NYC: Manhattan

In the heart of the Village is Washington Square, where supposedly Bob Dylan got his start in the '60s playing for crowds in front of the great arch. Elms and NYU buildings surround the square, along with ghosts of literary greats such as Fitzgerald, Ginsburg, and Keruouac. I found their local haunts where aspiring writers have foresaken the notebooks of old and replaced them with laptops. The LP shops are now CD shops where I found the complete collection of Galaxie 500. Around the corner, I found the "Porto Rican," a coffee importer that sells fresh coffee beans from the far reaches of the earth, and serves its finest from a cramped kiosk in the back corner. The long line of people placing orders could rival any Starbuck's in Manhattan, and the coffee tastes much better.

I walked up the street and entered the White Horse Tavern a musty old watering hole with a dark oak bar and long benches. I sat on a bar stool imagining what it must have been like on that cold November day back in 1953, when the famous poet Dylan Thomas reportedly drank 18 whiskeys to his demise. I drank a beer in his honor.

As the sun began to set over the Hudson, I high-tailed it over to Union Square to catch up with my cousin who works close by. We descended into the depths of NYC subways and re-surfaced at Grand Central Station, where we made our way up to 46th street and a local Japanese restaurant: Yodo. The narrow restaurant was already packed with young urban patrons crowding the bar as we interrupted their conversations as we passed between them to order a round. Yodo is complete with a sushi bar, and kimono wearing waitresses serving hungry patrons. The pea-green walls could go, but why complain when the first order of sushi is free (I had the spicy tuna), and Sapporo on tap is just $3.25 a glass. Is there a better combination, especially in Midtown Manhattan? I suppose we could have closed the place down that night, but I had to get up early.

-Marvin A.