The Travelphile

New York, NY Part 5: Through the Eyes of an Artist

The artist known as Nicolina. — The artist known as Nicolina with one of her creations for the 13 Portals project.

Looking for an opportunity to take a family trip, Rick’s niece Nicolina became one of our inspirations. Having moved to New York about 10 years ago, Nicolina has lived the life of a struggling artist in one of the world’s cultural and artistic capitals. To get by the first year, she worked at several restaurants, a talent agency, and at handful of other odd jobs. Then she decided to only do work related to her passion: Art. Soon she built up a business as a children’s face painter and a storefront window painter, learning the value of a strong work ethic, pursuing what she loves, and building relationships with her clientele. Connections led her to increased work, meeting kindred spirits, and a variety of opportunities to let her creative light shine. Now well established in the Big Apple, Nicolina has taken her art and her vision across the world to places like China, Japan, Vienna, Rio de Janeiro, Chile, Mexico, Haiti, and Cuba. While she nourishes her creative soul with mammoth installation, like painting the iconic funiculars of Valparaiso in Chile or creating a floating art gallery atop the canvas covers of 75 boats in a Rio de Janeiro’s Urca Harbor, she’s also motivated to instill a love of art and free expression in the children she encounters on her journeys. She teaches them to draw what they feel and “see” in their hearts in a stylized graphic of an anatomical heart, her signature logo for her project Hearts of the World.

Every version of the stylized anatomical heart always expresses the same theme: whatever brings you love and passion for life.

Few in the family have ever seen her work in situ, only ever glimpsing digital photo images of the colorful and dramatic creations. So, as much as this trip to New York was about getting to enjoy a family vacation, it was equally important that we finally get to see Nicolina’s artistic fingerprints that decorate her adopted hometown.

With seven of us, it's nice and cost-effective to tour New York and Nicolina's art in style. — With seven of us, it’s nice and cost-effective to tour New York and Nicolina’s art in style.

For convenience, (and admitted luxury at a reasonable price for seven people), we arranged for a limousine to take all seven of us (Andy, Jackie, Linda, Caleigh, Nicolina, Rick, and me) on a tour through New York, with Nicolina as navigator and tour guide. As we headed to each new location, she shared anecdotes to set the scene and to give context to the art we would be viewing. While the specifics now elude me, I remember thinking how bold, innovative, resourceful and talented this thirty-something is.

Why just walk on a bridge when you can traverse the boroughs on a rainbow?

The first location took us across the Hudson, into Brooklyn. We followed her up the pedestrian ramp of the Williamsburg Bridge. Within a few meters, we were suddenly walking on the faded remnants of a rainbow, created several years ago; a rainbow that led to one of Nicolina’s colorful anatomical hearts. While she is the one who conjures the artistic vision, she often enlists the support of friends (artists and civilians alike) to create her “flash art”. Weeks prior to this bridge art creation, she and her crew practiced on a friend’s rooftop, coordinating materials and tools, designating who would paint what, and working to complete the graffiti art as quickly as possible.

You can see the tower behind us where those-who-shall-remain-nameless for legality-sake have celebrated. — You can see the tower behind us, atop which those-who-shall-remain-nameless have celebrated.

When it came time for the real deal, with scouts looking out for cops, a slew of art partners-in-crime invaded the bridge and within mere minutes had created literal street art. In tandem with its debut, Nicolina and friends organized a treasure hunt of sorts, with the prize being an exclusive party at the top of the bridge–not on the bridge, but in one of the towers that supports the bridge. We’ll not discuss the legality of that.

What was once an elaborate and exotic "portal" is now an eyesore. — What was once an elaborate and exotic “portal” is now a lifeless eyesore.

The brainchild of Nicolina and Brazilian artist Pérola M. Bonfanti, the recent 13 Portals project involved an artistic scavenger hunt through New York’s East Village, with each portal embedded with a QR code revealing where the next portal would be. We visited a few on the tour, but sadly, others had been vandalized, tagged, or purposefully covered by property owners. While we all expressed sadness and pity for her at losing her creations, Nicolina took it all in stride and reminded us that art is ephemeral. Whether it last for centuries or for a mere twinkle of an eye, art–like life–is meant to be enjoyed in the moment. With all the creative ideas in Nicolina’s head, she could work every day of the year and still need more time to finish all the projects she envisions. But she knows that artistry must be balanced with practically, especially when it comes to paying bills. Her bread-and-butter is painting storefront windows. From bo-bo (bourgeois-bohemian) coffee shops to funky pizzerias, she has made her presence known all over the city.

Two Boots commissioned this groovy piece for their Grand Central Terminal pizzeria. Can you spot one of Nicolina’s stylized anatomical hearts?

Most notably, you and thousands and thousands of other travelers can see her creations at Two Boots Pizzeria‘s Grand Central Terminal location. Bold colors, famous faces, silhouetted graphics, and, of course, her signature anatomical heart are on full display, providing a feast for the eyes as you feast on the eatery’s pizza.

Nicolina creates a world of possibilities at the Lower East Side Girls' Club. — Nicolina creates a world of possibilities at the Lower East Side Girls’ Club.

But one of my favorite pieces was her project at the Lower East Side Girls’ Club. In one of the girls’ restrooms, Nicolina transformed a stark, clinical space into a universe of beauty. With walls saturated in celestial blues, an entire cosmos of ethereal planets, a crackly mosaic of mirrored glass, and a Milky Way of marbles (or miniature planets) embedded into the counter tops, this installation spoke volumes to me. This is more than a decorative bathroom; this is a safe space that, with subtle brilliance, reminds the girls that no matter our faults or the cracks we think we see in our own reflection, there is a world full of infinite beauty, and we are all a part of it…and it is a part of all of us. It’s one of the most poignant messages that Nicolina conveys through all her works. One project, one space, and one idea at a time, she provides visual reminders to all who open their eyes and mind to it that beauty is everywhere and that it is in everyone. It manifests not only in the physical but also in our creativity, in our tenacity, in our kindness, in our cooperation with others, and in our ability to appreciate life in the moment. And I, for one, am thankful that Nicolina is leaving her mark on New York for everyone to see.

Thank you, Nikki, for showing us New York through your artist's eyes. — Thank you, Nikki, for showing us New York through your artist’s eyes.

For those interested, this is the route we took. For more info, contact Nicolina at nicolinaartista@mac.com — This is the route we took. For more info, contact Nicolina at nicolinaART@gmail.com

New York, NY Part 4: Good Eats

What’s your relationship with food? For some, food is a question of sustenance–keep it simple as long as it satisfies your hunger and the need for energy. For others, being a foodie is a badge they wear with a boy scout’s pride, having earned their status in countless restaurants and paying what amounts to the GDP of a small country for all their fabulous meals. I find myself somewhere (happily) in the middle. Don’t get me wrong: I do have a food fixation. I always seem to be hungry and am often thinking about my next meal before I’ve finished the current one. But, at least when it comes to travel, I think of food as an edible snapshot of the place I’m visiting–a tasty roadmap that illustrates how the local culture has maintained its traditions, how it has evolved, and how it continues to push boundaries.

New York City is the perfect city for travelers and for people who can’t travel as far afield as they’d like. It’s an international melting pot (salad bowl/pizza pan/wok?) where the culinary selections are as diverse as its inhabitants and its visitors.

Five days is hardly enough time to sufficiently explore the New York food scene, but it’s certainly a challenge worth taking on. As a family, we shared input about places we’d liked to sample, and, allowing for serendipity, selected locations that worked geographically and logistically with our sightseeing plans.

We tend to order family-style so that everyone can have a smörgåsbord sampling of lots of different dishes. Danji‘s modern and traditional Korean fusion small plates were ideal for that. And had we known how delectable everything was going to be, we would have ordered more. It took every ounce of control not to throw eye-daggers at someone who took one too many helpings of the spicy pork belly slider. Family or not, one must not take more than one’s fair share of helpings, especially when the food is as salivation-worthy as our meal was. I think that’s a commandment or something.

And if you choose to sample Danji’s delights, get there early. We were tenth in line, twenty minutes before they even opened for lunch.

Banglashi or Indian? — Banglashi or Indian or both?

When we craved Indian food, we followed the pungent scent of curry to 6th street. Standing on the stoop of each restaurant, exuberant and fast-talking hosts tried to charm us into their dining rooms with phrases like, “Come, you try. Very good. Very very good food.” We settled on a Bangladeshi/Indian joint and were not disappointed.

Droplets of multi-colored lights hung from every inch of the ceiling. Indian pop music reverberated in my ears and my chest and made me almost certain that the restaurant would break out into a Bollywood dance. Curry-drenched veggies and meats arrived and were quickly gobbled up with fistfuls of garlic naan and precious miniature mountains of rice. Jackie, Andy, and their cousin Nikki secretly informed the server that it was Rick’s birthday (which it was not), and when the birthday dessert arrived, we all joyously played along.

You say it's your birthday; it's my birthday too yeah! — You say it’s your birthday; it’s my birthday too yeah!

Quality food and attention to service are important ingredients for a memorable meal.

Jackie’s friend recommended that for our “fancy” meal, we should go to Sandro’s–a veritable New York institution where the round and jolly chef/owner conjures up traditional dishes from his native Rome–never overdone, never over-sauced, and never pretentious. Quality ingredients yield quality meals, but there’s something about Sandro’s that adds to the meal beyond the perfect flavors and the perfectly paired wines. It’s something intangible, but the result is palpable, electric, and powerful.

And I think it’s that everyone working in that restaurant cares about your dining experience. They want you to savor each bite. They know that food is meant to be relished, not just eaten. They anticipate your needs. Yet they offer you the right amount of privacy to enjoy the moments with your dining party. And enjoy we did.

A delicate pasta huddles under exquisite white truffle shavings.

Gathered around a circular table, we found ourselves eating slower than normal for three reasons: we were enjoying our time, talking, listening, laughing, singing, and just being together; copious amounts of expertly paired wines kept us in a steady deceleration mode; and because we didn’t want any of our courses to end. Even though we ordered a wide and plentiful variety of dishes, when each plate is divided seven ways, you really only get a few tastes of each, and that makes such tempting morsels even more precious…especially the ones swathed in white truffle shavings.

At the end of the meal, Italian-speaking Sandro came by to see if everything was to our liking. We applauded him and his culinary skills, and, like food groupies, asked if he would take a photo with us. He obliged and gave us plates emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo as a souvenir of our delicious experience.

But memorable food experiences are not exclusive to highbrow or hipster meals. Street food and fast (but tasty) food are essential elements of any visit to Manhattan. While we missed the opportunity to chow down on hot dogs (an error to be remedied on my next visit to the city), piping-hot roasted chestnuts and salt-speckled pretzels satisfied our hunger pangs, saline cravings, and touristy curiosity.

Two Boots Pizzeria at Grand Central Terminal.

On two occasions, we scarfed down pizzas. Two Boots Pizzeria‘s Grand Central Terminal location was a ideal for our lunchtime break. The vibrancy and organized chaos of travelers on the move added an energetic background for our scrumptiously seasoned taste of the square-cut pizza. And huddling seven people together at two teensy tables made the experience feel communal and quaint.

Sometimes all you need is a slice of pizza from a greasy pizzeria.

Later in the trip, we used Yelp to help find a “4-star” pizzeria near 1 World Trade Center. A divey little joint run by latino immigrants was what we got and exactly what we needed. Between Andy, Rick, and me, we managed to eat ten different slices of manhole-sized pies for very little money. We left nothing behind but piles of crumpled napkins coated in cheese grease and tomato sauce streaks.

Balthazar's shrine to seafood. — Balthazar’s shrine to seafood beckons New Yorkers and tourists alike.

At our last big meal, Nicolina suggested one of her favorites: Balthazar. Here, the trendy, the nouveau riche, the wannabe riche, young and old, the hipsters, the artists, any New Yorker who appreciates a good thing, and the tourists in the know gather in the grand, old-world style French brasserie and celebrate life’s little triumphs. It’s the democratization of quality food. For us–Andy, Rick, Nicolina, and I–it was about celebrating a stellar family vacation, wishing Jackie, Linda, and Caleigh hadn’t left so early, and indulging in one last fine meal before returning to the real world.

Splitting two desserts between the four of us makes us feel reasonable and less bloated. — Splitting two desserts between the four of us makes this kind of indulgence reasonable.

Having dinner together is more than eating, it's about savoring the moment together. — Fine food, quality conversation, and stellar company make any dining experience memorable.

And here is where I noticed how the art of conversation can elevate an already fine meal to memorable heights. Yes, my palette will remember the two orders of succulent oysters and monster prawns; the lanky langoustines; the escargots drowned in garlic, butter, and parsley; the salt-lick duck confit with the crispy yet plush pomme frites, the decadent cheese plate, and the even more decadent dessert duo of tarte tatin and profiteroles. But having substantial discussions about life, art, travel, politics, careers, love, and adventure over such a meal is the quintessential good eats experience. It’s more than just consuming delectable food; it’s indulging in good company and savoring each moment.

New York, NY Part 3: NYC for the Culture Vulture

My partner Rick and I recently took trip to New York with a large part of the Steves Family: his son Andy, daughter Jackie, sister Linda, youngest niece Caleigh, and eldest niece (and amazing artist) Nicolina. Part family vacation, part art tour of Nicolina’s works, we got to know the city better than we ever had. While we’re still no experts on this most famous metropolis, we hungry for even more of the Big Apple. In this multi-article series, we’ll explore NYC through past experiences (with my parents), new discoveries, standards of tradition, and current innovations. I hope you’ll join me and the Steves and Tejada families on this trip to New York, NY.

What makes a city grand? Is it its history and architecture? Perhaps it has to do with its inhabitants. Transportation and infrastructure are crucial, and so is quality cuisine. But for me, one thing I really crave when I visit a city is a glimpse into its artistic culture. Exploring its museums, theaters, music venues, and even its repurposed spaces lets one peek at the soul of city–what it cherishes, what it hopes, what it feels, what it believes in.

From what we’ve experienced in New York, it’s clear that her soul is vast, playful, clever, and daring. The city expresses itself in countless ways. It venerates history, acknowledges the present, and looks bravely to the future. It celebrates the individual, champions the whole, summons the masses, and flirts boldly with the fringe. And culture vultures have their pick of the lot anywhere they go in this town.

Embracing History

Rick admires the sculptures in the Met's Charles Engelhard Court. — Rick admires the sculptures in the Met’s Charles Engelhard Court.

The mammoth Beaux-Arts building housing the art of the Metropolitan Museum is formidable. As the United States’ largest museum, it boasts a permanent collection of 2 million works and counts more than 5 million visitors annually. Founded in 1870 by an alliance of artists, businessmen, financiers, and contemporary leading thinkers, it continues to embrace its original intent of bringing art and art education not only to the American people but also to visitors from all corners of the world.

American history captured in art--Washington Crossing the Delaware. — American history captured in art–Washington Crossing the Delaware.

Within its walls, one can travel through time to explore classical antiquity, Ancient Egypt, European masters, American historical art, and Modern Art from the Western World. Should you prefer Byzantium, the Middle East, Asia, Africa, or Oceania, whet your cultural whistle with art from each of those locales. And if you want to see how Man manifests both its romantic and barbaric sides, survey its global collection of musical instruments, costumes, armor, and weapons.

Expertly crafted and artfully detailed armor show how art and war can intertwine.

A visit to this kind of grand-scope museum helps us understand from whence we came. And it culturally allows us to understand who we are now and to figure out who we hope to become.

The Art of Popular Song

New York and Broadway are virtual synonyms. Dramas, comedies, traditional and quirky musicals all find a home on the Great White Way. Not all in our travel party cleave naturally to a show with choreographed numbers, rhyming dialogues set to balladic orchestrations, and shiny costumes. But for those of us who do, watching the Tony Award-winning Jersey Boys is the bee’s knees. Part pop culture history lesson, part feel bad/feel good “dramedy”, part stroll down pop music memory lane, this musical is a sturdy bridge upon which musical-lovers and those who are musical-ambivalent can meet and stroll together in synchronized unison.

Joseph Leo Bwarie graciously welcomed us backstage after the show to give us a tour of the theater. — Joseph Leo Bwarie graciously welcomed us backstage after amazing performance to give us a tour of the theater.

Full disclosure: my friend’s eldest brother, Joseph Leo Bwarie, plays the lead (Frankie Valli) in this Broadway production. So I’m a smidge biased about extolling the virtues of this musical. But, this was my third time watching this show (previously in London with Rick and in Las Vegas with my besties), so I’d say my partiality is due more to the overall quality of the show, rather than who stars in it. Nonetheless, JLB, you rocked!

We left singing our favorite tunes, clapping our hands, and snapping our fingers. Our cab driver was thoroughly bemused by our antics, and for a brief moment, four kitschy tourists made a connection with a New Yorker over a Four Seasons song. “I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby…!”

The Evolution of Individual Ingenuity

Another can’t-miss-unless-you’re-crazy institution of culture is the Museum of Modern Art. Even if you can only be there for the last 1.5 hours before it closes–as was the case with us–it’s well worth your touristic time. Works from the virtuosos of Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Modern, Post-Modern, and Pop Art grace the walls and halls of MOMA. While their creations are in museums the world over, it’s their congregation and juxtaposition here that makes visiting this museum so worthwhile. Here, you can begin to better understand the evolution of Modern Art.

Dancing with Henri Matisse's Dance (I). — Dancing with Henri Matisse’s Dance (I).

We wandered from room to room and floor to floor. We–like so many others–took pictures of paintings, sculptures, and installations that compelled us to feel joy, pain, bewilderment, peace, and even disgust. We danced with the paintings, chuckled at clever graphics, shook our heads at nonsensical video collages, and called “balderdash” on abhorrent abstractions. Whatever you feel, allow yourself to feel it. There is no right or wrong. Every individual’s reaction is valid, as is the composition that provokes your emotions.

What feelings do these pieces provoke in you?

Campbell's Soup Cans by Andy Warhol invites us to reflect on sentiment, comfort, mass production, and mass consumption. — Campbell’s Soup Cans by Andy Warhol invites us to reflect on sentiment, comfort, mass production, and mass consumption.

Artists borrow from the past to spur them to create pieces that speak to their own dilemmas, curiosities, fascinations, neuroses, and observations of the world around them. MOMA provides a loving home for their inspired works, and, through art, invites us to recognize not only the distinct individuality of talented artists, but also, by emotional extension, our own.

Celebrating Edgy Creativity and The Open Mind

Even with a growing understanding of Modern Art, I’m still inclined to flock to the more mainstream works of any particular genre. So when Nicolina (Rick’s niece) made repeated requests for us to watch Sleep No More–a performance art thriller staged in a repurposed Chelsea warehouse, I hesitated. The fine line between ingenious and pretentious has too often been crossed, and I was ambivalent about spending a Benjamin per person on crap.

A modern twist on Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” Sleep No More debuted in 2011 and continues to consistently sell out its performances. Is it that good or is it just hype? I sometimes wonder how easily the masses succumb to “The Emperor’s New Clothes Syndrome.” The less we understand the, louder we applaud for fear of being the one who doesn’t get it.

But how do you judge a thing when you don’t know what to expect? Quite easily, it turns out; but I quickly learned that assumption is not always followed by disappointment.

Scouring the Internet for any show info, I learned that we (the audience) would be passively involved in the story. We’d be prohibited from talking for nearly three hours, and we’d be required to don masks and stow our cameras. The objective: to maintain anonymity, and–as we would learn first-hand–to intensify our own individual fears. We had to mentally prepare ourselves to be separated because the multi-story labyrinth in which the show takes place (like the show itself) is designed to evoke chaos and confusion. It’s a “choose your own adventure” full of multiple story lines which you can follow straight through or jump from one to the other.

The show unfolds not exactly chronologically but rather in overlapping sequences. Pick this room and you’ll see a couple fighting. Go in here and read the letters of woman who has mysteriously disappeared. See the home where tragedy has clearly taken place yet is unexplained, left to the imagination. Follow the rapidly walking crowd and witness a fight between two svelte and sweaty men. There is no dialogue, and all the movements are choreographed, painstakingly thought out. Everything is a kind of dance in which the human form is a canvas for shape, strength, fragility, and raw emotion.

And since we, the masked audience, cannot speak or even engage with anyone through facial expressions or eye contact, we are left to our own haunting thoughts, diabolical imaginations, fear, and confusion.

In the last room, the show reaches its psychedelic, strobe-lighted, insanity-driven climax. I couldn’t take my eyes off the garish scene before me, and I was surprised that my inner deviant did not want the show to end. When it finally did, I slipped off my mask and just stood there, trying to process everything I had witnessed in the last three hours. I had no words and was grateful to overhear someone near me say, “I don’t what the f*#k all this was, but I loved it!” Ditto.

Culture is many things to many people, and New York is expert at celebrating its culture in all it forms. Each part contributes to the whole. Every facet reveals this grand city’s many and distinct personalities as pieces of its soul. You may not fully get it, but you just might love it. And like a true culture vulture, you’ll hunger for more.

Friendly Donuts: Fad or Fabulous?

One of my best friends (shout-out to Tasha) recently posted a picture of purple donuts on Facebook. The accompanying article’s headline said, “Ube: Exotic purple donut lands in O.C.” Now as a Filipina, I’m rather familiar with the taro-like purple yam, as it’s commonly used in many Filipino desserts including cake, ice cream, and halaya (a creamy, sticky purple blob of yumminess). But a donut made with ube? How had I not heard of this genius creation before?

Normally, when I see other people’s drool-worthy food porn, I keep a mental (or literal) note for a potential visit in the unknowable future. This time would be different because now I was actually near the location that served these purple gems. Well, relatively near. I’m originally from Southern California (San Diego) and am accustomed to driving great distances and spending lots of time in traffic on a regular basis. So driving an hour from my parents’ house–where I was vacationing–to go buy some donuts seemed perfectly rational to me. And as a traveler, I’m always eager to try out the hot new food haunts, no matter where I am.

Nancy and her family have been serving up donuts 24/7 since 1985.

With my mom riding shotgun, I made the trek to Friendly Donuts in the City of Orange, about 10 miles from Disneyland. I had read that since the posting about the ube donuts (a.k.a. Purple Velvet donuts) went up on the Internet, the 24-hour family-run donut shop had been inundated with customers, serving 2,000 Purple Velvets in just one day.

Fortunately only three people were ahead of us in line, but we all had the same idea. We wanted a dozen ube donuts, and we wanted them now. Alas, their latest batch was just sold off, and Nancy, the owner, kindly asked us if we minded waiting ten minutes. Ten minutes, are you kidding? I just drove an hour to try these bad boys–to me, ten minutes is a mere blink of an eye.

My mom's pick: glazed cronut. — My mom’s pick: glazed cronut.

Waiting gave us a chance to survey their other delectable options, too. Red Velvet? Yes. Glazed cronut (crispy croissant-donut)? One for Mom. Nutella-filled cronut (note that here they call them dossants)? That’ll be mine. And maple-glazed cronut with crispy bacon? Why bother even asking–just put it in my mouth and take my wallet!

Nancy proudly packs our donut selections.

Nancy, with the help of Kim–one of the donut master chefs–filled our gigantic donut box with our selections. It was clear how happy she was to be running her own business, making a quality product, and having people enjoy the fruits of her labor. Her family donut shop is exactly the kind of hard-working, local business that I’m eager to patronize. And Nancy is savvy, too. She gladly gives each of her customers who check in on Yelp a free cake donut (I picked rainbow) because 1) it makes people happy, 2) customers remember her generosity and will likely come back, and 3) she knows it’s a quality product.

1 red velvet, 4 ube glazed, 4 ube with blueberry glaze, 1 glazed cronut, 1 nutella cronut, 1 Canadian Favorite, and a complimentary rainbow sprinkles cake donut. Thanks, Friendly Donuts!

Heaven comes in the shape of a cronut and is covered in maple glaze and crispy bacon.

But the proof is really in the tasting. And taste we did. My mom dove right into her glazed cronut, eyes glazing over in amazement and smile spreading as she savored bite after bite. My first bite of my “Canadian Favorite” bacon and maple-glazed cronut nearly brought tears to my eyes. Sweetness, saltiness, crunchiness, flakiness, deliciousness, happiness. My mom and I stopped talking to each other for three minutes, in reverence of our confectionery delights and because nothing else in the world can possibly exist when one eats such things.

My mom before she bit into her glazed cronut lost her donut mind. — My mom before she bit into her glazed cronut and lost her donut mind, slipping into a silence known only to cronut-lovers.

Crispy on the outside, purply and moist on the inside, this ube donut is a winner. — Crispy on the outside, purply and moist on the inside, this ube donut is worth the drive.

The ube Purple Velvet donut did not disappoint either. Its not-too-sweet glaze is just enough to make a crackable shell that shatters in just the right places when you bite into it and hides a dense, moist cake of vivid royal purple. It’s a vibrant color-fest for the eyes and a subtly sweet gift for your tastebuds and your belly. For me and Mom, all this was worth the drive. And for those of you in Southern California, you’ll be thankful you drove all the way here, too.

Friendly Donuts: 4442 E. Chapman Ave., Orange, CA 92869

National Donut Day is June 6 this year.

New York, NY Part 2: I<3NY

NYC and the Jersey Shore from 10,000 feet.

New York City and the Jersey Shore shimmer like gilded jewels nestled on a swath of black velvet. Their geometries create intricate, yet somehow logical, patterns. Wide, golden lava paths force themselves through sparkly polka-dotted grids and taper into delicate strings, softening into singular gentle curves. Even from 10,000 feet, this city that never sleeps has a pulsing energy that mesmerizes me.

We arrive in town too late in the evening to do much. Tomorrow will be here far too soon, and our agenda demands an early start. The planning stages are well behind us. Countless emails among the family about tickets, flights, train tickets, sights, activities, restaurant preferences, and schedules have been filtered down into a logical, intense yet manageable plan. We’ll see how close we stick to it.

Everyone in our family is a fairly well seasoned traveler, but we also embrace our inner tourist. Getting barely 40 winks before the sun rose, we set out into the biting wind and cold and caught a cab to make our 8:45 reservation for our first site: NBC Studio at 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

Join Team Andy–he’ll help you become “The Voice”

A peppy page shares historical tidbits and humorous insider details about the architecture, personalities, studios, and shows associated with this home to the National Broadcasting Company. Rick, Andy, Jackie, and I all hope to visit Jimmy Fallon’s (now former) studio for Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, but that is not in the cards. Andy gets to sit in a chair from “The Voice” (in the waiting area for the tour) and we all geek out on seeing where the magic happens for Brian Williams and the cast of Saturday Night Live.

Photos are “strictly prohibited” but I took that to mean they’re only prohibited if you get caught. Actually, I do follow the rules until…well, until Jackie gets picked to be an on-screen meteorologist. One simply does not pass up the chance to get a photo of a loved-one using 30 seconds of her 15 fifteen minutes of fame.

After the tour, we head up to the Top of the Rock to get our first elevated views of the concrete jungle. “Stunning” and “breathtaking” hardly do justice to describing just how glorious the city looks from 70 stories up.

Central Park's 840 acres provide a physical, visual, and mental oasis in a jungle of concrete and glass. — Central Park’s 840 acres provide a physical, visual, and mental oasis in a jungle of concrete and glass.

Central Park, dressed down in its winter apparel, is a welcome island of flora on an island full of structures packed like vertical sardines. Sardines though they may be, there are some whose elegance, history, and mere existence have elevated them beyond their physical height to iconic status. There’s the GE Building at Rock Center–upon which we stand, the Empire State Building, and the work-in-progress 1 World Trade Center building. These exclamation points of tenacity, ingenuity, community, and pride become the images that shape not only the physical landscape of the city but also the symbolic landscape of this city. What began as the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam has become an emblematic and international beacon of opportunity, culture, and innovation.

Just off center is the Empire State Building. Beyond and to the right of it is 1 World Trade Center.

But this city has a grittiness that keeps her from getting too big of an ego. Her flair is complemented well by her no-nonsense edginess. It keeps her real…relatable…charming.

With 1.6 million people inhabiting Manhattan (some without an actual roof over their head) and 52 million visitors a year, this town works hard to be efficient and accessible. If you don’t take the subway, hail a cab. While the rules say no more than 4 passengers, Nicolina (Rick’s niece and East Village resident) assures us that cramming in 5 or more without getting caught is like a sport for New Yorkers. We got caught twice.

Chatting it up in from of the local grocery store. — Chatting it up in front of the local grocery store.

And riding through town in a cab lets you quickly see so many facets of the city and her people. Her glamorous side is bejeweled with seemingly endless avenues of stores that most people I know (including me) are too intimidated to walk into. Her hipster side sports urbanites in thick-rimmed glasses and expertly donned scarves made to look as though “I just threw this on.” The briefcase-toters in newly shined shoes stride confidently to their institutions of financial religion to close their latest deal. And outside almost any bodega or small corner grocery store, you’ll find the least pretentious facet of the city: neighbors chatting up neighbors and getting their daily necessities.

Just what I imagine a greasy diner to be in New York City.

When we pause for sustenance at a corner diner, we’re the only non-New Yorkers in this greasy spoon, and the Puerto Rican waitress looks visibly unimpressed by our patronage. The tight corners of her mouth seem to have lost the muscle strength to lift upwards into a smile. The diner’s name suggests a Greek heritage, as does the huge black-and-white photo of the Acropolis mounted above the bar counter. The decor has seen little change over the decades. It lends a certain gravitas (as much as any diner can muster). The food tastes quite good here. The service is decent but incredibly cold, almost as cold as Rick’s dish (the only one of our orders that wasn’t up to par). He asks to have it warmed up in the microwave, and I almost think I see daggers fly out of the waitress’s eyes and into Rick’s chest.

I want desperately for her to like us. I don’t know why, but I just don’t want to be the tourists this woman hates today. When she comes back, I bust out with my most polite Spanish, apologizing for any inconvenience we have caused her and asking her if she would be so kind as to bring the check because we have an appointment to make. Although her smile muscles still don’t work, her dagger eyes turn to twinkle eyes and she responds to me in Spanish with a soft and warm tone.

As we head out, I say to her, “Gracias, señora. Todo sabía riquísimo. ¡Que tenga buen día!” (Thank you, ma’am. Everything was delicious. Have a nice day!) And finally, a giant smile beaming across her face. With a hearty wave she says, “¡Igualmente, querida!” (Same to you, darlin’!)

Rick stands with an Empire State Building security guard who knows how to dress appropriately for the weather.

That next appointment is for the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The weather has changed drastically in the last couple of hours, and there’s really nothing to see but clouds, clouds, more clouds, and snow. And man, is it cold! Long johns, jeans, a tank top, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, a wool coat, a scarf, a hat, and boots are dreadfully insufficient at this moment and all I think is “I want hot cocoa” as my teeth chatter to the point of near breakage. I pity the poor security guards who have to stay out here all day, but I forget all about them as soon as I retreat into the civilized warmth of the energy efficient ESB. Thank goodness we got our view shots at the GE Building this morning.

Even with as much sightseeing as we’ve done today, there’s much more to do in this fair city. I don’t know if five days is enough. But I do know that the more I get to know New York, the more I love her.

Bonus photos:

Atlas in front of the GE Building at Rockfeller Plaza. — Atlas in front of the GE Building at Rockefeller Center.

A picture of a picture: our official NBC Studios Tour photo. — A picture of a picture: our official NBC Studio Tour photo.

New York, NY part 1: Little Bites of the Big Apple

My partner Rick and I recently took trip to New York with a large part of the Steves Family: his son Andy, daughter Jackie, sister Linda, youngest niece Caleigh, and eldest niece (and amazing artist) Nicolina. Part family vacation, part art tour of Nicolina’s works, we got to know the city better than we ever had. While we’re still no experts on this most famous metropolis, we’re hungry for even more of the Big Apple. In this multi-article series, we’ll explore NYC through past experiences (with my parents), new discoveries, standards of tradition, and current innovations. I hope you’ll join me and the Steves and Tejada families on this trip to New York, NY.

In this urban jungle, adventures of all kinds await.

Prior to my most recent trip to New York, I had been there only three times. The first time I was three. I remember virtually nothing of that cross-country road trip, but my parents still laugh out loud when they recount the time they were stopped at a red light near Times Square when a scantily clad hooker came up to my mom’s window and offered her talents to my dad. Freaked out, my Filipino Catholic parents ran the red light and sped away as I continued sleeping in the back seat of our beige beater of a Maverick, blissfully ignorant of New York’s vices and sins.

It wasn’t until I was a senior in college that I returned to the Big Apple with my parents. It was during what was dubbed “The Blizzard of the Century”, and we were there to do exactly two things: watch Les Misérables and watch Miss Saigon. Lea Salonga was performing as “Eponine” in Les Miz, and despite the weather, we refused to miss seeing the Tony Award-winning Filipina songstress in one of our favorite musicals. Blizzard or no, we would watch her, gosh dangit!

The "Blizzard of the Century" may have been an exaggerated name, but for my California family, it was pretty intense. — The “Blizzard of the Century” may have been an exaggerated name, but for my California family, it was pretty intense.

The weather was ridiculously relentless. Barely a soul was out on the white, wintery streets. We were lucky to find a cab that would pick us up and even luckier that our cab–which was sliding around like a novice ice dancer on both sides of the icy roads–actually reached our destination. We were handsomely rewarded for our tenacity. Lea was as glorious as I had imagined she would be. And when I got to meet my musical idol after the show, tiny tears of elation never made it down my cheek, freezing into crystalline droplets on the tips of my corner lashes.

The next night at Miss Saigon, the house was only half-full. Those who didn’t attend would call themselves smart for sheltering themselves from the blizzard. Those who did attend would call themselves geniuses because we all ended up with better seats than we had paid for. Better still, my parents and I managed to get on a backstage tour after the show. We met two principles and got to stand on the very stage where so many singers and dancers got their start in show business, made a name for themselves, and became stars. I managed to sneak in an 8-count of tap dance and a bar and a half of some ballad or another, and for years after that trip, I coyly told people, yes, indeed, I did perform on a Broadway stage.

Just a few years ago, Rick and I came out to the city for the New York Times Travel Show. Working trips almost never afford us tourist time, but this time we made an exception. Jackie came out from DC with her then-boyfriend to watch her dad talk at the show and to hang out with us. While we had only one brief night to spend with them, we made the most of every minute.

Jackie is our resident foodie and a fantastically organized planner, so we trust her to be our guide. At the time, she was taking a food-writing class at Georgetown, so we turned our sushi dinner into an assignment for all of us. And while everything we ordered rivaled some of the best sushi joints on the West Coast, it’s remarkable how much better food becomes when you focus all your senses on it–when you have to describe it to your tablemates so they can understand just how scrumptious it is to you.

Food becomes evens tastier when you share the experience with good company.

Imagine an oblong morsel, the rice–like tiny glutinous pebbles–rolling on your tongue, the crackle of nori as your teeth puncture the briny membrane, the crunch that resonates into the back of your head as the fried Japanese bread crumbs crumble then vanish on your palette, the shock of the sea bursting like fireworks with each bubble of roe, and the tangy sweetness of ponzu sauce coating your taste buds like thin sheets of rain on a window on a lazy Sunday.

After our food critic extravaganza, our full and sated bellies were aching from laughing so hard at a comedy club. The stage was no more than 6’x12′, and the long, dark and velvety room could hold no more than 60 people, two tables deep. We were up close and personal with each of our three comics, and they all got up close and personal with the audience. Everyone got worked into the show somehow, and no one was spared ridicule. Being able to laugh at yourself is just as important as recognizing comedic talent when you come to a show like this.

Still relatively early, we popped into a leathery bar where, it seemed, all the cool kids with ripped jeans, shiny shoes, sunglasses at night, and enough money to buy $20 drinks go. One was plenty for each of us. We fled for less cool sights.

Times Square let us be touristy and completely uncool in the best possible way. Maybe it’s all the wattage pulsating at your eyeballs, making your brain go into sensory overload. Maybe it’s the energy of the mélange of Midwest tourists in t-shirts and shorts in 50-degree weather, the Japanese Harajuku girls flashing peace signs in their endless slew of pictures, New York’s Finest keeping a watchful, if bemused, eye on all the passers-by, and the symphony of honking horns that ricochet in the canyon of Technicolor monoliths that make you gawk slack-jawed in awe.

While we might never wait in a twenty minute line for ice cream in our hometown, it sure was worth it in NYC. — While we might never wait in a twenty-minute line for ice cream in our hometown, it sure was worth it in NYC.

Whatever it is, here we let our hair down and allowed ourselves to just be in this time and space. We took our silly pictures with iconic views in the background. We ogled the best deals on t-shirts and mini plastic Statues of Liberty simply for the sake of ogling. We craned our necks up, around, left and right to visually drink in all the sights around us. And we even waited twenty minutes in line that went out the door to indulge in ice cream on that brisk and breezy night, just because everyone else was doing it.

To a New Yorker, this may not be the “real” New York, but it is as much a part of New York as the Empire State Building, Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, Broadway, and Wall Street. Everything in this town is a creation, a dream made real, and a symbol of Man’s vision, ingenuity, and determination. And all this I kept in mind as we planned our big family trip to New York. With five full days in the Big Apple, there’s a whole world experiences we can have, and I’m ready to savor every bite.

Stay tuned for this series on New York City and come explore the town with me and the Steves family.

A Real Amazing Race: Jan Steves and the Iditarod part 3

This morning I was up by 6:30. Insomnia got the better of me, so I watched Animal House and Ghost Busters. Not my most productive morning, but at least my belly got a workout from all the laughter. Meanwhile in Willow, Alaska, Jan Steves was packing up all of her gear for a 1000 mile trek through sub-freezing weather across the Tundra, preparing her team of 12 dogs (whom she has been training and taking loving care of for quite awhile), and double–no, triple–checking that everything is the way it should be for the Official Start of this big dog mushing adventure.

I know this because this is what it was like for her when I watched her take off on her first Iditarod competition in 2012.

While most of her family and friends will be cheering her on from warmer climates, her daughter Nicolina is in Willow to be her mom’s biggest fan. To learn what it’s like to be at the OFFICIAL START, check out this article I wrote about Jan’s first Iditarod. And to stay on top of her progress, be sure to check the standings daily. She’s bib #40 (coincidentally, the same bib number from two years ago!).

A Real Amazing Race: Jan Steves and the Iditarod part 2

The Ceremonial Start of the Iditarod took place today, and Jan Steves took off with bib #40 at 11:23 a.m. for her third year in a row in this grueling competition. Her daughter Nicolina was there to represent our whole family and cheer her on. I’m sure that for Jan, this time is as exciting as the first, and for Nikki, it must be so overwhelming to see her mom take off on a 1000-mile adventure in the pursuit of her passion–dog mushing.

I’m no expert on this sport and am continually amazed by Jan’s commitment to it. While I may never feel the urge to participate in this activity, I am certainly in awe of those who train diligently, take loving care of their dogs, and brave the elements to compete in this amazing race.

And I’m also fascinated by the avid followers of the sport. In 2012, I flew up to Anchorage to support Jan and to witness the Ceremonial Start in Anchorage for my first time. Devotees of the Iditarod flocked that winter wonderland, decked out in furry jackets armed with souvenir programs to be signed by their favorite mushers.

Read all about my trip to the 2012 Iditarod here to learn all about the Ceremonial Start and the amazing Jan Steves. And be sure to follow her progress and see the current standings on the official Iditarod website.

A Real Amazing Race: Jan Steves and the Iditarod part 1

My partner Rick got his entrepreneurial genes from his dad. Prior to becoming an expert on European travel, he was a pre-pubescent magazine seller, a teenage rare coin trader, and a college student piano teacher. His sister Jan Steves is entrepreneurial, too, but she’s got something more. She has the adventure gene, courtesy of her biological grandfather Art Romstad–a daredevil ski jumper.

Jan’s love of the great outdoors, snow, and dogs has now become her passion, and this weekend, she’ll embark on her third Iditarod race. Representing our entire family, her daughter Nicolina will be there to cheer her on and will even get to ride in her sled for the Ceremonial Start.

Jan takes a moment to connect with Amber.

A few years ago, I had the great fortune and honor to be there with Jan for her debut at this truly amazing race. Read one of my previous articles to get the behind-the-scenes story about gearing up for the Iditarod, and stay tuned for intimate looks at the Ceremonial and Official Starts of the Iditarod: The Last Great Race.

To stay up-to-date with Jan’s current standings in the Iditarod, be sure to check here daily.

Scenes from a Guide Summit

Name 20 countries from the European Union. Imagine the “typical” citizens of those countries–their features, their demeanors, their gestures, their accents. Now picture a collection of 120 people from those countries who are passionate aficionados on the history, art, culture, politics, and people of those motherlands all descending on a small town just north of Seattle in the middle of winter. If they were all visiting you, what would you share with them about your town, your state, your country? What do think would intrigue you about each of them?

Rick Steves Tour Guides gather in Edmonds for our annual summit.

This is what happened in my hometown just last week. 120 of my tour guide colleagues invaded Edmonds for our annual Rick Steves Tour Guide Summit. While we were gathered to work on policies, logistics, and itineraries, we were all secretly (OK, overtly) giddy to just spend quality time together. Non-business time was an endless festival of friendship, camaraderie, and kindred spirits. Yet among the commonalities that bind us–and there are many–it was a delight to make cultural discoveries about one another.

With his Irish charm, Stephen McPhilemy is always surrounded by people clamoring to hear his tales.

Stephen McPhilemy has a real gift of gab. With his Irish eyes a-smilin’, his love for his Celtic heritage blends with his ability to poke fun at his own culture, giving us tales that are poignant insights into the Irish way of life.

When our office staff threw an American-style potluck for the guides, lips smacked, mouths watered, and fingers were licked over traditional American dishes like BBQ pork, apple pie, tater tot casserole, and “Tuscan pasta salad”.

During the guide party hosted in our house, we had a cultural show and tell. And the Italians proved that it’s not only Americans who need a cheat sheet to get through the second verse of their national anthem.

Riding the Ducks--120 European tour guides see Seattle from land and sea. — Riding the Ducks–120 European tour guides see Seattle from land and sea. (photo courtesy of Lisa Friend)

To get the guides into the Seattle vibe, three yellow school buses took our guides downtown to ride the Ducks–amphibious vehicles that tour the streets of Seattle and cruise Lake Union. Replete with costume changes, themed music, and corny jokes, the Duck guides taught Seattle history, architecture, and lore. Our guides were all in awe saying that these were among the best tours and best guides they’ve ever had.

When I think of Spain, I think of passionate people, and Federico Garcia lets his passion shine through in his voice. Give this man a microphone and let yourself be serenaded by his tender tenor tones. It’s not just that he can sing–he makes the beauty, tenderness, intensity, pride, and complexity of the Spanish culture come to life through song. Placido Domingo’s got nothing on this Spaniard.

When dining with two of our dear Turkish guides, conscious of their religious dietary restrictions, we ordered rigatoni…with the pancetta on the side for me and Rick.

With only two representatives from Portugal, Cristina and Cristina were among the smallest contingencies of the European guides. But their patriotic pride could fill an entire country with their hearty rendition of their national anthem–a slight dig at us Americans and the US vs. Portugal World Cup match coming up on June 22.

One of our great Brits, Roy Nichols defended the small “mountains” of Britain (what we’d consider large hills) as “quality over quantity”.

Our European guides get a taste of the taco truck phenomenon in our own driveway.

With a taco truck in our driveway, our European guides devoured traditional Mexican dishes for hours. People just couldn’t get enough. One guide remarked, “Our cuisine has nothing as spicy as this. I think I’m in love.”

Hearing about our “big box” stores, some of our guides made a b-line for Costco to stock up on treats and souvenirs to take back home to the Czech Republic.

Rick tries to sneak a peak under Colin's kilt. Naughty, naughty. — Rick tries to sneak a peak under Colin’s kilt. Naughty, naughty.

Not one to hide his pride, Scotsman Colin Mairs flaunted his nation’s traditional attire, prompting Rick to wonder, “Is it true what they say about what Scotsman wear–or don’t wear–under their kilts?”

One of our Seattle-based guides, Ragen Van Sewell, rallies our guides to embrace the spirit of the 12th Man. (photo courtesy of Stephen McPhilemy)

And in the spirit of embracing the culture you’re visiting, our guides hit the streets of Seattle to tailgate during the NFC Championship game between the San Francisco 49ers and the Seattle Seahawks, becoming the newest official members of the 12th Man. GO HAWKS!

For more insight on the Rick Steves Guide Summit and Tour Reunion, check out Rick Steves’ Facebook page www.facebook.com/RickSteves