Pushkin, no relation

This blog has moved

2010-04-30T13:23:00.001-07:00

This blog is now located at http://pushkintravels.blogspot.com/.
You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click here.

For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to
http://pushkintravels.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default.

Mantas Below

2010-02-22T14:06:00.000-08:00

After nineteen years of diving and my third safari to the Surin and Similian Islands (Thailand), I finally experienced a dive with manta rays. The dive trip overall was great, but the two dives at Ko Bon with mantas was purely spectacular. These creatures glide through the water with the grace of an aquatic eagle. Ranging from 2 to 6 meters in width. On our second dive at Ko Bon (Manta Point), Captain Wat dropped us right in front of one. Three feet in front of my face, this giant (about 4 meters wide) glided right over my head, giving me a perfect view of its belly. The photos are from a fellow diver on the same trip in 2008.

My friend Kieter, also from NYC, came along and got PADI certified on the trip, he really lucked out for a first trip.

Eat a Tiny Peach

2009-04-10T05:31:00.000-07:00

After devouring the sashimi course at Zucchero, during my first meal in Tokyo (which melted in my mouth and left me begging for more), I excused myself to the restroom where I was startled by a toilet seat that lifted itself as I entered. The “Washlet” as its called, is equipped with a motion sensor that raises the lid when a patron enters the stall. 90% of the toilets in Japan are equipped with a Washlet, or similar brand. This small miracle of modern technology is not only capable of raising and lowering itself automatically, which thrills germaphobes like myself, it also provides a perfectly heated, timed, sanitary, and adjustable wash for your bum after business is complete. The heated seat is another standard feature, which is just so luxurious on cold spring mornings. At this moment, the stories about Japan that I'd been hearing for years really hit me, this place is the future. And after ten days of amoebic dysentery in Cambodia, Vietnam, and Thailand, the uber immaculate and super organized environment in Japan was a desperately welcome change.

The extreme degree of Japan's cleanliness can only be matched my its miniaturization of all things designed. Garbage trucks are about half the size of those in the US, cars are smaller, streets are impossibly narrow, and living spaces are equally tiny. Given the landmass is about the size of Florida, while the economy is the second largest in the world, this is not surprising.

After dining with Maggie, Shoko, and Takeru Kobayashi on the second night, we went for drinks at the smallest bar I've ever seen, Peaches. Hichi, the owner and Shoko's boyfriend, sports a comically large afro (I'm told the hair is naturally curly) that fills 5% of the airspace in this bar thats about the size of an American walk in closet. The cover art from the bar's namesake album, Eat a Peach, is wallpapered throughout, echoing a continuous classic rock soundtrack, with the occasional 80s pop remix. Hichi's only exit from behind the microscopic bar, is though a small window, which he leaps through onto the street. He has no room for actual beverage service equipment in Peaches, so each drink is phoned in to order from the bar upstairs and picked up by Hichi, after he leaps through the window. Three rounds of drinks later, and we were lucky enough to experience his flawless Michael Jackson impersonation circa 1984, complete with perfect wrist flicks and leg kicks, though the hair was more mid 70s Jackson.

Deliriously Dreamy - Cambodia

2009-03-14T07:10:00.000-07:00

By the time I left my room in search of food, the hotel restaurant was closed. I wandered down a dark, dirt road to the main part of town in Siem Reap, to a narrow alley lined with at least a dozen traditional Khmer restaurants. All of them looked very clean and well appointed, with entrees in the $2-$3 range. A Khymer vegetarian place caught my attention, so did the purple haired Aussie punk sitting out front with her girlfriend. Within two minutes of sitting at the next table, the punk in leopard print tights offered me the rest of her plat d'jur. How could I say no? The food was excellent – think mild veggie curry, but not fish or tamarind flavor like Thai, the spices are different and I have no idea what they are.

After dinner, I walked down the block with my two new Aussie gal pals to the one gay bar in town - don't laugh, the place is called Lingus. Its actually a chic lounge, like something you might see in Miami but with $3 mojitos, good strong ones at that. The girls were set on finding a club nearby that boasted having Pol Pot's toilet seat. Immediately leaping to the prospect of peeing in Pol Pot's Pot, I was a tiny bit let down to learn the seat was in a frame on the wall.

Once back at my beautiful Indochine guest house, The Golden Banana, I asked the receptionist if there was any chance the pool was still open. (I knew it was closed, since the manager included the pool hours in his detailed ten minute personal welcome briefing, but I had to try anyway). “Yes Sir, the Golden Banana Boutique pool is closed, but I can show you to the Golden Banana Resort pool, just next door.” Indeed, it was “deliriously dreamy” (thanks Yuki) to have a refreshing night swim, after twelve hours of sweaty travel, in the midst of this timelessly decorated, lush Cambodian courtyard.

Whats Up, Ko Lanta?!

2009-03-12T06:45:00.000-07:00

The day I landed by ferry boat on Ko Lanta Yai (Big Lanta Island), I was greeted, or accosted rather, by dozens of hotel employees looking to rent their bungalows to me or my fellow shipmates - ranging from low end backpacker spots to four-star luxury resorts. I noticed two heavily tattooed Thai hipsters holding a sign for Kantiang Bay Resort, which both versions of the guidebook had recommended. The advantage of meeting these salesmen at the pier is the free ride to the resort, at no obligation to stay. Kantiang Bay is a delightful half moon shaped beach at the southern end of the island – much quieter than the busier long beach at the northern end. The bay is lined with large, lush trees, two of which are the centerpieces for Kantiang Bay's restaurant and their free love themed “Why Not” bar. The same two Thai hipsters that picked me up at the pier, also run the bar, and play in a cover band there performing kitschy Thai renditions of American top 40 songs from the last thirty years. I lit up the first night when they played Four Non Blondes' “Whats Up,” one of my favorites flashbacks from the 90's, one that my friend Tommy recently reminded me is now in the “adult contemporary” category, which I refute, adamantly.

By day two, I realized that if I wanted peace and quiet, I better head to the next beach where there were no live bands playing till 1am and fewer cold Euro's scowling at me over breakfast. After riding my rented motorbike to every single resort on Klong Nin beach to compare their price, availability, and room condition, I chose Amantra Resort and Spa. This beautifully brand new, mid-range resort had opened only two weeks prior and was virtually empty, which meant it would be perfectly quiet. The owner, Zack, was renting new beach front bungalows with A/C and a stellar sunset view over the Andaman Sea for just 1500 baht per night, or about $40 - a steal considering most bungalows this close to the ocean go for at least 2,000-3,000 baht or more. I was sold when he threw in a motorbike at 30% less than I was paying at Kantiang Bay. It pays to travel close to low season!

Flash forward one week later, I'm still here, have done virtually nothing, and could not be loving the experience more. I've ridden around most of the island on the motorbike, visiting Lanta Old Town, a waterfall that was barely a trickle, and some spectacular mountain top view points. On my ride back to Klong Nin from Old Town, I noticed a sign for Mae Hau Cave. Following the arrows, I drove about 2 or 3 Km through vast fields of tall trees with a small metal tap and bucket in the side of each. The cave was closed for the day, but on my way back I stopped to take some photos and a woman on the roadside explained these were rubber trees, which I had never seen before. Upon realizing I was American, she informed me that the island's most famous exports were actually the Obamas, claiming that our new president's relatives had once lived here. This claim remains unsubstantiated.

Two new friends I met on the pickup truck ride out to Kantiang Bay invited me to join them for a cheap snorkeling and cave tour to the surrounding islands the following day. The trip was pleasant, but the visibility was not so great for snorkeling. However, the guide redeemed himself when we entered the Emerald Cave. I was aware that we would be swimming through this island cave, but I had no idea that once we turned a corner in the dark waters, we would swim into an open air chimney with a hidden beach, surrounded by steep limestone cliffs forming a cylinder with sand and trees at the bottom. The perspective from inside feels like we are standing inside an inactive volcano. Many years ago, pirates from the Andaman sea would hide their loot in this spot, which can only be reached by swimming through the pitch black, daunting, cave. For the last stop on this day trip, we spent an hour on the beach at Ko Hai – a spectacular tiny island, complete with white-sand beach and crystal clear water. So stunning, that at the end of my week in Ko Lanta, I decided to spend my last two nights in Southern Thailand here on Ko Hai, next update coming soon.

Take me home to Saigon

2009-03-02T06:27:00.000-08:00

The Vietnamese people must have an incredible sense of balance. In my first hour in Saigon, I could see people carrying large boxes, televisions sets, even small refrigerators on their motorbikes. Whole families are often on one bike at the same time – one or two parents with up to three children. The chaos that is Saigon is most evident during rush hour, which I experience for the first time on my way from the airport to my hotel. 90% of the people on the road are on motorbikes, and they're able to move much more efficiently than the cars they swarm past. Most aren't traveling more than 30-40 km/hour at best, but still I'm in awe of the vast number of people moving around my cab so easily, and gracefully.

My friend Tran, a London nail salon owner who was raised in Saigon, is here at the same time and offers to show me around the city, by motorbike of course. Soaking up this vibrant, booming place by whizzing around with a local who knows exactly where to go is exhilarating. I actually felt safer on the bike than I did trying to cross the street on foot. There are few traffic signals here, and endless streams traffic, so the locals just walk across through oncoming vehicles. Its a stop and go process, and you wait in the middle of the road for the next window of opportunity to move ahead a few feet, and then on to the other side - far more terrifying than riding a motorbike in my opinion. Some locals wait around at intersections to escort foreigners across busy intersections, for a fee. When I need a ride somewhere, I simply hire a guy standing on a corner with a bike to give me a lift for between 20,000 and 40,000 Dong, or about $1.50 - $2.50. Essentially, with half a million Dong in my pocket (~$25), I can have a great evening with dinner, a stop at the coffee bar, and a night out at the club still with one or two hundred thousand left to cover two meals the next day.

For our first meal, my host took us for “the best pho in Saigon,” which, in its 30th year of operation, only serves the one dish. Its a small family owned space with no name, just an address, three walls, fluorescent lighting, small plastic stools, and a small metal cart in the front of the room that serves as the kitchen. The beef broth is all natural, no MSG and no funny aftertaste, just delectable broth made with love. This rice noodle soup is delicious, and perfectly portioned, unlike the pho I eat in New York with piles of meat and chemical flavoring to suit the American appetite. The next day we motor over to the best pork chop joint in town, open for nearly 40 years. Again, small, three walls, flickering blue lights, kitchen in the front, one damn good menu item. Most who know me also know about my obsession with pork chops, and the chops here were the best of the Vietnamese variety. My American appetite got the best of me, and I asked for a second order, it was well worth every calorie.

I'm told that Vietnamese people are afraid of the sun, this is apparent when I see that everyone riding around the city is wearing long sleeves in 90+ degree heat. If women are wearing short sleeve tops, they have long white gloves to protect their hands and arms from the sun, and face masks to protect their lungs and sinuses from the smog. Similar to the ones used by surgeons, these masks come in limitless styles and colors – pink plaid with sparkles, hello kitty, blue plaid for the boys, leopard print for a little sass. I prefer Burberry plaid with subtle glitter – sophisticated with just a little sparkle. I plan to pick one up in Hanoi next month.

The gays in Saigon have a fairly specific schedule of where to be and when for the best social atmosphere. Hit the right bar on the wrong night, and its deadsville. This isn't surprising coming from New York, where most places have on and off nights, but in Saigon the scene is smaller, so the crowd in the know sticks closer together. After work, the fit guys head to the gym. Friday evening, my friends took me to Saigon's sports complex in district ten for a workout. The huge facility is complete with a pool, indoor and outdoor tennis courts, a lounge, and of course the gym. At first, the gym appeared to be like any other mid range gym in the US – free weights, treadmills, exercise machines – but shortly after I arrived I noticed that everyone was watching the television screens intently, not working out. There was a western action movie playing and all eyes were glued to the tube for the last 15 minutes of the film. Once the hero killed the villain, the guys turned around and went back to benching.

After dinner that evening, I joined Tran and his friends for beers at a local outdoor watering hole – Pasteur. The guys are all seated in tiny plastic chairs at small, low plastic tables. I'm told its easier to accommodate more people on this doll-house-like furniture. I meet 8 of the host's good friends – Minh and Son are his closest friends, a couple for 7 years now. A married man playing hooky from his wife orders beer, Heineken for everyone. The waiter brings chilled glasses, and places a large ice cube in each one. Beer on ice? Its actually not bad. Once the drinks are poured, we raise our glasses “Mot, hai, ba, YO!” (Or, one, two, three, cheers!). Someone raises their glass to toast every few minutes; we can't let the beer get too watered down. The waiter then brings a bowl of duck eggs, with cooked, developed embryos inside, known here are “hot vit lon.” Minh places an egg in a small stand and cracks it open with a spoon. I peek inside and see little duck parts, which despite continued peer pressure, I cannot bring myself to try. Minh scoops out a chunk of the duckling which he slurps down with a big smile, I throw back the rest of my beer. Time to head out to the club.

Lush is the chicest and newest club in Saigon, catering mostly to gay men and their friends, especially on Friday night. Small pitchers of strong margaritas are about 300,000 dong with tip, or around $18. The crowd is quite attractive, and fashionable, appearing more cosmopolitan and subtle than the nightclubs in Bangkok. Its hip hop night, and the music is perfect for dancing, though after the third pitcher it really didn't matter. At our group's table, I meet a Vietnamese American who was mortally offended when, upon meeting him, I correctly guessed that he was from Orange County, California.

The following day, instead of the gym my friends took me to the pool, where the mostly college-age crowd swim in the evening. The pool is on the roof, with a spectacular 360 degree view of Saigon at sunset. 5:30 is when the crowd is arriving, just before the sun goes down and most are gone by 6:45. The locals are finicky – they avoid the sun, but its too chilly to swim after dark. This evening's dip is the perfect remedy after a late night of drinking and a hot day of touring.

For my last night in Saigon, my Vietnamese posse took me out to a gay-owned local seafood restaurant where, on Saturdays only, the entire wait-staff dresses in drag. When Tran described this place, I imagined something more kitschy and western looking. It came as a pleasant surprise that the place was very much a local working class hangout, where some people bring their kids, much like the others we'd visited. After selecting our seafood from a bar in front of the restaurant, we ordered mixers for a bottle of vodka Fai picked up at the duty free shop nearby. Once the drinks are poured, we raise our glasses “Mot, hai, ba, YO!” In this hot weather, the ice in our drinks melts quickly, so we repeat the toast every few minutes, as do others around the room. The transvestite wait-staff is paying particularly close attention to our table, strutting by and making plenty of dirty jokes in Vietnamese – which still create a funny situation, even though I don't understand the language. I'm not a fan of shellfish generally, but the clams here are really quite good. I enjoyed the BBQ beef with pomme frites appetizer and some perfectly crisp chicken wings too. For an entrée, we shared a large fish soup, somewhat spicy, with vegetables and ginger – a well rounded full flavor that left me completely satisfied.

The friends I've met here love going for coffee, though most of them are drinking smoothies or cocktails, its more about the idea of “having coffee” as a reason to hang out, much like in the US. Our coffee shop of choice is Window Three, which looks more like a chic lounge – mostly set outdoors in a lush garden with dim lighting and a koi pond. Many come here rather than going to clubs, which are often crowded with foreigners. Despite my distaste for touristy experiences, we're in the mood to dance, so we then go to the most well-known club in Saigon, Apocalypse Now. This is the club my American friends recommended, which is great fun on a Saturday night - the only night to go, so I'm told. The music is an odd mix of top 40 pop, 80s, metal, and classic rock. Out back, the patio is dimly lit and full of lush greenery, the perfect atmosphere for drinking and chatting. Towards the end of the night, the DJ played a remixed house version of John Denver's classic “Country Roads Take me Home,” the of which irony put a huge smile on my face. When I tried to explain to Minh and Son that the song is about West Virginia, my home-state, the significance was completely lost in translation. My elation hadn't faded though, as a present New Yorker from West Virgina, I was still feeling very much at home dancing till 3am in Saigon. I felt even better once I sat down to my last bowl of hot pho before the winding ride back to my hotel through the city's tree-lined boulevards just before sunrise.

Eating my way through Hong Kong

2009-02-19T23:47:00.000-08:00

One of the first things I noticed in Hong Kong was the way older Chinese women cut in front of people in line (me in particular). This could be anywhere, the subway, ATM, a restaurant. Its as if they're saying, “yea yea, I've been around long enough, I'll do whatever the hell I want.” OK, I get it, you're old and apparently in this country you've earned the right to demand service first. But does that really entitle you to cough on me on the bus without covering your mouth and belch at the dinner table too?

My friends in New York know about my weakness for soup dumplings. The first time I tried them at M's Shanghai Bistro and Den on Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, I was hooked. Being my first time in China, I immediately begin asking around to see where I can find the best ones. Despite the fact that these are more of a Shanghai dish, my friend Jonathan in HK recommended that I try Crystal Jade, in the basement of Times Square, the biggest and sparkliest mall in town. I went, I waited, and I devoured. Seated at a table with three strangers, I ordered the Shanghai dumplings, tofu skin rolls, and steamed pork buns. Everything with pork here was amazing, so much so that I ordered a second round of everything including some sautéed string beans with minced pork – YUM! The gorgeous and slightly older Maggie Chung look-a-like sitting across from me, in her BIG sunglasses and chic suit, seemed mildly horrified by my gluttony, but that didn't stop me from ordering more. Every time the staff came by, they re-arranged the items on the table. Several times, a waiter would just move things around, even if he wasn't delivering new dishes. Moments later, another waiter would move my teacup, then slide my plate forward, just because. This happened in every restaurant I frequented in Hong Kong and it somehow it made me feel well taken care of, so I tipped well, which Hong Kongers never do. Thats probably why they make the fuss, but I prefer to think the waitstaff are just perpetually organizing.

After all this splurging on carbs and pork, I had to hit the gym. My home in HK, the Cosmo Hotel, had a small gym in what used to be a suite. Couple of treadmills, a chest press, lat pull, and some free weights - all immaculate and brand new looking, as if they had never been used and I was the only one around. After the first two sets, I was quite tired and just laid down on the plushly carpeted floor for a moment to catch my breath. I noticed a security camera mounted in top corner of the room, and at that moment I thought, I'll bet someone's watching and thinking I'm passed out or something and worried that they might have some injured foreigner on their hands to deal with and this could mean bad press for the Republic. Sure enough, a security guard walks into the room 20 seconds later and asks if I'm alright. Sure, I'm fine, just resting here, nothing to see.

For my last day in Hong Kong, I decided to head up to Victoria Peak - this huge mountain that towers above all the skyscrapers in the city. The whole experience was rather touristy, but I did it anyway. The 2,500 foot climb hits 15 degrees at some spots, and really made my stomach wince. Once at the top, the crowd is directed from the station through the first of 500 gift shops, and then we climb at least 8 or 9 levels of escalators where we must circle through a level of shops on each floor. The designers here seem to have learned a lot from Disney about tourist retail, because the crowd was loving all this useless junk. There's even a Madame Tussuad's wax museum on the way up to the roof, complete with a young wax Bruce Lee in spandex, yikes! The view from the top is spectacular, like no urban view I've seen. Its also freezing cold and so windy I feel like I might fall off. Back down the mountain for tea now. Off to Saigon next!

Road trip through India's Golden Triangle

2008-03-03T22:01:00.000-08:00

After spending 4 days at the Art of Living Ashram outside of Bangalore, India (will write another entry about this later), I was thoroughly relaxed and ready for the fast paced tour that CJ and Shira had planned for the bridal party through Golden Triangle. We began in Delhi, the capital city of India. I met up with the group at a market called Delhi Haat and met Shira's other friends who would be traveling with us - (Dom and Rachel from Chicago, Pam and Philippe from Florida, and Kane from Minnesota - my roommate and virtual look alike for the trip. Grace, also from NY also met up with us in Jaipur). This turned out to be a really fun and entertaining group to travel with and I was totally impressed with how well the chemistry worked with all of us. Kane and I received much taunting for our similar appearance and wardrobe. I thought, OK, we have the same sunglasses, whatever. But when we kept turning up for dinner in the same color scheme I started to think, yes this is weird.

Standing outside Delhi Haat, CJ our groom and grandmaster tour leader called our driver who then shows up in a 24 seat tour bus which would be our chariot for the next 4 days. From day one in India, driving felt like a near death experience every 30 seconds, and the tour bus was no exception. Our driver was highly skilled and had the confidence to smoothly pass an elephant, another truck, and and auto rickshaw on a two lane road with a large freight truck barrelling towards us just a 100 meters (or less) ahead.

Tuesday morning (Feb. 19th) we were off to Agra to see the Taj Mahal and on the way saw two smaller sights - the tomb of Akbar and the Baby Taj. The grounds at the Tomb of Akbar were full of monkeys and what looked like antelope. Once in Agra, we drove to the riverbank behind the Taj Mahal for a sunset viewing. This sight was unreal, but we were surrounded by very poor children begging for money, which I found quite heartbreaking. With over 1.2 Billion people, the poverty here is immense, hanging in the air with the heavy smoke from burning garbage and dung patties burned for cooking and heating fuel. Wednesday morning we were on the road at 5 AM to see the Taj at sunrise. On the way there, the bussed stopped to pick up our official tour guide "V" who seemed to come running out of nowhere. This man seemed to have limitless knowledge of India and her history. He gave us presentations on the bus about every sight and many places we drove through and had an answer to nearly every question we threw at him. If he did not have an answer, V would look it up and get back to us later that day. I felt really lucky to have this resource on our trip. While standing at the outer Taj gates awaiting entry in the dark, smokey air, we heard the morning Muslim prayers broadcast from a loudspeaker nearby. At the same time, dogs on the block began howling along with the chanting prayers, which was pretty entertaining for us foreigner but a couple of locals began to chase away the dogs, a sign that it was less than entertaining for them.

As you may imagine the Taj Mahal was spectacular. We watched the structure become slowly illuminated as the sun rose lighting the eastern side. The Taj appeared to move closer to us as the sun rose. I took dozens pf photos along with the rest of the group, edging for the best space and backdrop against a group of older British tourists who acted like they still owned the place. Saying goodbye to the most beautiful tomb in history, and elaborate triubute to the kings late wife, we sped off to Jaipur. An all day drive with many history lessons along the way, passing through dozens of small towns - many of the structures had just three walls with the front room in plain view from the bus. I was not expecting to see into the daily routines of rural Indian people right from our bus window. Nearly all the women were wearing beautifully bright silk saris that painted intense colors along the countryside.

Entering the town of Jaipur, we passed at least 6 or 7 Hindu weddings - in most the groom rode on a white horse with a huge entourage of people carrying actual chandeliers (like the ones hanging in a house or hotel) powered by a generator in the back of the parade. The celebrations looked like the gathering of entire communities, and just built more anticipation for the impending Boordoloi/Szego wedding about to take place that weekend. Rajistani weddings are though quite different than Asaamese weddings - for example our groom CJ arrived in a white Honda rather than a white horse (more to come in the wedding blog). Once in Jaipur, we were fortunate to have dinner at a former palace converted into a hotel and were treated by friends of the groom. Our delicious tandoori meal was served outdoors, fireside, where we enjoyed performances by Rajistani dancers and and a fire-eater! I actually found the fire-eating a bit disturbing since the guy had put some kind of fuel in his mouth to create the blaze and then was nearly choking afterwards trying to wash the stuff out. After dinner we retreated to one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever stayed in. This former palace was built 300-400 years ago and had recently been converted but with much of the original features retained. The place was actually a bit spooky late at night and one could tell that it was rich in history. The next morning when I looked outside the window, I saw a gentleman walking around the grounds with a rifle, shooting up into the sky (no idea why) and monkeys hanging out on the building next door. That morning we ventured out to a very old mountain top palace just outside of town where we climbed up on elephants to ride to the top of the mountain. I know, this sounds really colonial, but wait to you see the photos, we look pretty funny. The poor elephants though didn't seem very happy. Unfortunately, I don't remember much of the history of this place, but you'll see the photos in a week or so. Overall, Jaipur was my favorite town we visited in India. Its more mellow than Delhi and way less polluted than Agra. Surrounded by mountains, the dry landscape reminded me of Israel.

Friday morning, we raced off on our final Indian road trip heading to the Delhi airport where we would fly to Guwahati in the state of Asaam for the wedding weekend. In a few days, or when I get back to New York, I'll send another update on the wedding, the ashram, and adaman dive safari.

Wake up call at midnight

2007-10-10T21:26:00.000-07:00

Walking home tonight from a brief club soda at Banjo Jim's with my brother and cousin, I felt pretty lucky to be soaking up this great fall night in the East Village. The air was perfectly temperate, I could smell the early fall rot. At midnight I made a birthday call to a friend - 29 for 4th time. Strolling down Avenue A, I saw three tough looking guys walking my way, carrying 40s and getting a little rowdy, pushing each other - I thought nothing of it, just observing as a passive pedestrian. One guy walks right up to my face and says "What the fuck!" and just as I pass him, he says "Whattya got there!" and slickly reaches his hand right into my back pocket! In that split second he had my wallet halfway out, my arm reached right around, quickly and gently pulled it right back down into my pocket "What the hell are you doing" I said as I immediately scooted across the Avenue. My chest was pounding, was he chasing me? No, the had moved on. Thats when I felt the adrenaline - a quick decision that just saved me from calling American Express could potentially have cost my life.

So many nights, I walk around my neighborhood as if I was strolling up the Commons in Ithaca, never feeling threatened, or second guessing passers by - at home in my territory. When I moved to New York 9 years ago, I remember heeding my city-savvy friend's advice - "Don't look people in the eye and keep the wallet in your side pocket." I have gotten pretty comfortable in my neighborhood over the last few years, and I like that. Even if some drunk schmuck randomly exercises his rage against me, its no reason to panic, but certainly cause to wake up to the fact that its better not to be completely oblivious walking down the Avenue at midnight with a George Castanza sized wallet sticking out of my low riding Helmut Langs.