A friend has been staying for the last week, which has been lovely and gave me a renewed vigour to explore the neighbourhoods surrounding where we currently live. On an especially warm day we decided to stroll through Prospect Park to Park Slope on the other side, for some lunch.

As we are both born and bred Londoners, my friend and I were beside ourselves when not one, but two, chipmunks crossed our path. I didn't get a photograph, but I can confirm that the preferred walking style of a chipmunk appears to be a joyful leap. Shortly after that bit of fun, I almost trod on this little fella, who was hanging around on a path. We stayed with him until he walked (surprisingly quickly, who knew terrapins were so speedy?!) into the undergrowth, as I managed to freak myself out with thoughts of him being squished by a cyclist.

Most of the trees in the park are still green and lush, but a few are showing signs of autumn, so here's some photos I took of their pretty colours.

A little waterfall.

As we left the park and headed into Park Slope (the land of yummy mummies and a whole ton of children) we noticed that some houses had started to deck themselves out for Halloween. This was our favourite, partly because of the impressive commitment shown to the cause…

But mainly because of the strange skeleton squatting over the doorway.

Another house filled its garden with gravestones and a random foot. Terrifying.

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While walking through Brooklyn to the pub one evening, I spotted this. I'm not much for church, but I'm tempted.

Personally, I've gone off him, suspecting he might be a bit of a pretentious arse. However, I think I'm in the minority, so knickers were dropping all over Manhattan for this one.

A very patriotic house down the road from me. I never realised she was quite so grumpy looking.

S'just a Mojito, innit.

Mad Skillz.

I hate it when that happens. Bloody monkeys.

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I'm back in NYC after a lovely little trip back to London to see friends and the many wee bairns that they've popped out since I've been away. While I was there I had lots of enquiries about whether it was weird being back and whether I'd missed my home town. The honest answer is that it wasn't and I don't. My travels have really helped answer some questions about what makes me happy, and I've realised that I don't tend to be that affected by my surroundings. It seems that wherever I am is where I am happy to be, it's people I miss, not places. Although I really miss my friends and my Mum back in the UK, I feel like wherever I am with my wonderful husband is my home nowadays. Although, saying that, I have only lived in Montreal and New York so far, both of which are fantastic cities, which anyone would be lucky to have the chance to explore. Maybe all this zen will fly right out of the window if we move somewhere less to my taste. Que sera sera.

After a massive night out in Williamsburg on Friday (which I am still really not sold on, though I'm going to do some more exploring before I get too judgey), we've had quite a quiet weekend. Autumn (I refuse to call it Fall) is rolling in, so cosy nights in are more appealing than they have been since we arrived. Brunch still calls me on a Sunday though, so we decided to head over to DUMBO (Down Under The Manhattan Bridge Overpass), a 20 minute subway ride from our apartment. A unique area, located on the river, underneath Manhattan Bridge (natch) and as well as various overpasses (and next to Brooklyn bridge) DUMBO is one of the main art districts in NYC.

It would seem that we weren't the only ones who thought it was a good Sunday location, as the area was pretty packed, which meant brunch locations were limited, as we weren't up for joining a huge queue. We ended up at Superfine on Front Street, which lured us in with its industrial vibe and location, right under the Manhattan Bridge. A jaunty band of hipsters were twanging away on a small stage and, despite being told that we'd missed brunch (we arrived at 3.20. Doh!) we decided that the ambience was worth settling for bar snacks. The service though, my gosh that place had some terrible service, which is rare in the land of the free (I know it's a cliche, but it's true). When we finally got served Mr ordered a tuna sandwich and I had a bit of antipasto.

We also had a couple of Bloody Mary's each, which helped ease the pain of being ignored. The fact that the bad service also extended to billing, meaning we didn't actually pay for the food, helped too. Vindication!

I actually feel a tiny bit bad for not informing them of their error, but the drinks were strong and we (well, mainly me) were quite tipsy when we left.. And trying desperately to get their attention again, just so we could give them more money, didn't appeal much. As we wandered the streets slightly tipsily, I found these glasses in a tree.

The only logical thing to do seemed to be to wear them, so I did. Not sure what my finger is doing, I think I thought it would look intellectual, but it looks more like I am trying to pick my nose.

Being an arts district, there are loads of little pop up exhibitions everywhere, and random pieces scattered about. Like this cross looking monkey sitting in a disused building.

A group of people slowly walked past us with fishes on their heads, apparently to help promote the plight of our ocean dwelling buddies. It would seem to have worked, as I am talking about it here… But I am also having tuna for dinner, which, according to the leaflet I was given, I shouldn't be doing. Dammit.

The carousel on the waterfront with Brooklyn Bridge and some Manhattan skyline in the background.

Me, doing some sitting. Stupid people in the background, ruining the shot.

We also ate some delicious ice cream but, no photos of that. Until next time!

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I'm taking a little holiday from my extended life holiday, heading back to the UK for a much needed catch up with friends, who I haven't seen for over a year. To tide the blog over until my return, a few pictures of some of the things I've been doing over the past couple of days.

On Friday we ate at Kang Suh in Korea Town, munching on a barbecued feast of meats, sauces and pancakes. I accidentally ended the meal by chewing on a massive piece of raw garlic and so spent the rest of the night all stinky.

After dinner we headed to the Hammerstein Ballroom to watch Amon Tobin's ISAM tour. The show consists of enormous boxes on stage, Amon Tobin in the middle, with 3D looking visuals projected onto them. It's more of an art project than a gig and was incredible to see. I didn't take any pictures/video as I was enjoying it too much and I knew I wouldn't do it justice. I refuse to post a tinny sounding video that some chump recorded on their phone either, as I got so peeved with people waving them about through the show. Instead, here's a couple of official pictures that give you a small idea of what it was like (pretty deep, and almost stinky enough to cover up my garlic breath, there was a LOT of weed being consumed).

Brunch this weekend was lazily had at our lone local pub. I had steak and eggs with a delicious Mexican twist, Mr had huevos rancheros.

Full and happy, we strolled home through the beautiful, brownstone lined, local streets.

I'm not gonna lie to you though, it ain't all so pretty. Here's the scary, 'Last House on the Left' type house across the road from us. Lush, right?

See you in a couple of weeks kids x

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Coney Island is situated in the South Western corner of Brooklyn and is the easiest beach to reach from Manhattan and Brooklyn, for us, just a 1/2 hour ride on the subway. It's not a glamour beach and certainly not where the monied elite of New York go to get their surf on. Having read a little about it before we went, I was expecting something akin to Southend in the UK (one of the closest beaches to London, which has crazy tides and sometimes seems comprised entirely of mud). Happily, I was pleasantly surprised by what we found, though admittedly the glorious weather may have helped put a nicer sheen on things.

American beaches don't have fish and chips. Boooo. They do have tacos. Yaaaay. Look at that view behind me, stunning, no?!

The kites were out in full force.

Neither do eyeballs.

…which was lucky, as my dress got soaked.

Apart from its beach, Coney Island is also famous for Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park, which offers rides of all types for the punters to make themselves sick on. I've noticed that I'm less and less inclined toward scary rides, and Mr isn't at all, so we kept it a bit low key, just trying out some go karts and the eponymous wheel.

A small piece of the park, from the wheel (note the poor pig on the right, who seems to have given up completely).

The wheel.

There was a DJ on the boardwalk. People danced and that.

Then we spotted this gang of ruffians looking like they were up to no good, so we headed home.

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The humidity of the city has finally abated, leaving sunny days and cooling breezes behind. I try not to complain about the heat of the New York summer, as I can't overstate enough how much I love living somewhere with seasons (rather than the lackluster changes we find in the UK, where a day in December could conceivably be the same temperature as one in July). However, it is nice to go outside and not immediately start sweating. To celebrate Mr and I went for a little stroll in Prospect Park, a short walk from our apartment. It was designed by the same people who were responsible for Central Park, and it's similarly enormous. I immediately found it more appealing than its Manhattan equivalent though, as Mr said, it just feels more like a proper park.

As we strolled we heard shouting, so went to investigate. Our curiosity was rewarded with a group of very enthusiastic people performing Jason and the Argonauts next to a bandstand.

This littl girl was so enthusiastic about the whole thing she broke into spontaneous applause.

These little girls were less impressed, but I liked their contrasting hijabs.

Even though I've seen the film and feel like I have a decent grasp of the story, I got a little bit confused about what was happening (though enthusiasic, I was getting a bit of a Legz Akimbo vibe from some of the performers) so after a while we strolled off into the afternoon sun.

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If you take the A train almost to the end of the line at the near tippy top of Manhattan you'll be treated to the wonder of Fort Tryon Park, which sits on the bank of the Hudson River. As we exited the subway at 190th street the evening sun was low in the sky, creating a wonderful light that made the already beautiful surroundings even more so. A little playground opposite the station had water spraying across it, and people ran in and out, savouring a little respite from the humidity of the city.

The park smells of early autumn at the moment, the flowers were still in bloom, but reaching the end of their cycles. I'm not sure if you can tell, but I really liked it there. It was peaceful, gorgeous and the smells alone made you feel like you weren't in NYC at all. I love New York, but it does have a tendency toward the stinky end of the spectrum, especially in summer.

Here's me looking all appreciative.

And a little of what I was appreciating.

We'd trekked so far from home to see a friend, who is part of a jazz trio, play in the gardens of the New Leaf Cafe, which is nestled in the grounds of the park. We arrived a little early and starving hungry, so sat down to some delicious (and pricey!) food and drinks. I had crispy pan seared chicken with quinoa, berries and wild mushrooms (and mini kohlrabi, I think?) Mr had grilled sirloin of beef with asparagus, blue cheese and roasted tomatoes.

As the sun set and we finished our meals I started to hear rumours of a skunk wandering around the garden. Sure enough he strolled past a few minutes later and I have to admit, I got a little excited. I know this is pathetic, but I'm a city girl and I can't remember ever seeing one before, so I decided I had to have a picture. Mr disuaded me, insisting that the possibility of pissing the little skunk off trumped my desire to capture the moment. I ignored him, telling him I wasn't using the flash, so what difference could it make.

Unfortunately, I didn't actually turn the flash off, so here's the moment I did piss off a skunk a little bit (though thankfully not quite enough).

After we had finished our dinner the band started playing. I'm not much of a jazz fan, but in the beautiful surroundings and buoyed by delicious cocktails, I, again for the first time, actually enjoyed some flipping jazz. I fear this, and my general bemusement about dubstep (which, to me, just seems like drum and bass with the bits you can properly dance to removed) means I am about ready for my pipe and slippers. Nice.

As we left for the long journey home, we spied this funny car, which had at least four TV screens in its interior. Someone has spent a LOT of money on this. LOL.

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Labour Day in Brooklyn means time for the West Indian Day Parade or, as the rest of the world refer to it, carnivaaaaal! The children's parade and Panorama (steel band competition) are held on the Saturday, with Dimanche Gras and J'ouvert on Sunday (mentioned in my last post) leading into the main procession on Monday.

On Sunday night our street and all those in the area were pumping with the sounds of Soca, Reggae and Calypso. Families sat out on their front porches eating and drinking and the smell of barbecued deliciousness hung in the air. This is normally a very quiet area but carnival changes all that and it was hard not to get swept up in the excitement of it all. I'd imagine it's similar living in Notting Hill in London in the lead up to carnival there. The big difference here though is that the area is predominantly populated by West Indian families, so almost everyone was in on the action. In London the carnival route is surrounded by some very expensive housing, some containing people who see the two day event as more a chore than a blessing. Brooklyn carnival seems a much more local affair, embraced by almost all who live here.

Saying this, Carnival here is very different to London's equivalent, so perhaps that's the reason. In London the static sound systems and live music stages that spring up everywhere are at least as, or even more, popular than the parade itself. Notting Hill seems to be unique in that way and it's one of the many wonderful events that makes London such a great place to live. However, as someone who first experienced carnival as a participant, I've never been a great fan of the enormity of Notting Hill. I wore costume in the parade for about five years from the age of eleven (typically I got a bit ashamed of it around the age of sixteen. Everything's shameful when you're sixteen, eh?). Me and my Mum used to spend the whole summer at the Mas Camp (Carnival Club) helping to build all the costumes and it always saddened me a little when people would force their way through the parade to get from one side of the street to the other, damaging our hard work on the way. In Brooklyn the parade route is a straight line down one road (Eastern Parkway), is blocked off on both sides and everyone is there to see the costumes (and eat the food. Natch) so there seems to be a lot more respect.

The night before the parade Mr and I, galvanized by the sights and smells surrounding us, headed out to try to find a drink. We had vague plans of staying up to get involved in J'ouvert but were aware that it wouldn't start until the early morning, and drinking seemed the best way to keep us awake. We headed to our lone decent local pub (Prospect Lefferts Gardens isn't so much for the pubs) hoping for a tasty beer, but were saddened to find it closed. Mr was especially gutted by this turn of events, he properly loves pubs, so we headed off in the other direction. Eventually we stumbled across a little sports bar with a big, big man at the door. I'd forgotten my passport, which can be a real pain here, as they are very strict about checking ID (good for my ego, bad for my passport, which is looking increasingly ratty). Hoping I wouldn't have to go back home to get it I asked hopefully, 'do I need ID?', 'no' he replied, but he did need to pat my husband up and down to check for weapons. Nice place! Once we got inside we were treated to a almost empty room, populated only by some youngsters all ready for J'ouvert fun. Devil horns, tiny teeny batty shorts for the ladies and, no doubt, things to throw in the big bags on their backs. The main treat though was the deafening Soca being played by a rather keen DJ in the corner. I can't recall ever before feeling so old and so white. We, predictably, stayed for one drink then admitted defeat on the J'ouvert thing and headed home, picking up some delicious griddled goods on the way.

This has been a very wordy post so far, but fear not fair reader, for I took many photographs of the parade and am about to treat you to a nice selection, with minimal waffle from me to distract you.

The po-po checking out the sexy ladies.

Gwan love!

Get these motherf*cking snakes out of this motherf*cking carnival.

This one gets an in more for the spectacular hair at the bottom than the costume above it.

Lookie! That man has a naughty backpack.

Stilts!

Feathers and Fishnets make a girl look fly.

Giggly woman is giggly. Unimpressed woman is unimpressed.

The very worst thing about Brooklyn carnival is that no booze is allowed to be drunk outside. Handily, they've invented sneaky ways around this problem.

Shortly after I took this photo this lady collapsed. Those costumes are proper heavy. With hindsight, she doesn't look too happy, does she?

A woman happily waving her Bajan flag. White people can be from the West Indies too!

Dirty dancing.

I think some of these people might be from Jamaica.

And finally a beautiful woman with no clothes on carrying her daughter. You're welcome.

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Yesterday saw the end of our time in Midtown and our move into Brooklyn. A lot of the reason we took this new place was the bargainous price (less than half what we paid in Manhattan, for a two bedroom rather than a studio) but I'm also a strong believer that we should experience as much of what NYC has to offer as possible while we're here. Midtown Manhattan is great and I love it but it's not how most New Yorkers live, being somewhat detached from families and people who aren't earning a crazy wage. Our new place is in Prospect Lefferts Gardens, ten minutes walk from Prospect Park (Brooklyns Central Park equivalent) and from the subway into Manhattan. The other advantage of this place and part of the reason it was so cheap, is that we have temporary responsibility for a cat, Harrison. Harrison is very friendly although somewhat stupid, as most cats seem to be (I realise with age I am more of a dog person, unfortunately I'm also a lover of the city and these two things don't meld well). Here's some pictures of him, doing what he do. Sadly, I can't demonstrate pictorially the amount of time he spends pawing and headbutting us for attention. You'll just have to trust me on that one. I promise I won't turn into a crazy cat lady who posts endless numbers of these. This is a baptism of cat picture fire and probably the last you'll see of him (maybe, possibly).

Sleeping.

Having crazy-ass paw hair.

And more sleeping.

One of the best things about this area is the huge, cheap shops. We happened upon an enormous beer warehouse five minutes walk away that has every type of beer and ale a heart could ever desire…. And so so cheap. A six pack of standard Heineken in midtown cost $15, here beers from around the world (we're currently stocked with Singha and Asahi) are $8-10. Boozy.

Just around the corner from that is Phat Alberts, a massive warehouse stocking everything you could ever need, except food… Which is lucky as the place has a strong stench of rat piss. I never knew I even knew what rat piss smelled like but it must be innate or something because I do and it smells like Phat Alberts. I'm still going to frequent it though, it's cheap as chips and I don't mind holding my nose for a bargain.

Just around the corner from there is Western Beef, an enormous supermarket, which also stinks. Hooray! This time, though, the smell is of fish from the enormous fishmongers section, forgivable in my books. We've moved to the area at just the right time of year, as this weekend is Brooklyn Carnival, all held within walking distance of us. It's a West Indian festival and New York's equivalent of Notting Hill Carnival in London.The main difference here being its smaller size and that most participants actually live in the area. Western Beef was pumping this afternoon, with a Soca DJ outside the entrance and free hotdogs for all.

Tomorrow is the main parade and tonight, Dimanche Gras and later, J'ouvert. The former is a concert, held at the Brooklyn Museum, showcasing the best Calypso and Soca artists from around the world. Mr and I are considering going, although the price (almost $40 each) might preclude that. J'ouvert is due to start at 2am, though anyone who knows about Carribean time will know this is unlikely. This parade is much more relaxed than the one tomorrow, soundtracked only by steel drums (no sound systems here) and a danger for anyone in fine clothes (as flour, sparkles and paint are thrown liberally). The parade is due to go past the end of our street but probably not until about 6am, so it's unlikely I'll see it, what with me being an old bird now. One of our neighbours asked us earlier whether we were ready for carnival and invited us to a BBQ from about midnight (though, again, Carribean time probably stands), so maybe we'll pop along to that. Maybe we won't. Tune in to my next post to find out. I bet you can hardly contain your excitement.

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On Friday after drinks at Antique Garage, we visited Spring Street Natural in Soho for some dinner. As it's somewhat of a celeb haunt, I tried to keep my beady little eyes pealed for anyone of note. Turns out a guy from Glee was sitting behind me, and I managed to completely miss him. I don't think I'm ever going to see anyone, I'm so unobservant that Katie Holmes could probably slap me in the face and I still wouldn't notice. Gah.

Anyway, here's what we ate. There's some pan roasted free range (natch) chicken with herb-natural jus, sweet potato-poblano pepper gratin and sauteed greens. A chicken burger on a toasted brioche bun with melted pepper jack cheese, chipotle mayonnaise and hand-cut French fries. Roasted organic salmon with baby arugula pesto, Marcona Spanish almonds, tri-color roasted peppers and grilled summer squash. Finally, I had hanger steak (from a grass fed, cuddled, happy cow… Obviously) with red onion jam, a basket of hand-cut French fries and baby arugula-gorgonzola salad.

We didn't feel quite full enough when we'd finished so headed to Emack & Bolio's on West Houston Street for ice cream. With a huge selection of flavours and dipped cones, I was in drunken heaven.

We happily strolled down the street munching on our gooey treats, until my drunkenness caught up with me. Despite a one-two attempt at catching it, which only elevated it further into the air, my ice cream ended its life like this. Sad times.

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