Tea, Old and New

I added two new Favorite Places to my list this afternoon.

Porto Rico Importing Co. can be found at 201 Bleecker Street, and has been around since 1907. Its coffee and tea selection is remarkable.  One is immediately intoxicated by the intense aroma upon entering, and it's hard to leave once you're there.  I bought multiple sachets of loose teas, and sincerely wished I were a coffee drinker given how heavenly the atmosphere was.

A couple hours after Porto Rico, my friends and I were thirsty again, and we stumbled upon a new treasure: Argo Tea Cafe.

Argo is a chain, and does not have the classic charm of Porto Rico.  But its menu of newfangled tea combinations surprised even me, a long-time tea drinker.  I order a MojiTea, unsure of what to expect.  The counter person asked if I wanted it hot or iced.  Iced.  Sparkling water?  Yes.  The result was unlike anything I've ever experienced: it was both sharp and sweet, and gorgeously effervescent.  I was temporarily speechless after tasting it, as were my two friends who tried it in turn.  I will be back, and will likely try every single item on the tea menu until my curiosity is satisfied.

Sex And The City Lives On

As a single woman living in New York City, it's impossible to not think about SATC once in awhile, particularly when I am running around and having entirely too much fun with my single girlfriends.

And so it was today.  It's an achingly beautiful autumn day, on the warm edge of cool, and a deep blue sky.  One of my dearest friends, W, just moved to town (I am still astounded by my good fortune), and we met up with our mutual friend A for brunch at Extra Virgin, a charming restaurant in the West Village.  We caught up on each other's lives-- careers, relationships, travels-- with our usual openness, sly commentary and wisecracks.   We weren't done talking by the time we finished our meal, and left in search of a park.

 Walking down Perry Street, A pointed out a brownstone with a "No Trespassing" sign:

It is, of course, Carrie Bradshaw's "apartment".  Perfect.

Scenes From An Ordinary Weekend

I spent much of this weekend walking to meet friends and run errands.  I was heartened to see small vibrant gatherings in various corners of the city.  A sample of the scenes I stumbled upon:

Upper East Side street fair :

A couple streets over, a Hungarian church fair:

 On the veranda of the New York Public Library, a ceremony and protest by the Burmese community :

All celebrating human life in their own way, and wonderful to witness.

Detour: Hammamet, Tunisia

I am blessed and grateful to work for an organization that helps people around the world.  This past week I had the opportunity to deliver some training to my international colleagues at a conference in Tunisia.

I've never been to north Africa, nor to a nation that is primarily Muslim.  I was in Tunisia for only four days, and confined to the conference center, but I still got a taste of the culture and reveled in the sound and visual beauty of Arabic.  My rusty French also got a workout, and allowed me to have some pretty intense conversations with the people around me.  Including, most memorably, the artist who used my hand as his canvas:

The hotel/conference complex in which we stayed was a bit surreal-- "Tunisia" in Tunisia, aka the Tunisian Las Vegas.  Similar to The Venetian or Paris in Las Vegas, the entire compound was constructed to recall a particular geography-- in this case, classic Tunisian architecture.  Some of the details were truly beautiful:

Other details were just plain weird.  Witness this, a garbage receptacle/ashtray.  Similar figures dotted the entire grounds.

The conference center was even more bizarre, a subterranean forest reminiscent of the Ents in Lord of the Rings.  Except these leafy fellows had fake cats perched in the branches:

Fortunately, it is more difficult to decorate the sea.  The water, as always, was calming and warmer than I had expected.

I will be back.  This time, I will leave behind the Ents and the green-faced statues and head for the Sahara and its camels.

Remembering Sept 11th

The anniversary of September 11th feels very different in NY than it does elsewhere.

I was in the East Village with my friend M last night, and she pointed in the direction of downtown.  Look up, she said.  Two blue columns of light shot powerfully up into the sky, searing through and illuminating the clouds above.  I later learned that they are the two strongest shafts of light ever projected from Earth.

I watch the television coverage this morning, and the familiar footage feels more real to me than ever.  This is my home now.

A most beautiful 40th birthday gift

I received a most beautiful and heartfelt gift from my sister B and her family today.  I turned 40 in May, and B let me know that they had ordered something very special that would take a few months to arrive.

I found out what it was a couple days ago, and was finally able to go and see it today.

My very own chair in Bryant Park!

The plaque's message is beautiful, though a bit too detailed to share on a public site.

I wrote about my love affair with Bryant Park in March: Love & Life at Bryant Park.  B let me know for the first time today that she and her boyfriend (now husband) used to meet at Bryant Park when he come in to NYC to visit her.  So now it is an intensely personal place for both us.

I have received many wonderful presents in my life, and this is absolutely at the top.  New York has become part of me, and now I have become part of New York.

Charlie Parker Jazz Festival, and the magnificent McCoy Tyner

It was late night Friday, and I was still at work, wrapping things up prior to a week of staycation.

The phone rang.  Uncle F calling from Connecticut.

"I've just turned 60, and need to do something to celebrate. I'm coming down to New York for the Charlie Parker Jazz Festival.  I know it's last minute, but do you want to go?"

I'm not usually into jazz, and I knew none of the names he mentioned would be playing.  What I did know is that if you want to do jazz properly, you should go with Uncle F.  He knows everything there is to know about jazz- the big guys, the little guys, who collaborated with whom and when, the personal histories of the musicians.

"Yes!"

Saturday had perfect summer weather-- bright and sunny, not too hot.  We arrived at Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem two hours early, and joined about twenty other fans at a choice spot in the shade.  I was so glad that we arrived when we did-- by the time the show started, the northern part of the park contained, in my estimation, well over a thousand people.

The ticket:

McCOY TYNER, JASON MORAN AND THE BANDWAGON, THE JD ALLEN TRIO and REVIVE DA LIVE

Uncle F provided interesting commentary throughout the concert.  Revive Da Live was fun:

JD Allen Trio was good but my least favorite:

Jason Moran was lovely, both to look at and to listen to:

During a break, Charlie Rangel greeted the crowd, who listened politely.  Signs decorated the park, reminding people that "He Delivers".  No hint of the hot water he's currently in.

But the real star was McCoy Tyner.  I have no photographs of him, as he requested that there be none (though that didn't stop some individuals).  He's 71 years old, and the crowd was absolutely transfixed once he started playing.  I stopped breathing, astonished.  The music roared through the park, and soaked into every cell in my body.

And it was thus that I became a jazz fan.