New York, I love you but...

A Travel Guide for your Seven Senses

Me and my mother in NYC (1987), photo by my father

That LCD Soundsystem song was my anthem of departure when I moved out of New York in 2013. 

“New York I love you 

But you’re bringing me down…”

I was breaking up with the city that made me – quite literally as I was born there. I spent the first two years of my life in Brooklyn, until my parents divorced and I moved with my mother to France, back to her hometown. 

I continued coming to New York three times a year to visit my father. A Brooklyn man through and through, born and bred in the Dodgers’ borough. He lived there until the age of 66, when he and his wife relocated to Harlem. Hopping over to the island of Manhattan was the biggest move he’d made in his life.  

When my partner first met my father he pointed out how thick his Brooklyn accent was, to which I replied “What accent?”  To me, it was standard speech, my father tongue. Still today, whenever I hear that way of talking, or that New York attitude on display – a mix of rough tenderness and no bullshit directness – I feel a wave of familiar comfort. 

After years of bouncing between two continents, I finally moved back full time to New York for college. I stayed for a few years after graduating and can’t think of a better place to have spent a good part of my 20’s. 

I naturally fell in step with the city’s rhythm, a life of constant frenzy and busyness. Like most people in New York, I worked more than one job – one for love, a few others for bills. Whatever money was left beyond rent was spent on fun, which New York never lacks. The city was built to dazzle and satisfy the wildest imagination. Its energy is intoxicating and I was hooked. 

But the price to pay to live there is high: not just financially, but also physically and emotionally. 

New York rents have become legendary for their absurdity. In fact there’s entire blogs dedicated to the city’s most ridiculous apartment listings. I had a friend who used to live illegally in her art studio (a commercial space). Her mattress had to be hidden in case of inspections and she had a cheap gym membership, where she would go to shower. There’s no real need to workout in New York, as the city provides ample exercise: walking 10 miles and climbing 100 stairs is part of the daily routine. Overtime, one also builds an emotional protective layer, an outer shell of dissociative apathy, to shield oneself from daily microaggressions and sensory overload.

When my high school friends came to visit me from France, they were shocked by the “lack of sky” – the way the towering buildings only reveal small blue parcels. They asked if it affected me, but I had never taken notice before then. 

New York is like a passionate but toxic lover. You fall head over heels, exulted by its raw and glittery charm, yet dismissive of its inhumane behavior. It always leaves you craving more yet content with bread crumbs. But those crumbs seem imbued with magic, and far better than any other loaf. 

New York is so self-important that when you live there, you forget its name. It simply becomes “the city,” as if no other metropolis existed.  Like many New Yorkers, I believed no other place could match up, for better or worse. As an avid traveler, I knew that to be true. Every place is different, but New York is truly unique. Part of me felt like I had scored a front row seat to the best show, and leaving the theater felt unthinkable. 

For a long time, I fed on the energy the city eagerly provided, propelling me from one activity to another. New York never stopped, so neither did I. This constant motion was driven both by creative desire and financial need – a tug of war between love and fear. 

But at some point, the charm of living in a shoebox and commuting in a sardine can started giving way to exhaustion. I felt like a hamster in a wheel, heading nowhere – or as the song goes:

“Like a rat in a cage

Pulling minimum wage”

Living in New York, one gets accustomed to the unimaginable. Human beings are some of the most adaptable species, along with roaches and rats, the other two main inhabitants of NYC. We pride ourselves in “making it” in harsh conditions and wear it as a badge of honor. But the weight of that pride became too heavy to bear. I started wondering, like

Caroline Cala Donofrio

describes in her essay about leaving NY: “Maybe it doesn’t have to be so difficult.” 

Thoughts of leaving started visiting me, gradually building over time. I was seeking an exit door, or at least a backstage corridor, a respite from New York’s endless show.  

“New York, I love you

But you're freaking me out

There's a ton of the twist

But we're fresh out of shout”

Leaving New York seemed like admitting failure. Giving up the struggle felt like a weakness of character. There’s an inherited idea that you’ve gone soft if you leave New York, especially if you move to California. But as Jenny Holzer wrote: “It is in your self-interest to find a way to be very tender.”

So in the Fall of 2013, I packed my bags and headed out to Los Angeles. 

Despite moving away a decade ago, New York hasn’t left me and it never will. I came into this world greeted by its sirens, and a view of the Brooklyn bridge — my senses are forever imprinted by New York City. 

“Everyone has their own New York,” writes

Caroline Cala Donofrio

. My New York is a medley of the late 80’s and the mid-2000’s – specific eras of New York’s many facets. Everyone argues that “their” New York is the best version, one that was grittier, more exciting, and expansive with possibilities. 

“New York, you're safer

And you're wasting my time

Our records all show

You are filthy but fine”

New York changes faster than we do, leaving us grappling with ephemeral attachments. Every time I return, there’s always a subway stop or street that floods me with memories. I often fall into a state of nostalgia, over the delis turned into hype fashion shops, and my stoop-sitting neighborhood giving way to luxury high-rises. 

“New York, you're perfect

Don't please don't change a thing”

Despite our resistance, New York was born to change. First called “New Amsterdam,” then renamed to “New York,” it always carried newness in its identity, a city ever-changing yet always true to itself.

To celebrate the Spring Equinox, I’ve compiled a list of my favorite NYC sensory experiences. They’re a mix of classic oldies, as well as some recent discoveries. I also asked a few local friends for some recommendations –– thank you Adi Gil, Brian Close, Gala Delmont Benatar, Kristine Michelsen Correa, and

Ani Simon-Kennedy

.

As with all Travel Guides, I’ve included 7 suggestions to SEE, HEAR, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH, BALANCE, and ENVISION. 

In Joy,

Sabrina