my New York diary

No Instagram filter I haven’t tried on my new book cover - just to find out it looks best like it is - pure & original

Here is a last thing: I’m leaving one love for another. Makes me feel peaceful.        

A Ladies’ Night with my friends Hillary and Debra, including Martinis, stunning views and a lot of fun! For me it was a really nice farewell as I’m going back to Vienna tomorrow....couldn’t have been better! Thank you, ladies!

After two and a half hours of his awesome songs he finished with an extra long version of “Everyday I Write The Book”. Especially for me, of course. Thank you, Mr. Costello! It was another real New York Moment.  

When I come home I enjoy the view on the sunset skyline and the breeze on my rooftop. No, it’s not a cool breeze. But it’s a breeze. For me that does it.     

Some notes on the art of eating a sandwich: When I came to New York City for the first time in 1981, I was stunned by the fact that a sandwich can be so much more than a floppy piece of tasteless white bread with gummi cheese and plastic ham. New York is basically sandwich paradise. There are a billion delicious varieties, and a million trendy places to have them. During my next stays, I enjoyed this culinary experience, but everytime I got my bun, burger, bagel, sourdough sandwich, filled croissant or whatever was the thrill of the day, I kept asking myself: How do I eat this thing? Is there a way to transport this food into my mouth and down my throat without having bits of turkey breast and melted cheese and mayo and tomato and lobster and salad and, nowadays, avocado all over my face & fingers? I did some research. I watched people of all ages & colors in every place I went. The answer is: NO. Here’s the thing: The idea that food has got to be served in a way you are able to consume it and stay clean is a European one. The American attitude is: What are napkins for, if not to clean up the mess after enjoying your meal? And you know what: Since I got that, it’s pure fun. I bend over my plate and just take a hungry bite. I’m not getting cramps in my jawbones anymore because I try to open my mouth so wide I wouldn’t loose any crumbs. What gets in gets in. What I loose I eat later. Hot sauce on my nose? Who cares?        

Style should be fun!

I love the poetry on the subway!

Did I mention by now the windows of my apartment don’t look out on the street? Instead I enjoy the view on kind of a long stretched backyard. Inhabitants of this area: Cats, at least three, one of them making noises like a baby, or, let’s say, like my own cat at home in Vienna when he thinks it’s time for a decent meal. Exotic birds I didn’t get the chance to see yet, screeching in a way that sometimes makes me believe I’m not in Brooklyn, New York, but in a jungle somewhere in the Caribbean, especially when I awake out of a weird dream in the morning. A blue plastic elephant with red ears on a balcony on the other side of the yard, guarding a bike that hadn’t been moved since I arrived. A bunch of kids, playing around in a wading pool 3 stories beyond my living room window. This was also the place where a nice party was going on yesterday evening, with Salsa music and barbecue. I can climb out my bedroom window onto the fire escape, have a cigarette, sit on the stairs, watch the sunset, or walk three stories up to the rooftop in the middle of the night, from where I see the lights of Downtown Manhattan. I can take my loudspeaker up there, play some music and dance to it under the stars at 3 am if I want to without bothering anyone. Then I walk down, go to bed and sleep like a princess, because the windows of my apartment don’t look out on the street.

The A Train is an amazing subway line. It not only brings you to the many miles of fantastic beaches at Far Rockaway (and, on the way there, to the airport), it also brings you, on the Manhattan bound, to a place called The Cloisters on the very Upper Westside, right by the Hudson River. It’s part of the Metropolitan Museum showing medieval art. Its four cloisters were sourced from French monasteries and abbeys from Romanesque and Gothic periods. Between 1934 and 1939 they were excavated and reconstructed in a four acre site in Washington Heights. It’s a beautiful and peaceful place. Despite the visitors you can contemplate in one of the courtyards where wild roses and herbs are blooming and shedding their delicate fragrance all over the place. Inside my friend Hillary and me found the Unicorn Tapestries. If you read my blog from the beginning you might know by now I have a thing with unicorns at the moment. They follow me. Or maybe I follow them, who knows? On this tapestry the  legendary wild woodland creature symbolizing purity and grace is captivated, but the chain is not secure and the fence is low enough to leap over: The unicorn could escape if he wished. The confinement is a happy one. The pomegranate tree as well as the flowers and plants around it were acclaimed in the Middle Ages as fertility aids for both men and women. The whole picture echoes the theme of marriage and procreation. I was touched by it’s beauty, coming from centuries ago. That’s what legends do: They just stick to us.  

I love going to the beach by subway. I love to sit in a beach bar at Far Rockaway watching the big fat waves and the big fat planes coming over from JFK till the sun goes down. I love taking a 3 hours walk through the green wilderness of Prospect Park, forgetting completely that I’m in a big city. I love ending up in a bustling, mostly Afro-Carribean neighborhood where I’ve never been before, settling in a Café for writing, inhaling the atmosphere of the place. I love riding the subway late at night, coming from a concert or movie or dinner with a friend and go food shopping on my way home at 1 am. You know, it’s really nice to list things you love. I could go on forever right now. 

Btw: The wifi network is called Moby. Saw the whale in the right corner of the living room? There are some on the shower curtain too.  

Yes, it has.

Crazy days behind me. So full of stories I can’t decide which one to tell first. Maybe I start with a night of heavy rain on Thursday. 10 pm, my friend Peggy & me at a Deli next Times Square. Me changing clothes in the restroom usually not open to public, to put on the nice summer dress I chose to wear for the photo-shooting. The Indian guy running the place was very kind, but he refused to take care of our stuff while we shot, so we went out there like the homeless with my clothes in a trash bag. We stored it behind the wheels of a giant truck. Yes, we were here on purpose because we wanted the reflections of the city lights on the wet streets. Save the rain was supposed to have stopped at that time. In fact it was kind of a very fine drizzle, like in a broke-down carwash. We did about 45 minutes of shooting, always waiting for the right light ads, which would be the ones with a white light background to illuminate my face, for about 30 seconds every time. Then the rain became so heavy that we had to stop. My hair was wet. My dress was wet. I was freezing. We went into the Deli again to take a break. I couldn’t sit down because my dress would have creased. The online minute weather forecast said different things every 10 minutes. A break of rain in 23 minutes. A break of rain in 35 minutes. Rain and thunderstorms for the next 112 minutes. But like a miracle, all of a sudden the rain stopped. We went outside and went for it. We were excited and totally relaxed at the same time. I didn’t give a shit anymore how I looked like. I had so much fun posing, and Peggy couldn’t stop shooting. People were passing by, talking to us, wanting to be in the pics. The Marines who are in the city right now because of Memorial Day passed by and we did some pics with them. In the end, we had a nice chat with a homeless guy called Richie who had settled nearby. He told us everything about the car racing into the crowd on Time Square recently. Crazy, he said, we live in crazy times. We agreed.      

If you want to make it in New York, you can’t fuck off. You have to be present. You have to keep moving. And you have to do it with your head up. Because if your head is down, you walk into people. Besides, if your head is down, you miss everything. (Whoopi Goldberg)

Yesterday evening Petra and me were on our way from Washington Square Park to Magnloia’s Bakery in the West Village but never made it there. That was because we stumbled into Hamlet’s Vintage, a fantastic store full of real vintage clothes, every piece unique and special. Turned out the guys in there had a party going on. Mysteriously a glass of Prosecco materialized in my hand which was constantly refilled. Music from the 70′s was roaring out of the loudspeakers and people of all kinds where trying on clothes they would have probably never tried on elsewhere, including the dog. Later on, they played Salsa and everyone was dancing and having fun. Including the dog. It was what I call a real New York evening. 

2 funny signs I found on a walk through Brooklyn Bridge Park on Sunday, and 2 pics of New York kids I find pretty awesome even though I did not stand in the place for the perfect photo.