Antipodean Etiquette in NYC

Some bridge ... I dunno

Every expatriate with a crappy blog wants to give you advice about ‘their’ city.

I never used to, but kind of feel compelled now I have a crappy blog. I also consider myself to be of two cities: New York and Sydney, so I plan on being doubly annoying, though I’ll restrict myself to my current abode for the moment.

To be honest, my ‘guide’ to New York after 17 years of residency is a boring disgrace. When friends come from overseas they tell me their plans and I can’t help but be impressed. “I wish I was doing that,” I think as they saunter off to The Frick followed by drinks at Le Bain, dinner at Per Si and catching several bands and an attitude in Williamsburg.

The Art of Travel: The Stopover (Part One)

I should have resisted but, lacking will power, I’d committed a heinous travel sin and now had to pay.

I wasn’t going to hell, but an overly long stopover in Atlanta loomed.

You see, I had been tempted by the cheap, the nasty, the sordid – a ticket on a budget airline with a stopover/change of plane en-route to the destination.

I was racked with guilt from the very start, but I’d left it until late to make my travel plans and the non-stop flights on airlines with planes from the 21st century cost considerably more than YoureGonnaDie Air, or whoever it was that flew the stuffed-bucket service I found myself on … and on … and on  … and