Wayfarers and Naysayers

Friday morning we got straight to business. I had a morning interlude with a delegate from South Korea working on their tax breaks/foreign direct investment resolution and enjoyed the delegate’s chill and borderline hilarious attitude and modes of speech. He was so West Coast that I wasn’t surprised to find that our roots are only a few hours apart. I’m getting good at picking out where people are from just based on the way they speak; Italians and West Coasters alike. I should have studied linguistics since I seem to find them truly captivating…

After polishing up our working papers to perfection and seeking signatories, we were approved as an official draft resolution (overall, Ghana was a sponsor of 3 draft resolutions). Things were coming full circle. I had gone from overwhelmed to bitter to excited to relieved. Who knew I would actually come to enjoy this thing somewhat?

At last, our final lunch break came. When walking back from eating, I still had time to browse around Times Square, and I stopped to look at a vendor’s wide collection of Ray Ban Wayfarer knock offs in 50 different colors. I noticed she was speaking Spanish…I think you see where this is going. She was a native Columbian and was so happy to speak Spanish with me for a bit that I’m pretty sure she gave me the bright pink specs I picked out for just $5, as opposed to the normal $10 that other vendors charge. I wish I had gotten more colors cause $5 is about as cheap as it gets for glasses. Once again coming in from my Spanish high, I was feeling good. I had one more 3 hour session and then it would all be over. But I was still borderline exhausted from my intense lack of sleep and I needed some music to breathe some life back into me. I queued up some Flux Pavilion on my iPod and dubstepped from my room to the conference room. With my bright pink sunglasses, purple coat, green dress and giant headphones, I walked back into the room like I owned the place. People were definitely riding my waves and I feel like that set the mood for a relaxed and casual final session—a drastic contrast to the first session. In the final three hours, we made last minute fixes to our drafts, rallied support and evaluated the 10 draft resolutions floating around. Finally it came to voting.

Overall, we came up with some pretty decent resolutions. Some of them were more general than others, making them harder to disagree with, while others were specific and well-planned. There was only one resolution that I found to be insufficient—and this was the only resolution to not pass. With the swing of a gavel, the 2011 meeting of the Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice had concluded. We started hugging, shaking hands, asking for real names (as opposed to just the country you were representing) and talking about real life. It felt like a victory. All of us slowly meandered out of the room and I found my way back out into the streets of New York with Bethany (who had been stuck at the Russian Consulate for several hours earlier in the afternoon…).

'Ghana' get down tonight

Thursday was hell day. An ALL DAY session from 8:30-10:30. (granted 4 of those hours were for lunch/dinner breaks—which sounds like a lot until you consider that it took probably at least 2 hours total to use the elevators to get to and from our meeting room…). The morning session started as it had left off the night before. But something felt like it was changing. Somewhere inside of me, the stressed out, cranky nikki that resented everybody in the room started fading away. I wanted to get shit done. I floated around, got input, gave input and started really collaborating on a resolution, ironically centered around cooperation and harmonization of efforts among the law enforcement sectors of society. I started coming out of my diplomatic pissy shell.

My partner, Chantel, however was a woman with a mission and she made those bitches crawl. By noon, she had the AU begging for Ghana’s opinion and was advocating for actual mechanisms of implementation within the resolutions we were working on. I worked on the creation and composition of those mechanisms with Ukraine and the Philippines (ok, I still sorta didn’t like the AU group…). The delegate from Ukraine was surprisingly kind, funny and asked for my input. He was a tall, gaunt New York native, a genius and Asian. The delegate from the Philippines was from a school in Italy, but was actually Albanian. (And as a side note, Erion (Philippines delegate) I probably would have died without your humor, humility and kindness—thanks for being awesome). (Another side note, apparently Southeastern Europe is secretly harboring some hot men).

In no time, we were already breaking for lunch and we rushed to the token deli. We sat down to eat at a different restaurant and got some dessert. God only knows how many calories I consumed, but I told myself that the black and white cookie was a very New York thing to try. And I stopped myself after eating half. Gotta love a cookie that symbolizes racial diversity in delicious flavors. It was interesting because the cookie had a very soft cake-like texture. It was an incredible cookie.

But not too long after lunch, I was approached by one of our head delegates about my apparel. Apparently they thought it was not appropriate for the conference and said that I had to change before the next session. I got pissed. Not at my head delegate, because they were just doing their job, but by the fact that a specific outline of attire wasn’t given and I thought that the clothing I wore as “pinnables” for my sorority would be acceptable. I didn’t look sloppy or slutty, I just looked cute. And cute dresses are not formal enough. I stopped being so concerned with my outfit when I went to deliver my speech, which frankly was a good speech. Yeah, maybe I was wearing a ruffly skirt/top/cardigan combo with a Barney-purple jacket, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to write and give a speech. And it’s for things like that that I get mad about. Sometimes I think people assume I’m an airhead because I wear bright purple overcoats to UN conferences and have long blonde hair. And then when it turns out that I actually have something worthwhile to say they’re surprised. I’m not saying I don’t have my “blonde moments”, but the assumptions get a little old

At dinner, I changed my outfit and was ready to rage if anybody commented on anything. Although I was at a point that the conference was actually becoming doable, I wasn’t too far from the edge of giving someone an explosive piece of my mind if they bothered to comment on anything. At 5’2”, I might not look like much of a fighter, but I will hack you head to toe like a machete with my words if warranted (or you just happen to come up to me at a really bad time and make a non-sequitur comment/request in relation to what I’m doing…). Being exhausted and cranky, I ate the rest of my sandwich and passed out until my next session started.

By the late evening, I was actually, dare I say…enjoying myself? People seemed a lot more relaxed and started giving up yesterday’s “I’m so smart and important” facades. I was scurrying all over our room, scouring over resolutions, trying to negotiate and think “What would Ghana do?” (which sometimes yielded unhelpful answers…). And by the time 10:30 came around, I actually felt that all day I had been working hard and getting into the conference. Go diplomacy.

Despite needing about 50 hours of sleep, I decided I should head to Walgreens because I wasn’t going to risk another clothing violation and my black tights were going on day 3 of usage, so I got some nude nylons. Which, after seeing hundreds of girls in South Korea walking around with nylons on, I actually started to like the way they made legs look so perfect. While I was waiting in the 500 person line, the guy standing behind me was deliberating (in Spanish) with his wife over which cold sore medication to purchase. He wanted to get all three, she wanted him to get just one. I laughed audibly about their argument and I think they were sad to know that their little “only we understand Spanish in this 5 foot radius” bubble had been popped, but they gave me a smile. Gotta love it. He ended up buying all 3, by the way.

After the unusually long escapade at Walgreens, I decided to go to a souvenir shop and get the 5 I <3 NY tees for $10.99. I know they’re touristy and you can buy them in Cornhole, Kansas if you want to, but there’s something iconic about them, and I love the boldness of the black font, solid red heard against the solid t-shirt. I would absolutely never wear it whilst in NYC, but I think Moscow is a fine place to display my love. Originally I was against buying one because I was ambivalent about New York, but the heart was rightfully earned. 

Empanada Ecstasy

And after several painful hours of horn tooting, ego tripping and fluttering around, CCPCJ’s 2^nd committee meeting came to our dinner break.

Earlier, I had tried to eat at the Argentinian restaurant in Restaurant Row, but they were closed. Now was my chance. I darted off towards the Chimichurry Grill to claim my empanadas. Being that it was 5:36, there was nobody else in the restaurant, but I was actually glad about that because it meant that I was going to practice more Spanish. The waiter gave me the “what’s a lovely young woman like you doing eating dinner alone!?” look and really tried to get me to order some wine, but I could tell that he was going to have to card me and I didn’t want to go through that awkwardness of acting like, oh, shit, I forgot you have to be twenty one to order alcohol. I ordered 1 beef and 1 chicken empanada. In the mean time while waiting for my food, I mustered up that sassy, but kind of nervous Nikita to ask ¿De dónde eres? Ecuador (the owner is Argentinian). Ah! More South Americans, which I love because in addition to going to Argentina this February, South American Spanish is just easier to stand because they speak more clearly and I feel like they are more patient than Spaniards are. He asked me where I was from and how long I had studied Spanish—he said he was impressed because he expected Spanish to be the last thing to be coming out of my mouth (yeah, white girls can speak Spanish sometimes…). Then we talked about his family, traveling and food. And as we breached the subject of food, mine arrived. The empanadas were crispy golden brown filled with some top quality meats and served with the spicy and flavorful chimichurry sauce, along with a green sauce that I think I missed the name of. A different waiter came back to talk to me and he said he didn’t believe the other guy that I was out there alone speaking Spanish. So we shot the bull too and chatted until other dinner guests started arriving. Leaving with a “mucho gusto” and a full tummy, I made my way back to the hotel forgetting why I was hating life just an hour ago. Again, speaking Spanish fills me with this happiness that is only replicable when I’m flirting with someone. Even the most basic phrases in English are suddenly transformed into something interesting and dimensional when they’re spoken in Spanish. Plus it’s challenging, exciting and out of my comfort zone because I’m not fluent yet…but I can’t wait to be, because I think that’s only going to magnify the effect. Plus, have you tried an empanada??? It’s meaty love in a doughy pocket.

Initially, I was turned off by New York, but once I started discovering more and more dimensions of it and how culturally diverse it is here, I fell in love with it. I could be fluent in Spanish just by eating out once or twice a week! Outside of Spanish, you can hear just about every other language floating around the streets, and it only reaffirmed my desire to live in that world. Not necessarily New York City, but places that take you outside your comfort and cultural zones. Being from Idaho…the streets of NYC are like taking international ecstasy while staying right here in the U.S.

But all my daydreams of traveling the world, speaking Spanish and eating yummy food exited my mind as soon as I walked back into the committee meeting room. Nikita died.

Sandwichgasm

Our first session was only 2 hours long, but it was the longest 2 hours of my life. And although roll call was horribly tedious, I welcomed countries long, expressive ways of simply saying “here” because that meant it would take up more time—something that I wasn’t going to argue with. Immediately following roll call, the floor was opened up for motions. Having virtually no idea of the structure of the meeting, I didn’t get my placard up in the first 5 milliseconds and felt it would be useless to put it up in the ocean of raised placards. Some proposed the opening of the speakers list (which we were quite far down on), others proposed the order of issues, others moved to open informal caucusing session. I sat there fumbling around to check the proper phrasing on making motions but by then it was already too late. I was struck with the realization that the preparation that I received in the class I took for this conference was focused too greatly upon the 2 minute impromptu speeches and the position papers—the two least relevant factors of the conference, it seemed. I was never so relieved to see 10pm than I was that night. But it probably wasn’t until several hours later that I got to sleep for 100’s of various reasons.

The next day we went to the United Nations Foundation. And having been sleep deprived and woken up feeling like my cold (or really bad seasonal allergies?) had gotten 100% worse, sitting in a big comfy office chair wasn’t helpful as I tried to listen to the director of the foundation. I kept lightly wanting to nod off, but would catch myself (and others would catch me…). After continuing on this half awake, half asleep routine for 10 or so minutes, I started to feel nauseous. Embarrassed and queasy I walked to the bathroom to splash water on my face, hoping this discussion would be over soon. It’s not that it was boring or terrible to listen to, it just wasn’t the kind of thing that would perk a person up at 10am and being that it was a broad discussion anyway, I didn’t feel bad missing out on 5 minutes to keep myself from passing out on the table or barfing on it.

Our 1^st session of the day started in the afternoon, but we did have some time to grab a bite to eat before our committee meetings. I stopped at one of the 1000s of delis that are all over New York. The guy working was some variation of East Asian (you know, I can tell the difference between their languages, but I still have no idea how to ethnically categorize them. Not in a racist way, but just as a thing to know—I’m sure Japanese people don’t like being mistaken for Chinese people). He had very little functioning knowledge on how to speak English (but then again, my Chinese/Korean/Japanese/Vietnamese/Cambodian are pretty bad, too). I thought this was strange considering his deli was ¼ of a block out of Times Square, which is generally jam packed with tourists. After a controversy over honey mustard and whether or not I wanted it in my sandwich (no, I did not) I got my perfect wrap.

I fully intend to tell you about New York delis. They are incredible. For one, they are usually manned by people from different countries, so you can practice your language skills or just appreciate the fact that no matter who you are, a turkey sandwich is just good. For two, they generally all serve (what is to my knowledge) the BEST brand of turkey, which is Boar’s Head. And it’s not that pre-sliced (how long ago did they slice that!?), questionable looking or hammy turkey (cheap turkey tastes hammy). It actually tastes like real turkey breast. And they don’t pull that Subway “only 3 slices of meat and if you want more it’s $1.50” bullshit, either. They load that sandwich in a way that Mitch Hedberg explained as “having a whole [turkey] with 2 crackers on either side”. Avocadoes in a sandwich are also done right. They have real avocado that they slice right there instead of that prepackaged diarrhea mash that they try to sell as “avocado spread”. No. And they don’t make you pay $1.50 extra for it. New York is expensive, but they’re not gonna screw you on legitimate sandwich necessities. But to top off my lunch, my sandwich had apple slices in it, which is something I love to throw in a sandwich when I make them at home (much to the confusion of everybody else, but the next time you make a sandwich, I dare you to put some apple in and just try it). As a girl who gets a turkey sandwich at least once no matter where I go, I’m going to give the gold, silver and bronze to New York City. Every deli is a sandwichgasm inducing experience (in case you’re curious, Hong Kong comes in dead last with worst attempt at a turkey sandwich ever, with France as an honorable mention for their chicken sandwiches. Europe doesn’t actually have turkey, really…). In addition to sandwiches, most of them have pizza, hot lunch bars, lots of delicious snacks and drinks, pastries/desserts, produce and salads. They’re essentially mini grocery stores. And you could probably eat at a different deli every day of your life and never have to eat at the same one twice…

I was hoping my sandwich high would carry me through my committee meeting, but I was sorely mistaken. All the apples and avocadoes in the world couldn’t have saved me. We were beginning into the first stages of writing working papers, which eventually would become draft resolutions. There were people there who had probably written 100 draft resolutions before and I had maybe kind of written 1ish. It’s not necessarily that they’re hard to do, but they require a lot of thought because the way they’re written is very specific not only in the template and formatting that you use, but the wording/phrasing. Further, because the topics we were writing about were somewhat broad and not able to be solved in a mere 1-2 page document, it was hard to ensure that we were specific enough without getting too specific. It’s the most imprecise precise science I’ve ever seen.

Representing Ghana, we were out in the hall with other African states working out what we wanted to see come from this committee. And in a tragic yet fortunate way, generally all the Africa people were very type-A, wanted to be the best and had already set their agenda for this exact moment probably 6 months ago. Thus it was tragic, because that meant my stress level reached a record high, in addition to the fact that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. But it was fortunate because for the first time ever, I didn’t have to do everything whilst working with a group. So wherever an explosion of cortisol meets a burst of dopamine is exactly where I was. I didn’t sit back and do nothing, but I just stopped and listened and let them run over each other.

After about 20 minutes, sitting in on Africa felt like sitting in on a Young Republicans meeting, so I started meandering around to get a feel for what other people were doing. Some groups were kind of focusing on the same things as us, others were coming up with novel ideas. Everybody was fluttering away at work. And somehow an hour of informal session passed and brought us back into formal session which is for speeches. The speeches are a 2 minute max, meaning you can get enough detail to maybe peak someone’s interest, but not actually discuss anything terribly specific. Some people had prewritten melodramas that they read aloud, while others fumbled and bumbled around spending half their time saying thanks and listing every country they were working with as though people were going to jot them all down. The melodrama speeches were almost worse, though; mostly because these speeches are not used to build compassion over a topic like world peace or AIDS…I mean, we’re all here trying to solve the same issues, so you don’t have to convince us that they are issues…we know…and we agree with you that they need to be solved…Is it almost dinner yet?

nikki interlude: bitching it out

So during this conference we’re supposed to wear “business attire” and being that I generally own zero pencil skirts, blouses or pairs of slacks, I did the best I could with the dresses I own. I like color and think that my appearance is presentable. This, in addition to the fact that nobody gave me a dress code rules sheet, has gotten me in trouble with my clothing. Apparently I’m not dressed properly. I mean, ok, maybe it wasn’t appropriate to wear my Indian bejeweled flats, but my wide-ass feet were going to fall off if I tried to jam them into the one pair of shoes that I brought in my tiny suitcase. In my opinion, business attire for women is hideous and boring. Why are we not allowed to wear colors and patterns and dresses? But I guess it’s another part of the nikkiness in that I have to wear a big necklace, some kind of interesting color and generally just do what I want. I have serious problems with authority, tradition and formality. And I guess this is something I’ve always known, but it became blatantly obvious when I got ragingly mad at the idea of me being dressed “inappropriately”. Further, what’s wrong with shoulders?

#2

If this conference is supposed to be indicative of the type of work that happens in diplomatic settings, then count me out. This is a room filled with maybe 10% approachable and genuine people and 90% pretentious intellectual know-it-alls that think because they printed off a bunch of documents they’re really cool. No wonder there’s no world peace. Because if everybody were equal, that would mean that this next generation of pompous douchebags wouldn’t have anybody to be smarter than. Don’t get me wrong, they’re smart, know what they’re doing and have worked hard, but seriously, Iranian deligate? You are giving me a fuckin’ RASH. Calm your ass down. We’re not actually changing anything. And that’s the problem with this whole thing. Nothing changes. Everybody just feels "awesome" for having made some "awesome" resolutions that don’t actually change anything. The marginalized are just getting more marginalized. I’ll be happy to just go live in a yurt in Africa or something so that way nobody can tell me what to do and I can talk to decent people all day.

#3

I have a paradoxical problem. I constantly find myself frustrated and boxed in when dealing with people that lack passion, motivation, a commitment to intellect and depth. Yet when I am surrounded by a group of people like this, I can’t rip my head off fast enough. As soon as you get all of us overachievers in the same room, it’s like an alarm goes off telling people that they need to be the smartest person in the room and will say every seemingly relevant fact that they’ve ever known to one up anyone in their way. Where are all the people in between? I’m a very serious person, but at the same time I’m not very aggressive. I lack the competitive passion that a lot of these people have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m competitive and a go-getter, but not in the way that I need to prove it to the world. I guess I feel like I speak for myself through my inherent words and actions and don’t need to amp it up the minute I’m surrounded by people I feel threatened by. I can be really uptight and type-A, but at the same time, I could really give a damn about a lot of things and generally I’m pretty lax, too. And I feel like at this point, this conference will never materialize into anything substantial in my life. 

The Model UN, or, an exercise in who’s the coolest, smartest person everrrrrrr

After our good crepes and even better conversation, we decided to head to SoHo because the shops in the East village were still closed. SoHo is a trendy area that, like the rest of New York, is chock full of shopping, food and interesting oddities in between. The subway spit us out in the heart of a major shopping area and we stopped in a crazy European knick-knack store whose wares stole their color schemes from an extensive collection of paint chips, as nearly every color imaginable reflected back at us.

We then went into a store called Uniqlo which is sort of like Gap meets Europe meets a Delias catalogue t-shirt section. All their jeans were 33” in length for some reason and they seemed to have an obsession with Mickey Mouse and other Disney affiliates, in addition to stuffy preppy clothes. (As yet another random sidenote, what’s the deal with Mickey Mouse clothes? Generally, when you wear Mickey stuff in the U.S. you’re either 5 years old or kind of, dare I say…trashy? However, Mickey Mouse seems to be quite en vogue in foreign countries—even those that resent the invasion of the American cultural empire…)

Next we went to Zara, a store I learned about in Spanish that I believe originated in Spain. It too is like Gap meets Europe meets Ralph Lauren summer collection meets incredible shoe store. Everything in there was generally overpriced, but soooooo cute and colorful. The shoes were to die for and I know I’m probably making myself sound like somewhat of a shoe fanatic in all my entries, but these shoes were all my style. I feel confident that there are few people that can and would wear lime green leather pumps, but I could count myself amongst those people…if I had the money to buy shoes at Zara.

And speaking of shoes…we had time before our scheduled lunch to head back to the East Village to exchange my oddly sized shoes from the Tibetan store. The owner was surprised to see me again and laughed when I told him that the sizes were wrong but was happy to exchange them (and now that I have worn the pair for a day, I realize that they really stretch out so maybe I should have kept the smaller size…damn…well you can’t always win with cheap shoes).

Then we hightailed it to the Indian Restaurant on Lexington. After another leisurely ride on green line (I’m getting good at the subway) we walked up a few blocks to find the restaurant tucked away in an apartment building. The decorum was charming and the food was delicious. Other than Basmati rice, naan bread and curried chicken, I’m not really sure what all I ate, but it was great. Sometimes I think I’m more inclined to eat food if I don’t know what it is.

After the lunch at Agra, we didn’t really have adequate time before we had to meet up with the Ghanaian delegate so once again, we rushed back to the hotel and sat and waited. 5 minutes. 15 minutes. 30 minutes. No show from the Ghanaian delegation…Apparently Ghanaians are notoriously late for everything with a 30 minute delay being standard. Another 10 minutes and we called the meeting off, as our advisor never actually received a 100% confirmation anyway…

Thus ended my fun times in New York…The opening ceremony of the Model UN conference began with a bang. Just kidding. It wasn’t very exciting and the keynote speaker had a voice like Louis Armstrong which generally made him a very strange choice to deliver a speech. His career achievements are numerous and impressive. But his voice was not pleasant to listen to in a speech.

An hour later our first session began. There weren’t enough chairs by half. What a great start. People were introducing themselves and I tried to get a feel of where people were from (many from Germany and Italy), but was shocked to find that in the 20 or so minutes before the actual meeting started, people were already jumping down my throat to find out in what order we preferred the agenda to be set. So much for conversation. I started getting nervous when they handed me business cards and asked for mine in return. Not that I would have made them anyway (what college student has money for arbitrary business cards?) but my instructor never even informed us that it is typical for people to have them. Additionally, people had binders that were at least 3 inches thick with relevant documents and resolutions. I overheard intense conversations about conventions that I’d vaguely heard of before. Already I felt myself getting stressed out and frustrated. Right off the bat, we already seemed behind and it sent me back to the days of novice year debate. Great.

Crepes, Chile y Charlar

Having half of Tuesday free, Courtney (one of my roommates) and I decided to get back to the East Village, find some cool shopping and hit the town, just the 2 of us. We had to go back to the East Village, because I noticed that a pair of shoes that I got at the Tibetan store had one size 38 and one size 36. Once again, we took green line to Astor Place and took the route that Bethany and I had carved out the day before. The only problem was that none of the stores were open quite yet. Courtney was starving and we managed to spot a tiny little crepe restaurant. At first we couldn’t gauge where the owner was from—initially we were thrown off by her accent and the fact that she was making crepes, so we thought maybe French? I finally ventured to ask her and she said she was from Chile! She was in New York to study pilates and had only been there for about 6 months. Being that Courtney and I are studying Spanish, we both got that hesitant look like, “ok, we should be practicing Spanish now…” and finally I made the slight comment that I felt like I should be speaking Spanish and Teresa (the owner) said she would love to help us practice. So for about the next hour we engaged in a conversation about the weather, NYC, Chile, education and other random things here and there.

I’m sure I screwed up a lot, but Teresa assured us that our Spanish was great and that she was impressed. I have to admit that once you can get past those first few sentences in a conversation, you can probably continue speaking. Often times, I am struck with the fear that I will say “¿Qué tal?” and they’ll start going into a rapid fire conversation with lots of slang and I’ll just have to nod and say “sí, sí”, which doesn’t actually mean I can speak Spanish. It just means I’m terrified.

There’s something exhilarating about speaking Spanish; even a conversation about the weather feels like flirting. And it’s because of little intimate moments like these that I continue to advocate that more beauty and happiness is found through these unique interactions than in a tourist attraction site, even if it’s filled with rich, historic information. Sometimes you can be separated by a language, a continent or an ideology, but usually you can be reunited through humanity.

I Love NY...?

Today was our only free day and after a bit of a delayed start (sometimes it’s hard being friends with an in-demand journalist working on a deadline) we hit the streets. We didn’t really have any sort of itinerary, but decided the top of Central Park was a good place to start. But to get all those 70 blocks away, we had to take the subway…

Maybe I’m jaded from the trains of Korea and Hong Kong, which are comprehensive, clean and predictable, but seriously…what is wrong with the subways of New York?!? First of all, an unlimited 7 day pass is $29—which seems like a joke given that the trains are filthy, confusing and every other subway system in the world is generally dirt cheap. The subways probably haven’t been cleaned or re-done since before Seinfeld was popular (which, if you haven’t seen it already, I highly recommend The Subway episode of Seinfeld so you understand what I mean). For the most part, it has been my experience that if you know your ABC’s, 123’s, colors and where you want to go, you can ride a subway (well, not always…). But in New York it’s a little more complex than that. Another thing I don’t get is that maybe less than half of the trains even have a lit-up map on them so people know which way the train is going and which stops are coming up when. Some trains have nothing at all, so you have to look out the window to see if it’s your stop or not. Other trains have an announcement from the conductor, but unless you’re fluent in mumbled overcome English (which I can’t even understand), you have no idea what’s going on. How foreigners can navigate the subway is an impressive feat on their behalf.

After a sticky ride on the subway, we finally made it to the top of Central Park. Being in somewhat of a repulsed mood from the subway, we still found ourselves dissatisfied with the “beauty of the park”. I think most people say Central Park is beautiful because it is such a stark “natural” contrast to the towering, lively city of New York, but when you’re walking around with a Kiwi girl and a West Coast girl, a couple of trees and some shaggy grass just isn’t going to cut it. But I will admit that it gets better as you walk farther into the park, and with Spring at the tips of all the trees, it isn’t in full beautiful bloom yet.

Once we had walked about 20-30 blocks we realized that the Met was just a block over. Unfortunately we didn’t know that it’s closed on Mondays. This left us on 5^th Avenue without a clue of where to go, so naturally we just started walking forward until we stopped at a deli. And it was all Italy in there (ok, and an Egyptian guy, too). The gregarious clerk was delighted to make us some fresh juice from carrots, ginger, celery, apples and beets and give us directions to the East Village where he thought we’d enjoy ourselves. I can’t say I remember the name of the deli, but I will remember the nice little Italians that owned it.

Then it was off to the subway again to see what we would find in the East Village. As we walked out from the subway, we were immediately greeted by yet even more restaurants and stores and stores filled with colorful wayfarers, bongs and animal hats. My eye was caught by the sparkly jewelry inside of a store called “Hottie”. The first thing I saw when I entered were Soju earrings—earrings that I had bought for 1000 won in Korea ($1). When I excitedly exclaimed, “Soju!” the owner of the store asked me how I knew what Soju was, and I explained that I had been in Korea the month before. I couldn’t help but wonder how much these Soju earrings would cost in this store. $11.99. YIKES. I think the owner saw the shock on my face and might have heard me mutter “pee-sigh-yo”, which means “expensive” in Korean.

Discouraged by price, we continued on to another store with Tibetan/India clothing and other wares. The owner was actually from Tibet, but grew up in India (thus explaining the store’s interesting combo of goods) because his family fled the area to raise him and his siblings. I was dazzled by the shoes in the back, which are the classic Indian style, beaded with sequins, jewels and exotic colors…for only $10! And if you remember my previous weakness for ten dollar shoes (and my fondness for all things India), you won’t be surprised to know that I bought 2 pairs.

Although the East Village was filled with lots of interesting things, we weren’t really sure that we’d gotten to the heart of all the eclectic shops, but we wanted to move on. So we decided to head to the prolific Wall Street.

It was interesting walking down the narrow streets knowing that within the walls of these buildings, a serious meltdown took place a short 3 years ago that we’re still recovering from. Yet it still stands as the most recognized symbol of world finance with thousands vying to see it.

Also in the general Wall Street area is Ground Zero. Having never seen the Twin Towers before they fell, I can’t really imagine the vast attention they commanded in the skyline, but the vast emptiness they left behind suggests something of their former symbolism. As to their current symbolism…it’s complex. Seeing posters with the photos of those who perished in the incident, and those who gave their lives by doing their job valiantly made it more real. It divorced it from the warring ideologies of Fundamental Islam and the Western World and made it something tangible, something emotional. Yet, at the same time, I could understand how it would only make those warring ideologies more apparent and polarizing. For me I felt sorrow for those lost and anger for those who committed the act itself, but frustrated that nothing has really been resolved since the incident and the buildings are barely yet to be reconstructed. Everything has changed since 2001…yet nothing has changed at all. Except this emptiness, this emptiness has remained.

After the poignant walk through Ground Zero, we decided we were going to go to the tip of the island to at least get a peek of the Statue of Liberty. A trudge through the charismatic Battery Park took us to the end of Manhattan with a hazy view of Lady Liberty. Also, she was incredibly far away. Even the zoom on my camera couldn’t do the sight any justice, but still we snapped our photos then made our way back to Times Square.

Having some time before the scheduled alumni-sponsored dinner, we visited the M&M’s store, which was an absolute clusterfuck. Who knew that something so simple as a round chocolate candy would warrant a candy empire bringing millions of tourists so that they could pick their favorite color of candy to take home, despite the fact that they are $14.99 a pound and all have the same flavor? Nonetheless, seeing several solid rows of M&M’s was slightly artistic.

We also had time to see the Hershey’s store, which reeked of chocolate. I use “reeked” here because I maintain that Hershey’s makes some of the world’s worst chocolate and if you’ve ever stuck your nose in a bag full of Kisses, you know what I mean. I was surprised that Hershey’s was simply selling all of their regular candies in the forms in which you can buy them at any given store…save for the 2 pound Kiss (filled with more Kisses) and other huge novelty candy items. After making a rather expensive purchase of a very large Reese’s related item for my good friend (who loves all things Reese’s and peanut butter), we had to return for dinner.

Although New York is notorious for its sizeable Italian and Italo-American population, I was not impressed by the food at Tony’s DiNapoli. It was pretty generic Italian—but it’s not the small, family-owned type of Italian place where you’re going to get spaghetti made from a recipe that’s been handed down for generations. It’s a step up from Olive Garden. So, in addition to a perfect turkey sandwich, I’m also searching for some incredible authentic Italian food.

With dinner behind me, I had to work on biogeography homework. Traveling is not conducive to wanting to finish your homework…

Now You're in New York...

A 5 hour flight to New York seems like nothing when a month prior you had a 13 hour flight across the Pacific Ocean, but I guess when you consider all the preparation it took to get to this 5 hour flight, you’d rack up a lot more than 13 hours…so let’s back up.

So what brings little nikki to the big apple? The 2011 Model UN conference with delegates from all over the world, of course. Think what you want about Idaho and its universities, but I think it’s pretty bitchin that my very small and underappreciated international studies department wrangles its students up for the Model UN conference every year. It’s kind of a big deal. But what is the Model UN??  It’s essentially students representing countries on different committees to discuss the most relevant issues at hand. For me, this means representing Ghana in the Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice for the issues of transnational organized crime, youth offenders and the proper treatment of migrants. I’ll have a better answer for you when the conference actually starts in 2 days…

Arriving into NYC in my usual sweaty, haggardly tired state of traveling, I was happy to not have the additional stress of waiting for checked luggage because I somehow managed to fit a week’s worth of clothes into a carry on and opted to just buy the necessary “liquid” items when I got here. Now that I’m out walking around in the streets seeing some great fashion (though not even 1/20 as great as Korea…sorry, NYC…) I wish I had brought that shirt, those shoes, another necklace and better clothes. This is usually my problem when I travel (ok, I actually have a lot of problems when I travel) this issue with not feeling fashionable—I unzip my suitcase and suddenly have the realization that THAT is what I packed for THIS city?!? But you can’t pack everything, and I saved myself $50 for it.

Driving into the city, I got that little flutter in my traveling bones when I saw the cityscape just outside my window. While NYC has nothing on the LED, rainbow skylines of Asia, it does have that historic city charm. The windows sparkle like subtle illuminated diamonds from afar. Things got more and more illuminated the deeper into the city we drove until finally we reached Times Square, aflame with advertisements. Suddenly our bus stopped. At our hotel. In Times Square!? And I’m not talking “in” Times Square, as in 3 blocks over, I’m talking “I can look out my window and see all the little tourists below lit up by Forever 21, LG, the Lion King and Coke”. Frank Sinatra and Alicia Keys/Jay-Z are dueling in my head to find the words for my first steps in the city.

Having the night to roam free, we decided to meet up in the “lobby” (the actual lobby is on the 8^th floor and there is no lobby on the ground floor, so we met on ground floor). And if you know anything about me and traveling with large groups, you know I’m gonna cut out about 90% of ‘em before by the time we reach the subway station. As if by fate, the subway wouldn’t accept bills to buy passes, and having only the $100 bill in my bra, I was out of luck to buy a subway pass. With just about everyone on the other side of those scarier than prison subway gates, Bethany and I just walked out of the station, being that I couldn’t ride it…among other reasons…

And so the 2 free spirited traveling girls meandered about Times Square knowing full well that any restaurant in the area would be 4x as busy and 5x as pricey so we started walking away from the advertisement tourist inferno and into the streets nearby. Frustrated by only seeing nasty chain restaurants (you are in NYC, arguably the restaurant capital of the world and you’re gonna eat at Applebees…?) we stopped and asked a crazy comedy show proprietor (aka, screaming guy on the street) if he could tell us where to eat and after explaining that, no, he wasn’t a lesbian, we had to get our asses away from “this nasty shit” and get to Hell’s Kitchen, 2 blocks thattaway. At first we thought he literally meant a restaurant called “Hell’s Kitchen” but we shortly realized that Hell’s Kitchen is the name of a restaurant row lining several blocks in the heart of Manhattan. On the way to restaurant row, a huge rumble of thunder broke out above the city and began a light drizzle thereafter. Not having heard such a booming of thunder in a long time, both Bethany and I broke out in the squeals of girls caught in a city thunderstorm.

Being hungry and curious, we spent an hour deciding where to eat and after sadly discovering that the Argentine restaurant’s kitchen was closed (and, looking back, there was nobody else in the restaurant and I deeply regret not staying, getting drunk and having a laugh with the [presumably] Argentines running the restaurant…), we decided to eat at a groovy pizza place called Two Boots. Two Boots is literally groovy. It has psychedelic posters on the wall and kitsch from the 60s. Pizza by the slice is named after random characters from TV shows or movies. While we devoured our cheese and tomato pizza (which was ok, but a little too spicy and crunchy for me) we talked to a guy from Singapore who has probably attended more Broadway shows than many natives to the city. He gave us the rundown on how to buy theater tickets (which I’m still not sure if I’ll have time to see) and which shows were surprisingly OK or totally shitty. He said Mamma Mia sucks. Hmmm…maybe he’s not an expert? But I am biased because I’ve only seen the movie…(btw, Meryl Streep, any time you wanna get drunk and make a movie, I am all for it).

After pizza, we stopped at one of the millions of delis to get some breakfast food. Though we didn’t order anything from the deli part itself, I can say with pure foodie goodness that everything looked absolutely delectable. Everything in every deli looks delicious. Not to mention that many delis feature my favorite brand of turkey. Top notch. (Side note: How any Subway stays in business here is a total mystery. As far as I’m concerned, if you want something shitty associated with the word ‘subway’, just go to the actual subway). And as a girl on the quest for a perfect turkey sandwich, I gotta say, I’m hoping I can find it here, because after all…now I’m in New York and there’s nothing I can’t do…