The adventures of my life continue... Here is a summary (never short of words) of a week ranging from restaurants in London's sunny capital of friends to New York City during Fashion Week, a visit to the architect Michael Arad's creation of The Void, where September 9/11 took place; shopping in the Big Apple and last, but not least, the removal of an organ in Southampton, under emergency anaesthetic.
From sex to the city... To the bliss of the countryside.
What more can a blog offer? Ha-ha...
Before taking a flight to JFK, my week in London was full of aspirations. There were drinks at the new Bulgari Hotel's newly decorated dark wooden surround with Sirena; Gianfranco's dinner invite to the Thomas Cubitt gastro pub and our tennis match of words on the broad travel experiences we had each been through; a sunny lunch at Brinkleys with the excellent Julie whom I met at the boot camp near Marbella; another delightful dinner at the Bodega Negra (where I almost died on my last visit, but soooooo didn't!), with the charming Don Juan, each sharing our naughty stories since we last met. Remember the late lunch at Notting Hill's E&O with the eligible Tyler, who seemed as wooed as I was by our rendez-vous turning into a melodic prelude.
However, the last two days before my flight to NYC, I was bedridden and put myself on solid antibiotics, thinking it was a mere cold I was suffering from; I still managed to make it to Lola's big birthday bash with the kind offer of Donna picking me up on her way. Shoreditch was the destination for the party, and the entourage of Lola's circle of wonderful people made the night one of joy, love and dancing on my golden Michael Kors heels. On my return home, the pain under my right chest did attack me somewhat while packing (always last minute!). But after 3 hours of sleep, I woke up ready for my pick-up to head to Heathrow's shopping terminal 5 (another danger point), oblivious to any aches.
Getting into JFK, once again, there was a two-hour queue (or line as the Americans call it), but again, I got to flirt with yet another customs officer who seemed surprised at the stated number on the passport age category and when I told him: "It's all natural." With a naughty streak in my eyes, he replied: "And I like it that way!" Oh, really, now 'ociffer'?! (Officer with a French accent).
It was great seeing Arnie in his high-rise, interior-designed modern apartment, with extensive windows facing the side of Queensboro Bridge and red trams crossing in front of the windows of his living room and the guest bedroom where I stayed. We had a heart-to-heart about some of the happenings in our lives since we were last able to chat, which turned into Arnie leaving with his papa and cousin for dinner. At the same time, yours genuinely went on cabbing my way down to Greenwich Hotel's trendy restaurant, Locanda Verde. At Kristine's recommendation, we met and installed ourselves at the bar with the hot, obliging waiter doing his American best at service. After some fun food, Kristine persisted in trying out a club in the Meat Packing District, which seemed jam-packed with queues outside each hotspot of long-legged creatures, all glammed up and waiting to be let in from a 'guestlist'. Oh, how I despise that word and all the attitude that goes with it. From the Dream Hotel's club to some other one I cannot even be asked to remember the name of, walking in high heels, the exhaustion got to me fast. I had to bid my friend farewell, jumped in a cab, and headed to my bedroom with the divine view under the dim lighting.
Saturday was an easy day as I felt somewhat too chilled to shop! Went for a walk in the neighbourhood with Arnie and left him to walk to his lunch date. At the same time, I took more photos of NYC and spent the afternoon on my bed, watching the trams pass by while the opening in the window let in a humid autumnal breeze, accompanied by the sound of the traffic of NYC at its most soothing. Strange, but there was nowhere else I would have been at that moment instead. When Arnie returned, I was finishing my last blog, and as he asked to read it on his iPad for the first time, he began laughing and called out: "Haldita ... You're SO you!" And he knows me well; we have been friends for many years.
The day was highly restful, so we headed out to dinner at the charming Da Noi Italian restaurant, still in the hood and ended the evening from midnight on at the Townhouse's gay establishment. I just loved all the attention everyone introduced to me. From the semi-crowded bar, we moved onto the next room where someone played the piano, and others gathered around him, singing along ... 'New York, New York' was on the cards. I felt so at home amongst my new lively and friendly buddies, including one of the only other ladies, Sylvana; the tall, blonde glamour-puss (and I mean that in the best sense) and the drag queen who arrived dressed as her, to add flavour to her big night. I was having a ball sitting at the bar, getting better acquainted with the super-friendly Kev and the tall and elegant Iman, amongst all others. At 4:00am, I literally had to be dragged out of there.
Sunday, was a dinner of the Three Musketeers as Elliot joined Arnie and I, on his way back from The Hamptons; a Chinese take away at home, eating, laughing and catching up. The next day, Arnie left for the Caribbean while I headed to the East Village's 8th Street with Elliot, where the shabby chic shoe stores have now given way to closure, and we entered a Gothic-style boutique by my friend's strong recommendation. With the help of the long, grey-haired and most helpful assistant, I raided their sexy lingerie shop.
Let's talk about New York Fashion Week now.
It's all about mixing leather with fabric; black seems to be the colour. Trés New York, now. Shame I missed the new concept store on New York's retail horizon: Townhouse's Upper East Side style, following inspiration from Paris' concept store, Colette, which has a more Avant-garde theme. 'Swept off her feet' was the heading for the Bergdorf Goodman shoe salon re-opening statement. 'When is a shoe not just a shoe?' But an object of desire to feel sexy and relaxed in. Don't you just love all the marketing for women ... 'Who would cut back on vacations and entertainment to walk-in footwear that would put them in line with celebrities ... With the stars!
Gosh! I feel there are stars in my eyes, never mind my feet.
After shopping on 8th Street, I went back to Elliot's to watch the US Open final, where Murray kept the suspense of his winning from Djokovic till the end of the almost 5-hour match on Monday, 10 September. That day, Olympians and Paralympians paraded through the streets of London in victory. What an inspiration these strong-minded athletes are to us all. Ted, Elliot's long-time partner, arrived home that evening to take us to dinner at Saigon's Vietnamese restaurant.
On Tuesday, the day of our car journey to Southampton with Elliot arrived. Piers, whom I had met in the US Virgin Islands through my friend, offered to take us on his ride back. It was good to see Piers carrying the perfect interior designer summer look with his golden locks now grown to shoulder length, Ralph Lauren shorts, layered t-shirts, and sock-free, worn-in loafers. His drive through Williamsburg Bridge brought back memories of my first introduction to this now artistic area of NY. After a two-hour ride, we arrived at the house in Southampton, where the weather report was sunny and glorious, lucky after the previous week's storm.
The first night was a visit to Suki Zuki and, yes, you guessed it, sushi. Wednesday, we spent a couple of hours on the almost deserted beach, came back to lay by the poolside and ended the evening at the Red Bar restaurant, where a group of the typically white, grey-haired crowd was dining. There was no interaction amongst the somewhat stuck-up entourage, and no one looked away from their tables. Dull.
Once we got home, the pain grew under my right chest, and it became intolerable to such an extent I had to wake Elliot up at 11pm to drive me to the Emergency at Southampton Hospital in his semi-drunken state. Not a patient in sight! Boy, they must be a healthy bunch in this part of the world or is going to the hospital a luxury not every American can afford? After the nurse was asked the relevant questions by the nurse, I was directed to a curtained cubicle to lay there 'til I was seen to. The pain had somewhat disappeared in anxiousness, so I lay there waiting for one nurse, followed by another, to ask questions and make me sign paper after paper (this is America and suing is a hobby for most). In my mad moment, I thought, 'Here we go. I had to have an ER episode in my blog, and here it is!'
The hours passed while I went in and out of sleep, and every time I awoke, there was yet another new face looking down at me with more of the same questions: "Do you smoke?" or "Do you drink?" Hope they don't ask if I have sex, too! Haha. Anyhow, I seem to have amused the nurses with my answers. In the morning, the surgeon, much older looking than any other doctor who had visited me throughout the night, walked in for examination and decided very quickly there was a gall bladder to be removed. In looks and manner, he could have been a politician on Capitol Hill or, indeed, a senator from upstate New York. When the surgeon holding my hand asked:
"How old are you, Haldita?"
I looked him in the eyes and answered:
"I'm 53 and fancy-free!"
I somewhat embarrassed him in front of his young intern, who was smiling with his head down.
The catwalk of lovely nurses, not to dismiss those gorgeous young doctors who visited me throughout the night, actually made my time at the hospital a happy one to reminisce about. After numerous blood tests and X-rays, I was finally rolled into the operating area with the clock reading 1:30pm, and all I remember next was seeing another clock at 5:00pm. Once I gained conscience later on at night, all I wanted to know from the good-looking interns was whether I could fly to London the following week as I had a flight to Ibiza to catch. I was discharged the next day after lunch, less a gall bladder and with a strict diet of no fat.
Elliot, who had somewhat disappeared from the scene for a while, confessed upon picking me up:
"Haldita, Darling, I've a confession to make."
There was a spark in his eyes that made me automatically guess what he was about to say.
"You know how drunk I was when I dropped you at the hospital?" He continued. "Zo, I drove to the next closest highway rest stop and noticed one of these huge American black and silver trucks parked here. So, I installed myself right behind where the driver could see me from his side mirror and turned off the car engine and lights. The truck driver did the same."
I could not help butting in at this point: "I knew it. I just knew it; you had sex!"
Elliot burst into a loud laughter and said: "No. Really? You know me too well, Haldita. Yes. You know this is a total gay fantasy, and it turned into reality. I got out of the car and walked around the large vehicle, and when I got to the driver's side, he was there, ready for me. Da'lin, it was sooooooo hot!"
I doubt it not! So, my immediate response to my dear friend who had been such an angel by my side was: "My Darling. See how your good deeds paid off so fast!" And we laughed.
In my state of half-consciousness out of the hospital, I had texted my Girl with many others to say:
'Just had my 'gold' bladder removed and doing well.'
To which my Girl responded:
'Do you mean gall bladder, mama? I've never heard of a gold one, haha. Not that I doubt yours would be gold!'
I concluded in writing: 'I must be delirious, my love. Elliot is in stitches with laughter, and I certainly mustn't laugh, or my stitches will snap, but I can't help it.'
On the following day out of hospital, Elliot and I drove to Southampton for my prescription and some supermarket shopping for the delicious salmon he would cook for us, with Ted and Piers arriving that evening from NYC. At the sight of the Helmut Lang boutique, my knees went weak, and we entered briefly to order the black fabric/leather jacket to be picked up later. How else does a girl go through therapy if it does not begin with retail?
And so, I spent the next few days being looked after beautifully by Elliot. We sat by the pool, under the glorious sunshine of the perfect heat before autumn's descent, looking at the light blue water, which I was not allowed to enter after surgery, with the Hawaiian Tropic oil shimmering on my skin and every so often, the sound of the breeze swiftly moving through the leaves of the tall, green trees surrounding us. Bliss in the haven of recovery! I could not be more grateful for Elliot and all the care he took of me, his love, and his friendship.
After a stop over at Starbucks in Bridgehampton and heading back to his city life, Ted took the time on Sunday to drive me by the Atlantic Ocean and show me the magnificent villas, which did not disappoint, along the stretch which went on for miles and miles. Wow! So much wealth.
Elliot had planned for us to have lunch at the American Hotel's restaurant in Sag Harbor, a must, especially with the most delicious sweet potato soup, which I can still taste under my tongue.
What came as a total surprise, yet again, was having a last dinner at the Suki Zuki and upon walking in, I noticed Cyrus and Mitt sitting at a table near the entrance. We had a brief conversation on the phone after my operation. They were supposed to have left East Hampton the day before but, realising it was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, they had delayed their trip back to the capital and decided to visit the sushi place on their way home - for the first time, I may add. And who walks in but us! So, we joined them for the meal and enjoyed catching up. Superb and, once again, incredible. Tiny, tiny world we live in.
Another restaurant we ate at in East Hampton was Nick & Tony's, where the Clintons had been spotted dining two or three weeks previously.
From sex to the city... To the bliss of the countryside.
What more can a blog offer? Ha-ha...
Before taking a flight to JFK, my week in London was full of aspirations. There were drinks at the new Bulgari Hotel's newly decorated dark wooden surround with Sirena; Gianfranco's dinner invite to the Thomas Cubitt gastro pub and our tennis match of words on the broad travel experiences we had each been through; a sunny lunch at Brinkleys with the excellent Julie whom I met at the boot camp near Marbella; another delightful dinner at the Bodega Negra (where I almost died on my last visit, but soooooo didn't!), with the charming Don Juan, each sharing our naughty stories since we last met. Remember the late lunch at Notting Hill's E&O with the eligible Tyler, who seemed as wooed as I was by our rendez-vous turning into a melodic prelude.
However, the last two days before my flight to NYC, I was bedridden and put myself on solid antibiotics, thinking it was a mere cold I was suffering from; I still managed to make it to Lola's big birthday bash with the kind offer of Donna picking me up on her way. Shoreditch was the destination for the party, and the entourage of Lola's circle of wonderful people made the night one of joy, love and dancing on my golden Michael Kors heels. On my return home, the pain under my right chest did attack me somewhat while packing (always last minute!). But after 3 hours of sleep, I woke up ready for my pick-up to head to Heathrow's shopping terminal 5 (another danger point), oblivious to any aches.
Getting into JFK, once again, there was a two-hour queue (or line as the Americans call it), but again, I got to flirt with yet another customs officer who seemed surprised at the stated number on the passport age category and when I told him: "It's all natural." With a naughty streak in my eyes, he replied: "And I like it that way!" Oh, really, now 'ociffer'?! (Officer with a French accent).
It was great seeing Arnie in his high-rise, interior-designed modern apartment, with extensive windows facing the side of Queensboro Bridge and red trams crossing in front of the windows of his living room and the guest bedroom where I stayed. We had a heart-to-heart about some of the happenings in our lives since we were last able to chat, which turned into Arnie leaving with his papa and cousin for dinner. At the same time, yours genuinely went on cabbing my way down to Greenwich Hotel's trendy restaurant, Locanda Verde. At Kristine's recommendation, we met and installed ourselves at the bar with the hot, obliging waiter doing his American best at service. After some fun food, Kristine persisted in trying out a club in the Meat Packing District, which seemed jam-packed with queues outside each hotspot of long-legged creatures, all glammed up and waiting to be let in from a 'guestlist'. Oh, how I despise that word and all the attitude that goes with it. From the Dream Hotel's club to some other one I cannot even be asked to remember the name of, walking in high heels, the exhaustion got to me fast. I had to bid my friend farewell, jumped in a cab, and headed to my bedroom with the divine view under the dim lighting.
 | |
| Outside the Dream Hotel |
 | |
| The view from my room |
The day was highly restful, so we headed out to dinner at the charming Da Noi Italian restaurant, still in the hood and ended the evening from midnight on at the Townhouse's gay establishment. I just loved all the attention everyone introduced to me. From the semi-crowded bar, we moved onto the next room where someone played the piano, and others gathered around him, singing along ... 'New York, New York' was on the cards. I felt so at home amongst my new lively and friendly buddies, including one of the only other ladies, Sylvana; the tall, blonde glamour-puss (and I mean that in the best sense) and the drag queen who arrived dressed as her, to add flavour to her big night. I was having a ball sitting at the bar, getting better acquainted with the super-friendly Kev and the tall and elegant Iman, amongst all others. At 4:00am, I literally had to be dragged out of there.
Sunday, was a dinner of the Three Musketeers as Elliot joined Arnie and I, on his way back from The Hamptons; a Chinese take away at home, eating, laughing and catching up. The next day, Arnie left for the Caribbean while I headed to the East Village's 8th Street with Elliot, where the shabby chic shoe stores have now given way to closure, and we entered a Gothic-style boutique by my friend's strong recommendation. With the help of the long, grey-haired and most helpful assistant, I raided their sexy lingerie shop.
Let's talk about New York Fashion Week now.
It's all about mixing leather with fabric; black seems to be the colour. Trés New York, now. Shame I missed the new concept store on New York's retail horizon: Townhouse's Upper East Side style, following inspiration from Paris' concept store, Colette, which has a more Avant-garde theme. 'Swept off her feet' was the heading for the Bergdorf Goodman shoe salon re-opening statement. 'When is a shoe not just a shoe?' But an object of desire to feel sexy and relaxed in. Don't you just love all the marketing for women ... 'Who would cut back on vacations and entertainment to walk-in footwear that would put them in line with celebrities ... With the stars!
Gosh! I feel there are stars in my eyes, never mind my feet.
After shopping on 8th Street, I went back to Elliot's to watch the US Open final, where Murray kept the suspense of his winning from Djokovic till the end of the almost 5-hour match on Monday, 10 September. That day, Olympians and Paralympians paraded through the streets of London in victory. What an inspiration these strong-minded athletes are to us all. Ted, Elliot's long-time partner, arrived home that evening to take us to dinner at Saigon's Vietnamese restaurant.
On Tuesday, the day of our car journey to Southampton with Elliot arrived. Piers, whom I had met in the US Virgin Islands through my friend, offered to take us on his ride back. It was good to see Piers carrying the perfect interior designer summer look with his golden locks now grown to shoulder length, Ralph Lauren shorts, layered t-shirts, and sock-free, worn-in loafers. His drive through Williamsburg Bridge brought back memories of my first introduction to this now artistic area of NY. After a two-hour ride, we arrived at the house in Southampton, where the weather report was sunny and glorious, lucky after the previous week's storm.
The first night was a visit to Suki Zuki and, yes, you guessed it, sushi. Wednesday, we spent a couple of hours on the almost deserted beach, came back to lay by the poolside and ended the evening at the Red Bar restaurant, where a group of the typically white, grey-haired crowd was dining. There was no interaction amongst the somewhat stuck-up entourage, and no one looked away from their tables. Dull.
Once we got home, the pain grew under my right chest, and it became intolerable to such an extent I had to wake Elliot up at 11pm to drive me to the Emergency at Southampton Hospital in his semi-drunken state. Not a patient in sight! Boy, they must be a healthy bunch in this part of the world or is going to the hospital a luxury not every American can afford? After the nurse was asked the relevant questions by the nurse, I was directed to a curtained cubicle to lay there 'til I was seen to. The pain had somewhat disappeared in anxiousness, so I lay there waiting for one nurse, followed by another, to ask questions and make me sign paper after paper (this is America and suing is a hobby for most). In my mad moment, I thought, 'Here we go. I had to have an ER episode in my blog, and here it is!'
The hours passed while I went in and out of sleep, and every time I awoke, there was yet another new face looking down at me with more of the same questions: "Do you smoke?" or "Do you drink?" Hope they don't ask if I have sex, too! Haha. Anyhow, I seem to have amused the nurses with my answers. In the morning, the surgeon, much older looking than any other doctor who had visited me throughout the night, walked in for examination and decided very quickly there was a gall bladder to be removed. In looks and manner, he could have been a politician on Capitol Hill or, indeed, a senator from upstate New York. When the surgeon holding my hand asked:
"How old are you, Haldita?"
I looked him in the eyes and answered:
"I'm 53 and fancy-free!"
I somewhat embarrassed him in front of his young intern, who was smiling with his head down.
The catwalk of lovely nurses, not to dismiss those gorgeous young doctors who visited me throughout the night, actually made my time at the hospital a happy one to reminisce about. After numerous blood tests and X-rays, I was finally rolled into the operating area with the clock reading 1:30pm, and all I remember next was seeing another clock at 5:00pm. Once I gained conscience later on at night, all I wanted to know from the good-looking interns was whether I could fly to London the following week as I had a flight to Ibiza to catch. I was discharged the next day after lunch, less a gall bladder and with a strict diet of no fat.
Elliot, who had somewhat disappeared from the scene for a while, confessed upon picking me up:
"Haldita, Darling, I've a confession to make."
There was a spark in his eyes that made me automatically guess what he was about to say.
"You know how drunk I was when I dropped you at the hospital?" He continued. "Zo, I drove to the next closest highway rest stop and noticed one of these huge American black and silver trucks parked here. So, I installed myself right behind where the driver could see me from his side mirror and turned off the car engine and lights. The truck driver did the same."
I could not help butting in at this point: "I knew it. I just knew it; you had sex!"
Elliot burst into a loud laughter and said: "No. Really? You know me too well, Haldita. Yes. You know this is a total gay fantasy, and it turned into reality. I got out of the car and walked around the large vehicle, and when I got to the driver's side, he was there, ready for me. Da'lin, it was sooooooo hot!"
I doubt it not! So, my immediate response to my dear friend who had been such an angel by my side was: "My Darling. See how your good deeds paid off so fast!" And we laughed.
In my state of half-consciousness out of the hospital, I had texted my Girl with many others to say:
'Just had my 'gold' bladder removed and doing well.'
To which my Girl responded:
'Do you mean gall bladder, mama? I've never heard of a gold one, haha. Not that I doubt yours would be gold!'
I concluded in writing: 'I must be delirious, my love. Elliot is in stitches with laughter, and I certainly mustn't laugh, or my stitches will snap, but I can't help it.'
On the following day out of hospital, Elliot and I drove to Southampton for my prescription and some supermarket shopping for the delicious salmon he would cook for us, with Ted and Piers arriving that evening from NYC. At the sight of the Helmut Lang boutique, my knees went weak, and we entered briefly to order the black fabric/leather jacket to be picked up later. How else does a girl go through therapy if it does not begin with retail?
And so, I spent the next few days being looked after beautifully by Elliot. We sat by the pool, under the glorious sunshine of the perfect heat before autumn's descent, looking at the light blue water, which I was not allowed to enter after surgery, with the Hawaiian Tropic oil shimmering on my skin and every so often, the sound of the breeze swiftly moving through the leaves of the tall, green trees surrounding us. Bliss in the haven of recovery! I could not be more grateful for Elliot and all the care he took of me, his love, and his friendship.
 | |
| Southampton Beach |
 | |
| Houses along the Atlantic Ocean - Southampton |
After a stop over at Starbucks in Bridgehampton and heading back to his city life, Ted took the time on Sunday to drive me by the Atlantic Ocean and show me the magnificent villas, which did not disappoint, along the stretch which went on for miles and miles. Wow! So much wealth.
Elliot had planned for us to have lunch at the American Hotel's restaurant in Sag Harbor, a must, especially with the most delicious sweet potato soup, which I can still taste under my tongue.
 |
| Sag Harbor theatre |
 |
| The American Hotel - Sag Harbor |
What came as a total surprise, yet again, was having a last dinner at the Suki Zuki and upon walking in, I noticed Cyrus and Mitt sitting at a table near the entrance. We had a brief conversation on the phone after my operation. They were supposed to have left East Hampton the day before but, realising it was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, they had delayed their trip back to the capital and decided to visit the sushi place on their way home - for the first time, I may add. And who walks in but us! So, we joined them for the meal and enjoyed catching up. Superb and, once again, incredible. Tiny, tiny world we live in.
Another restaurant we ate at in East Hampton was Nick & Tony's, where the Clintons had been spotted dining two or three weeks previously.
 | |
| Pumpkin picking for Halloween |
Today is my last day in Southampton, six days after the operation. Aaaah! All packed and ready to be picked up by the limo at 2:00pm to head to JFK for my flight back to London. Last night's major storm kept me awake until late, so I look forward to catching up on that on my way home. I had a plane to catch from London to Ibiza the following day. And I did.
Till the next episode, I send you 'Healthy Love'.
Till the next episode, I send you 'Healthy Love'.
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