The Sunshine State

My trip to Bradenton, Florida was planned and booked even before I stepped on American soil. My bestie from childhood had invited me over to spend a few days at her Florida home. I flew into Tampa International Airport on a drizzly Saturday evening and then drove south to Bradenton with my friend and her husband. They are as enthusiastic as I am about travel, food and life in general, so I knew I was in good hands. Enroute, we crossed the picturesque Sunshine Skyway- the ‘flag bridge’ of Florida featured in several movies and commercials over the years. Cutting through the emerald green waters of Tampa Bay, it gave the illusory experience of driving on water. Bradenton itself is strewn with freshwater and saltwater lakes, that you tend to see water just about everywhere.

We chose to stay in that night, warming up to the Florida weather and drinking to the beat of the rain within the comfort of her spacious home. Sunday was action packed – a bright and early start to a longish drive was fuelled by an elaborate American breakfast with freshly squeezed Florida orange juice at the old country-style restaurant chain called Cracker Barrel. We drove past Orlando and Daytona Beach, arriving by noon in Saint Augustine – the oldest continuously occupied European settlement in the United States. Established in 1565 as a Spanish colony, the city still retains the European charm through its pastel-shaded alleyways, grainy woodwork, tapas bars buzzing with live music, and hand painted vintage signboards hanging outside souvenir shops, candy stores and popsicle bars. It is touristy no doubt, but not in an annoying or intrusive way.  

For lunch, we opted for Taberna Del Caballo, a Spanish-American tavern known particularly for their signature cocktails and sangria. While my friends stuck to the St. Augustine mule, I ordered one of their handcrafted drinks going by the name of Sir Francis Drake, the English sailor credited with the serendipitous invention of the world’s first cocktail. It was a delightfully smooth and predictably sweet concoction of New Amsterdam vodka, peach schnapps, pineapple juice and raspberries. Our lunch spread consisting of garlic chicken wings, Cuban sandwich and shrimp chorizo flatbread, was delectable to say the least. The man on the guitar, the yellow flowers on the wooden tables and the happy people cheering to the music perfected the holiday mood for us. 

Ambling along the pretty streets, we spotted Spanish bakeries and quaint little stores selling seashells and colonial goods.  The Cathedral Basilica of Saint Augustine, designated as a national historical landmark, stood at the intersection of the narrow pedestrian streets. Crossing over to the promenade overlooking the Bridge of Lions, we walked up to the Castillo de San Marcos, the oldest masonry fort in the United States that allowed Spain to defend against the English attacks and maintain its stronghold over Florida for many, many years. The star fort is constructed from coquina stone, a type of sedimentary rock formed by the decomposition of seashells. On a side note, we had dinner at an award-winning Vietnamese restaurant called Pho 88 in Orlando. The portions were so huge that some of the pho, banh mi (sandwich) and the vermicelli noodles had to be boxed. 

Another work week had begun. During the day, my friend who is a happy homemaker kept me company while her husband went to work. It is said that when old friends meet, they start exactly where it was left off. There was no dearth of topics to discuss - everything from music and movies to life choices and religious philosophies found their way into our unending conversations. We would chat and cook and Netflix our way into the evenings when the three of us would step out to explore the lesser-known gems of South Florida. Over the course of the week, we visited Sarasota Bayfront, Venice and Siesta Key – each one distinctly embodying the untainted allure of the sunshine state.

Sarasota Bay is a lagoon off the coast of south and central west Florida with inlets from the Gulf of Mexico. The bayfront park is a great recreational spot with art installations, swings and paved walkways looking out to the fleet of yachts tied up to the dock. Near the entrance, stands a giant sculpture of a US Navy sailor sealed in a lip-lock with a young nurse. Titled ‘Unconditional Surrender’, it is part of a sculpture series by Seward Johnson based on a famous photograph taken on Victory over Japan Day in Times Square.

When I visited Venice, it became clear to me why Florida is called Heaven’s Waiting Room. A retirement mecca filled with gated communities providing luxury amenities, Venice is one of those classic locations where you will see happy old grannies and grandpas relishing the last drops of life’s nectar to the hilt. The fishing pier in Venice is popular among anglers and can get crowded in the evenings. What truly blew my mind was the spectacular sunset views from the rocky walkways jutting into the water. The breezy spring of dolphins, the swift swoop of seagulls, the ripples permeating in the water, the ephemeral hues of twilight and the silhouette of the boats in sail – everything came together to create one of the most surreal experiences of nature.

Florida is home to some of the best beaches in the world and undoubtedly, Siesta is one among them. Siesta Key is a barrier island off the coast of Florida and Siesta beach is the jewel in its crown. With 99% pure quartz, the sand is silvery white and cold to the touch while the crystal-clear water sports varying shades of emerald green and aquamarine. Being the beach bum that I am, it was hard not to fall head over heels with something that is touted as the best beach in America (Dr. Beach, 2011, 2017, The Travel Channel, 2004) with the whitest and finest sand in the world (The Great International Beach Challenge, 1987).

Food is the elixir of life and neither of us contested that proposition. During my week-long adventure, we found ourselves savouring some of the cleverest gastronomical inventions ever made, ranging from oriental hibachi at DaRuMa Japanese steakhouse and gourmet burgers at Gecko’s Grill and Pub to Malabar biriyani and Country style chicken fried to perfection in our own kitchen. 

My return was booked on an evening flight the following Saturday. We started early from home and took a brief halt at Saint Petersburg or St. Pete, as the locals would call it. The city’s downtown is youthful and artsy with beautiful walking trails, museums, art galleries, waterfront parks, boutique restaurants and skyscrapers adorning the cityscape. Hard-pressed for time, we settled for a happy Thai lunch and rushed to the airport before the gates closed. Goodbyes are sad but with friends who have become family, you know the distance is only short-lived. 

So that’s my Florida story – no Miami, no Orlando but priceless, nevertheless. I guess my trip was more about being in good company and discovering places recommended by trusted locals rather than mimicking the tried and tested tourist trail. 

I [heart] NYC

Disclaimer: I am in absolutely no mood to write. I never really am unless I start writing. There's one part of me so content in my experiences that the thought of blogging feels taxing and annoying at once and there's another part of me wistfully holding on to moments soon going to fade from memory. Nevertheless, I love going back to my stories and reliving them. I am perhaps my greatest inspiration because, in the end, I write for me.

I traveled to the United States of America for the first time on March 1st, 2018. My sister lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, by virtue of which I was granted a 10-year multiple entry visit visa without so much of an interrogation. I was excited no doubt, but I was also daunted by the immigration formalities upon arrival and the long flight from India. To my good fortune, things worked favourably and I got to Charlotte in good shape although my checked-in bag arrived only a day later. My family heartily welcomed me into this green and laidback city nestled in the embrace of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Vacationers flock to this part of the country during the months of October and November to witness the enchanting palette of fall colours. I spent the first month in Charlotte, taking in the chills of waning wintry days, exploring the city's Uptown district, appreciating all kinds of art at the Mint Museum on Wednesday evenings (when they allow free entry), cooking Indian food in an American kitchen, catching up on lost family time and blowing kisses to my lovely little niece.

“There’s something about arriving in new cities, wandering empty streets with no destination. I will never lose the love for the arriving, but I'm born to leave.”

This quote by Charlotte Eriksson (yeah, what a coincidence!) rings so true for me. Wanderlust struck before I knew it with the realization that I had to make the most of my time in the country. My first trip from Charlotte was to New York City - the big apple that draws tourists and travellers alike from all parts of the globe to live the confluence of art, fashion, music, languages, cultures, lifestyles, radicalism, liberalism and everything else you associate with one of the most expensive and perpetually stimulating cosmopolitan cities in the world. A Couchsurfing friend I happened to host at my Kerala home last year, was more than happy to welcome me into her haven in NYC and play tour guide on her off days. I flew into La Guardia airport on the 1st of April. As per my host's instructions, I took the M60 bus to Astoria, Queens and got off at the designated bus stop where she greeted me with all the warmth I could ever need in that intriguing city. My first 'Aha!' moment in NYC was when I was trying to buy my ticket out of the vending machine which would only accept cards. Noticing my struggle, a middle-aged man with a freckled cleft lip, untrimmed beard and the airs of a vagabond, offered to buy me a ticket. Truth be told, I was simply glad he asked. I quickly handed over a heap of coins and he gracefully accepted them. The young girl who stood beside me was sceptical, muttering that she just hoped I wasn't getting duped. I didn't get duped. He was genuine, after all.

My host Lily and I walked back to her apartment to drop off my bags before setting out on our day's adventure. She works at an urban farm, the first of its kind in NYC that connects a network of rooftop gardens and backyard farms. I liked the boho-artsy look of the home with its attic beds, wooden panels, brick-exposed walls, old number plates, a world map, quaint paintings and metal signages. We took off in no time, and a bus and metro ride later, found ourselves bang in the middle of Manhattan - the face of New York. From the tree-lined pathways of Central Park to the skyscrapers on Fifth Avenue, street music performances at subway stations to juicy gyros at the original Halal Guys, high-street fashion oeuvres to Gothic architecture - I got my first taste of NYC and I was already in love. We explored Chinatown, Little Italy and Brazil street - little pockets of cultural indulgence striving to preserve their uniqueness as much as they blend in with the cosmopolitan persona of New York. The graffiti lurking around every corner of the city saved our spirits from getting drowned in the predictably tuned march of the city crowd. After a brief stop at Economy Candy, an adorable mom and pop candy store in downtown Manhattan, we took the last ferry to Staten Island to get a panoramic view of the cityscape bejeweled by the universal emblem of freedom and democracy - the Statue of Liberty. Seagulls traced the path of the ferry, their pale underbellies juxtaposed against the infinite blue of the sky. Gusts of wind rocked our bodies as the water squiggled and foamed under the boat. At sundown, the city burst into colours with a sea of humans washing ashore Times Square to catch a fleeting glimpse of Broadway performances, high street fashion extravaganzas and life-size billboards spewing multimedia advertising on end. We called it a day in style with Lily's signature dish - shakshuka and rice served over unfeigned conversations and real travel stories.

On my second day in NYC, I woke up to 6 inches of snow just outside my window. When I crawled down my bunker bed laced with the softest white bedding, it was still snowing heavily. I fixed an omelette with the organic eggs from the farm and gulped it down with some seeded multi-grain bread and herbal tea. Time to get the winter-wear out, I thought. Lily had to work during the day, so I made my way into the city all by myself, taking full advantage of the week-long subway pass. It took me a while to get the hang of the subway system, especially with the overlap of stations on different lines. My first stop was the main branch of the New York Public Library, an imposing monument in Beaux Arts design showcasing thousands of literary masterpieces and unparalleled artistic excellence. From the majestic lions guarding the pillars of the library gilded in gold, I walked up to the Grand Central Terminal, another historic structure adored by tourists for its ornamental design and exquisite interiors. I spent the afternoon exploring the Rockefeller Center, the MoMa and the MET - all of which have become synonymous with the artistic liberty that characterises New York. Later in the evening, Lily met me in downtown Manhattan and we grabbed a slice each from Rosario's Pizza before catching a stand-up comedy at Arlene's Grocery, one of those cosy little bars that infuse NYC with all its pizzazz. By the end of the day, the big toe on my right foot was swollen thanks to Lily's heavy duty boots I tried to fit my feet into in a desperate attempt to avoid getting them all clammy in the snow. My discoloured toenail still stands in memory of that eventful day.

Lily was free to take me around the next day. Our first stop was the culinary melting pot named Jackson Heights, where we sampled a heavenly raspberry cheesecake at an unassuming joint known as Lety Bakery and Cafe. From there, we headed to Brooklyn Heights and ambled along the waterfront in the tarrying drizzle. The mist shrouding the bridges, Brooklyn and Manhattan, lent a soulful character to Brooklyn which was in stark contrast to the uber-cool vibe of Manhattan. Rummaging through the exhibits at the Brooklyn Historical Society in Dumbo, I unravelled a mystifying image of Brooklyn, one that was tinted with the blood and sweat of labourers and slaves, tough women who broke all gender stereotypes by toiling hard alongside their male counterparts, oyster shells and industrial tools that paved the way for artistic renaissance and gentrification. We trod on the Brooklyn bridge resplendent in raindrops and leftover snow and crossed over to the urban facade of Manhattan. The wired beauty was a vision in itself, but the showers and the humbling views on either side made it even more overwhelming.

Lily had arranged for me to meet with her sister at her office in One World Trade Center so that I could get a sneak peek into life on the other side of the infinite divide of capitalism. The 9/11 memorial and museum complex was packed by the time we reached there. Oculus, the billion dollar train station recently opened to the public, looked pristine in its winged dove getup. Lily's sister, a fashion editor with Condenast, had a plush little cabin to herself in the tallest building in NYC. We grabbed a juicy burger from Shakeshack before entering her office replete with fashion imagery. What with the bird's eye view from the tall glass panes, the creative mood-boards on display and the array of signature fashion labels made it seem contemptuously poised above the humans and vehicles streaming through the lifelines of NYC below. From there, we headed to SoHo in Lower Manhattan, another historic neighbourhood housing the largest collection of cast iron architecture in the world. SoHo has taken on many an avatar over time - from being a centre of commerce and entertainment, an industrial wasteland and an artists' haven to becoming an upscale fashion hub with carefully preserved heritage lanes. Back in the apartment, we had a quiet but scrumptious home-cooked dinner consisting of parmesan chicken, penne arrabbiata and an assortment of greens before venturing out to catch the late night jazz scene at a vintage-style haunt called The LetLove Inn.

Lily was back to work the next day and I was left to fend for myself. It goes without saying that by then, I was ridiculously charmed by the ways of NYC and its many different faces. The city is quick to accept, embrace and assimilate anyone into its fold, even if you are just a passerby. It has become a magnet of sorts for those looking to realize the American dream. The energy is contagious, the mood is liberal and people are forever on the move. I still remember the old man who showed up on the subway with a carton of cookies and chocolates and delivered a lengthy monologue, the gist of which was something like this: "You don't have to be ashamed if you are hungry or homeless. Feel free to grab one or make a donation if you wish to." Even if I choose to be cynical and believe the piece to be a marketing pitch, I can't help but be amused by the fact that someone could do something so outrageous yet thoughtful in a place like this. The level of freedom NYC offers in terms of movement, thought and speech is simply incredible and that was exactly what I was seeking. I spent the morning navigating the lanes and bylanes of Astoria, its Greek-style homes and shopping avenues like Steinway Street and Broadway. In a few hours, I found myself back in Manhattan beaming at the spring colours on display at the flower show in Macy's Herald Square, gaping at Norman Norrell's design ensemble at the Fashion Institute of Technology and gasping at the architectural brilliance of the ancient churches strewn across Manhattan. From the hard-to-miss St. Patrick's Cathedral and the French High Gothic St. Thomas Church to the elusively charming Little Church Around the Corner, each one had a story to tell. Lily was home by the time I got back. She was tired after a long day of back-breaking work, so we zeroed in on burgers from the local favourite Petey's to ease into the night. She had to go back to work early the next day; we said our goodbyes before hitting the sack, hoping to meet again somewhere, someday.

I packed my bags with all the souvenirs, gifts and candies while my heart bubbled inside of me. It is funny when you get a strange sense of belonging where you are least likely to get it. But the heart knows what it knows. Being a traveller is altogether different from learning the rules of survival in a city like New York, I reminded myself. I took a long and hard look at the brick walls of the apartment and its tattered world map before making my way out the door with the GPS directions to reach the airport. I caught my flight back to Charlotte from La Guardia airport that afternoon, with an unspoken promise to return for more.