April 2025: New York by myself.

We don't travel alone. We take off alone. That's the difference. We confront our own company, to find out if we are comfortable with ourselves.

I've been talking about it for a while. I'm going to New York. As if the idea had just come to me. I realize that the trip is already part of me when I hear myself talking about it as if it were already planned.

I'm very last-minute. I have trouble committing, which consequently removes me from other possibilities. I like to be free and think that at a given moment I could be here or there. As long as I don't know, anything is still possible.

At the end of March, I finally booked this trip. Almost on a whim, it actually felt a lot like going away for me. An impulse that guides me, a desire that drives me, I scrolled through and quickly found the ideal deal on a comparison site and booked a round-trip with Swiss Airlines.

By reflex I scrolled for a while on I'm looking for a hotel in Manhattan on Booking.com because I dream of going for a run in Central Park. I quickly realize that the average price for a (very average) hotel is 300 euros per night.

My way of managing a travel budget is a balance between comfort and my reason, which tells me that with what you spend on a hotel you can afford a second trip (which is still a shame). So I went on Airbnb where you can definitely book a room in a local's home there. What is prohibited, however, is short-term rentals (renting an apartment for a few nights and not for the long term).

Knowing this, I thought, why not seek comfort in a local home? Rather than booking a hostel, which was a possibility because, as a solo traveler, I like to create opportunities to meet people and share moments in the morning or evening with travelers or locals.

While searching on Airbnb, I quickly realized that for three times less money, I could get my own room with a private bathroom in a homestay just a few subway stops from Manhattan. So I booked Chanette's.

It also reassured me to know that someone was waiting for me that evening when I arrived.

So the adventure began like this. I pushed open the door of a period building in Brooklyn on April 7th around 9:00 PM local time. It was already dark. I didn't feel at all reassured when the Uber pulled into the neighborhood, onto the street.

Everything is so strange. Different. It tested me. It reminded me of my arrival in Asia, the first time in 2016. My first solo trip. As soon as I landed in Phuket, I was halfway between panic and exhaustion. A state close to stupor. Fatigue helping, when I arrived in New York, I said to myself, "Audrey, calm down, take a shower, sleep, and tomorrow it will be light."

I wasn't looking out the car window, and I was reminding myself, "And to think that in a few days all this will be familiar to you." I love as much as I dread this feeling of being in the unknown, without reference points. Lost. And knowing deep down, and from experience, that the unknown never remains so for long. It's a fleeting feeling. Beautiful, which I try to appreciate while it's still there.

When I pushed open the door of this building, an African American was sitting behind it on a stool listening to music and scrolling on his phone. He barely looked up when he heard my overly heavy suitcase scraping the stairs. My first instinct was to wonder if I was safe. Then I entered a long, narrow, and rather dark hallway. I really didn't feel reassured. Chanette was waiting for me in the half-open door. I redoubled my efforts to appear normal and friendly, and quickly offered her the gift I had brought for her. Nothing was as I had imagined. Reality never really fits into our projections. Sometimes it's disappointing, sometimes it's beyond our expectations. And sometimes it just takes a little tehttp://commence.je/ mps .

My host is an artist. I discover a basement full of trinkets. I hardly dare to explore.

I ask her where I can have a coffee outside in the morning because I like to have it outside. I imagine a cozy, Instagrammable spot . She tells me "right behind there is a super nice bakery." I don't remember the name.

I take a hot shower and lock myself in my room, where I scroll through Booking.com for a few minutes. Then I end up falling asleep with my son's blanket.

It's 4:00 a.m. when I open my eyes. Jetlagged.

I try as best I can to make it to 6:00. The excitement of telling myself "you're in New York, Audrey," and the unease, worry, and insecurity all disrupt my sleep that night.

Day 1 begins. I end up getting up at the same time as Chanette and making myself a coffee. The conversation starts easily. The apartment is cramped, we share the sofa and we put our coffees on a stool as a table. She has the sensitivity of souls that touch me. She is inhabited and animated by her art, light painting . I like listening to people talk about their passion, observing them, imbued with the magic that happens when you are in their place and have this chance to express and affirm your talent to the world. Chanette is a sensitive person, and she listens to me attentively. She is present in our conversations. She also advises me and shares valuable advice.

Obviously, on the first day, I wanted to immerse myself in the heart of New York. I took the subway from Myrtle. Chanette walked me to my station.

Heading to Times Square. New Yorkers kept helping me, even though I repeatedly asked them to help me navigate the subway, which is a real headache.

I landed in the middle of Manhattan. I was blown away. WOW. It was HUGE. I didn't know where to look. I felt lucky. It was super nice and cold. It was windy that day.

Luckily, a friend who lives in New York and who knew I was coming because we had taken the opportunity to plan a dinner, sent me a text message that very morning telling me to wrap up warm.

I zigzagged through Times Square. Several photographers took pictures of me off guard to sell them to me, which I refused out of principle and habit until I finally gave in and offered $30 to a friendly-looking Peruvian who had taken some nice pictures and offered to pose for some new ones. I was able to immortalize the moment and understand that it's wise to withdraw cash from the bank rather than wait to do it in the ATM of a souvenir shop where the fees are almost 10%.

International payment note: By the way, I had activated the international offer with my bank just before my departure, which allows me to avoid paying exchange fees on transactions in the US. And having paid the price (it's a fair point) during a previous trip to the US, I completely recommend this option, which costs €10 for a month and is without commitment. What I do is cancel the option when I return from my trip.

So on my first day in New York, I walked through Times Square. Then I walked towards Fifth Avenue, passing Rockefeller. Just a stone's throw away, I came across the St. Patrick's Cathedral . I went to see the end of the mass, what luck.

After that, I walked towards the Plaza Hotel where Home Alone was filmed and which was a must-see place for me who had worn out the cassette watching this film on repeat. On my way almost immediately near the Plaza I came across the Trump Tower and the famous Vuitton store right next to it. It is as excessive as it is to see. This kind of construction is an integral part of the New York landscape and of American excess and I loved being a spectator of this spectacle there too.

I walked around Central Park and sat down on a bench to drink a Starbucks Matcha and read a bit before heading back.

I liked the badge on each bench in tribute to great personalities.

Then I headed to Brooklyn where I wanted to visit Williamsburg on the advice of my host that morning. I walked along Bent Street, etc., and walked on the waterfront promenade with a breathtaking view of Manhattan.

I loved shopping in Williamsburg.

I ended up exhausted around 5:00 PM, having walked 30,000 steps that day. So I went to Ten Ichi Mart to buy some Japanese food and eat at home. When I opened the door, I immediately found Chanette, who had just settled down at the small bistro table in the common area to have dinner, American style. It was around 6:00 PM.

Little by little, connections are formed, surface conversations give way to deeper exchanges. We tell each other where we come from. What brings us here, each of us. Our wounds. Our childhoods. Our hopes. Our exchanges are punctuated with "you absolutely have to see this" and many spontaneous "me too"s, and others that we keep quiet about because it's so obvious.

I've never believed in chance encounters. And I know that this journey was meant to bring me here. And at that precise moment, I know that I am precisely where I should be on earth and in this world. And I believe that this is one of the reasons we move forward in life, sometimes driven by a passion, a project, something beyond ourselves. Sometimes blindly. Only to end up refocusing, taking a few moments. Breathing. And telling myself I am where I need to be at this precise moment. I was meant to be there. Sharing this energy. Encountering this echo. It resonates strongly.

Day 2. I get up and prepare some hot water in the old-fashioned kettle, which I set on the stove for a few minutes. I pour water over the instant coffee that was part of my "welcome kit." Ultimately, I'll spend my mornings beside my host, with my pink and earthy mug in my hands, listening to us exchange views of the world.

She casually tells me things that have a meaning that hits me. Like when, while eating her fruit like every morning, I point out to her that I have observed that every morning she eats fruit, to which she casually replies, with disconcerting humility, "I eat what nourishes me." It made me think a lot; it may seem silly or trivial, but it raised many thoughts. In both the literal and figurative sense.

Another time she shared with me the questions she likes to ask herself at the end of the day, such as "how much did you love today?" or "what did you manage to let go of?"

We tell each other about our loves. Our defeats. The present. We laugh. We advise each other without judgment.

We're not the same age and the more the years go by the more I realize that in love we're always fifteen.

The weather is beautiful. There's no more wind. This morning I have Brooklyn Bridge on my mind, we'll see later. She advises me to go to DUMBO, down on the other side of the bridge. I remember that.

So I take the subway, not without several assists, and I find myself at Chambers station. I exit like I'm in a movie. In front of me, the skyscrapers live up to their promise. Spring is truly here. Almond trees frame the landscape. I climb the subway stairs like a kid arriving at Disneyland.

On my left: Brooklyn Bridge. I walk over it with enthusiasm. My heart is light, I feel free. I raise my face to the sky, the sun kisses me. The temperature is perfect.

I walk along the bridge. Happy and grateful. I tell myself that I'll take my son there when he's old enough to dream of making this trip, so I'll give it to him. I hear French spoken all around me. Lots of families.

The atmosphere is cheerful. Gen Z poses in the trendiest spots on social media. I stop from time to time to enjoy the view and daydream.

I easily reach Dumbo. I ask chatgpt where the best spot is for a matcha and a healthy breakfast and he suggests. Butler Bakeshop . I order my favorite almond milk drink and a fruit bowl .

To give you an idea of what a breakfast like this in NYC costs, before tips it always costs around $20. To which we add a minimum of 18% tips. before tips it always costs around $20. To which we add a minimum of 18% tips.

TIPS Note: I was told that 15% was frowned upon, 18% was the minimum, and 20% was fine. After payment validation, the machine offers you several choices ranging from 15 to 25%.

After Dumbo, I went back the same way. I crossed Brooklyn Bridge and was pleasantly surprised to discover the Statue of Liberty on my left, which I hadn't spotted on the way there.

I like the idea of getting lost and not really knowing where I am. Not once have I looked at a map of Manhattan to find my way. I wouldn't be able to tell you where the bridge is on a map. I wanted to discover it, but in the end, since I don't plan anything and just go with the flow, I'm almost completely unaware of what's around.

Back in front of Chambers station, I entered "Memorial World Trade Center" into Google Maps. I only navigate by walking.

TIPS Note on this: before your trip, remember to check your international 5G options, upgrade your plan or plan to buy a card on site because exceeding your plan is expensive (having also experienced it!)

The Memorial is a walking distance away, I knew that because Chanette had told me. I had kept in mind to go there after the bridge. It's my way of being organized.

I went there with a little apprehension given my sensitivity. Obviously (it seems obvious to me) I never take photos in places of remembrance.

I faced a huge void. I stayed for a few minutes, scanned the mostly male names engraved in marble, and left.

Heading towards Wall Street just a stone's throw away.

Chanette had told me about Printemps, which had just opened there, and which she had heard was incredible. So I pushed open the doors of the mall and it goes without saying that the experience is exceptional. If you like luxury, Printemps Wall Street lives up to its promises. The interior is refined and the display of the items is impressive. There is the Red Room Bar. Chic. Elegant. Ideal for tea time. I didn't stop there because the weather was nice and I wanted to take advantage of the weather to be outside. The forecast was bad weather for the coming days, so I reserved indoor activities for rainy days (visiting museums, shopping).

So from Wall Street I walked to Chinatown. We arrived in a sort of small town, almost like a movie set. The prices were suddenly much more affordable. I took the opportunity to buy some souvenirs in a local shop dedicated to this. The same things as everywhere in Manhattan, same items, but a good third cheaper.

From there I walked to the West Village. I knew I'd find the Friends house there, and I almost stumbled upon it by chance. It was the first street I walked down in the West. There again, suddenly you arrive in a completely different world. A small, affluent, quiet neighborhood. The alleys are lined with tulips, almond trees in bloom along the paths. Pretty brick houses. The cliché of the American neighborhood, what we also come to see, a bit like, if not completely. The streets were deserted when I went there; it was around 3:00 p.m. I recognized the famous house from the equally famous series because a few tourists were gathered on the other side of the sidewalk to take pictures, probably of the building from a certain perspective. There weren't many of them, less than ten people, I would have said a family.

It was almost snack time and I really wanted to try a donut, so again I asked my friend chatgpt who directed me to The Doughnut Project. At first, I thought the shop was closed. There was no one there. The famous sign gave way to Cops . It was tiny. A style that was both very urban and industrial, trendy and colorful, deserted. I walked over and a young woman showed up behind the counter. She explained to me that they only sold donuts in packs of 6 (miniatures) and that for a portion of 6 I could only choose one flavor from the 3 possible. Even the selection was minimalist, but not the price.

I chose cinnamon. And I didn't regret my choice. The treats are prepared fresh. They arrive hot in a bag. I took a can of coconut water to accompany the treat. They don't make hot drinks.

I enjoyed the donuts, in larger quantities than advertised. She had added one or two extra, which is always welcome.

Then I walked to SOHO where I shopped at Guess. I love raiding this store in the US (and in Canada too). I bought a black denim jumpsuit that was just awesome. I also spotted some sneakers. I had dinner planned with a friend in the West Village so I wasn't going too far. I was starting to feel tired. That day I walked a lot (30K steps).

Pee break tips. When I was at home Guess , I asked where I could find a restroom nearby. They pointed me to the neighboring store "at Niki" = at Nike. And indeed, on floors 2 and 4 there are restrooms, clean for the store's customers. I found that really convenient.

After my shopping on Broadway, I went back to the West Village where I had Mexican dinner at Tacombi . Everything was really good. We had a guacamole to share as an appetizer , with two soft drinks. Then I ordered two quesadillas, one with meat and the other with cheese. The atmosphere is relaxed, the servers are very present, like everywhere in the US.

On this subject, I learned from my friend that it is not considered good form to signal the waiter; it means he is not doing his job if you have to call him. Instead, you should make a little "eye contact."

Aline walked me back to my apartment. She cared about it and wanted to make sure the neighborhood was safe for me, she even inspected my building. She knew so many details, telling me "there you see it's a community center because the building is made of this type of smaller bricks and it's typical." I was well advised upon my arrival not to be surprised or scared by crossing paths with drug addicts bent double, "zombies." There were quite a few of them, it must be said, at first it's embarrassing, maybe even insecure, then you realize that these people are in a bubble.

There's something else that struck me during my time in New York. I heard the words gentrification and dichotomy several times. They're clearly part of the common lexicon. Gentrification is highly visible at subway stops, with a certain population suddenly leaving or entering. And given the expressions in use, it seems to be commonly accepted. For a French woman who has evolved in an environment where cultures and social classes are sought to mix, it was striking.

I'm not trying to compare, but I see with my own eyes, which are those of a European, a French woman steeped in her culture and her habits. I often like to confront this with other places.

There were moments of grace during this trip. I lived in the subway with my headphones screwed on my ears to enjoy my music during the commute. It takes me even further. I found myself in a subway car, nodding my head to the rhythm of my music, and when I looked up I realized that two young men opposite me were in the same vibe, in their own bubble, moving to the rhythm of what they were listening to. I loved this freedom.

I also enjoyed spending a good portion of my time on the subway observing the style of passersby. I stole a few shots of those I liked most for their boldness and distinction.

Day 3: I spent my morning with Chanette, who showed me around and introduced me to the street art in Bushwick. The neighborhood is so rich in street art. Full of color. There are these faces as big as the walls staring at you. There is a freedom of expression and a special atmosphere that reigns within Brooklyn and, more broadly, New York. I loved walking alongside my impromptu guide and listening to her talk about an environment to which she belongs more than she realizes. I was surprised to see how well people know each other across these immense alleys, where when someone says it's right next door, for us Europeans, it's more like "far away." I like to speak in blocks; it's easier to find your way around than street names. "It's three blocks from here." It's clear.

We had breakfast at Bushwick Bakery ("just behind"). About a ten-minute walk away. I appreciated the heart on the Matcha, the little detail. Americans have an incredible sense of service and friendliness. I liked the "French" atmosphere of this little café, with its royal blue facade. The cinnamon rolls were generous, and I would recommend eating them warm. I caught a cold and regretted it.

With the weather forecast looking less and less favorable for the coming days, I decided to go to Top of the Rock before completely regretting it.

I had been there on the first day, but I preferred to save it for later, so as not to do everything at once. It was Louis, my neighbor on the plane on the way out, who had recommended I go there. When I asked him what he had liked best on his previous trip to NY, he told me about it in a way that made me think: you have to go there.

I bought a ticket for a 2:10 PM tour. I had a good half hour to spare, so I went for a walk along Fifth Avenue.

The price to go up to Top of the Rock is about $30, I bought my ticket there and it was very quick. I had lunch at the top simply because I was hungry. I had some American cheese toast (good) and a bottle of water. Probably the most expensive thing I've ever eaten.

It wasn't the best idea to show up at Top of the Rock without having eaten or hydrated for a while. It was cloudy, so I sat inside. If the weather is nice, it might be worth taking something to drink and/or eat because the terrace is perfect for that, with its super-large sofas and, of course, a breathtaking view.

When I got outside, I was really cold. I rushed to the first street stall to haggle over a pair of mittens and earmuffs for $10 (originally advertised as double). Armed against the cold, I headed to Macy's.

Ok if you're not interested in shopping, skip this paragraph QUICKLY!

For those who know this: God bless Macy's. Oh God! Incredible. I don't know if I was lucky, but on the shoe floor, everything was 30% off and 40% off for two pairs purchased, I won't tell you which option I chose.

I found some shoe gems and Guess sneakers (which the store didn't have in my size the day before). From there, I headed to the children's section, where Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, and Calvin Klein are lined up at basic prices that are cheaper than back home in France. A good third of the items were discounted by 30 to 50%.

I robbed the floor, and it was definitely worth it.

I came home and that night I went to bed quite "early". Chanette had invited me to spend the evening after 10:00 pm in a club in Bushwick with some of her friends but I just wanted to sleep. I thought several times that I was going to regret it. A part of me pushes me to "consume" the trip. Take everything there is to take in terms of experience. It's still super cool to go dancing in Bushwick. Her friends, artists too, were super friendly with me, among whom I heard one singing at home, incredible (at our house it would be "The Voice"). But I preferred to listen to myself and rest. Not to push. Not to do everything, to experience everything but to respect my rhythm.

Day 4: Rainy day. Cold.

I had saved museum visits for those days when the weather wasn't conducive. Over our coffee routine, Chanette told me that if I wanted to see American art, which I could only see on display here, I absolutely had to go to the Whitney.

So I kept that in the back of my mind as I headed to Chelsea. That day I took my laptop with me so I could sit down and write. I chose the Telegraph Café .

I sat down in front of the window, the rain was incessant, the yellow taxis and the umbrellas were passing by.

And I hadn't brought an umbrella, as usual. A subtle mixture of laziness and hope.

Then I went to Chelsea Market, which I absolutely loved. There's a bookstore called "Posman Books" where you literally want to buy everything. There are lots of little treasures to take home. Stickers, bookmarks, booklets to send letters to yourself on a specific date (I loved the idea), posters, books, luggage tags... It's a temple of joyful and superfluous little things.

I loved the atmosphere of ChelseaMarket when it was raining outside. It was friendly. You can find almost any type of cuisine and right across the street is Starbucks Reserve . A real experience. I tried a shot of 100% coffee there, it smells like alcohol and tastes like alcohol (like Grand Marnier) but it's not alcohol.

If you're passing by, give Day a hug from me. He's an incredible artist that I was lucky enough to meet and who has a vibe that you won't be able to resist. To follow him, click here .

After this unexpected visit (to a Starbucks?!) I headed back under the threatening New York sky, took a subway home to prepare for an unexpected evening. I wanted to do Whitney, but I'll do it tomorrow.

A few weeks before my departure, I met Chris at a party in Monaco. He took my contact information to share his best addresses and recommendations for my trip (you know). Which he did (really), and I won't fail to dedicate a post to his must-sees.

That evening, he asked the owner of Lume , who is a friend of his, to reserve me a spot at the bar. The restaurant is located in the West Village. It's a real gem.

When I arrived, a waitress took my things away and sat me down at the bar. I was welcomed as if I were expected. The cocktails are divine. Chris had bought me a cocktail (lucky me, really). Who does that?

After less than 5 minutes of sitting down, a man about my age sat down next to me and started a conversation until the end of the evening when he invited me for a "last cap" at another bar in West Fairfax.

There are several things I particularly appreciate. Wherever you go, with each glass of alcohol, before you're even served, you're given a glass of water and left with the pitcher. Then I was able to spend the evening chatting about anything and everything with a man my age, without any specific ambiguity. That's what traveling alone is all about. He was kind enough to walk me to my Uber. An American-style hug, and see you soon.

I would have a hard time going to the bar of a similar establishment back home in France, in Nice or Monaco, alone. Maybe it's because I'm at home, that the gaze of others matters or bothers me. I ask myself "what am I going to look like, who am I going to look like?" Whereas abroad it seems so natural to me. And conversely, my solitude is approached as something "casual" and "normal."

So I took an Uber back to Chanette, whom I'd told that I hardly ever drank, or drank very little. Three cocktails later, I was laughing like a maniac in the kitchen, her telling me her stories, and me still laughing.

Day 5: End of jet lag. Sleep in until 10:00.

I had a chill morning. I put my laundry in the laundry room in the basement of the building and went to a cafe I had spotted during my tour of Bushwick: chez Nook . There I sat down to write for a while. While my laundry was spinning.

I was starting to feel really comfortable in the neighborhood, a bit like home. I no longer needed to stay glued to Google Maps. I like that feeling, when the switch happens. When a completely foreign environment becomes familiar.

I miss my son.

In the afternoon, I finally went to Whitney Museum fulfilling a dream: to encounter the art of my favorite painter Edward Hopper.

Unfortunately, I arrived at 5:00 PM and the museum closed at 6:00 PM. Be careful with that.

I was still able to visit all the floors; the museum is on a human scale. Above all, I was able to savor the moment of sitting on a bench in front of some of Hopper's works.

If you don't know, I was struck by the agility and reality with which he portrayed the solitude of the woman and the inherent expectation of a form of reality in her.

His eye for deserted American scenes fascinates me just as much.

That day, it was raining heavily and I was really cold. The wind was blowing through my jogging pants, and all I wanted to do was go home.

There are stars on our path and JaBowen was one of them that day. You get on the subway and you come across this kind of artist, you think to yourself that anything is possible. It's raining, who cares, life is beautiful. Watch him dance, what's more important at that precise second? It almost hypnotizes me, it carries me away, it allows me to believe in the expression of something that surpasses us all. It's fucking beautiful. And there you are, and you are precisely where you were supposed to be at that precise moment.

Chanette was expecting a longtime friend from the south. They hadn't seen each other in six years. She was coming with her daughter to spend a few days at the house.

When I got home, all three of them were there. We immediately had things to talk about. It was natural and spontaneous. I loved their energy.

I felt like I was spending a few days with friends. Really.

There are people with whom we have nothing to say. And there are those with whom we have everything to say.

Day 6: After the rain comes good weather.

I leave my down jacket in the closet; the temperature has risen. I put on a sweater under a denim jacket and embark on this day with the joy of a child going to a toy store.

While searching online I saw that other works by Hopper were exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum of Art . How lucky. I'll get to see more.

I decided to do the Met today and Central Park. I wanted to, I imagined riding my bike in Central Park but I didn't do it.

The MET is amazing, the building is spectacular.

Right in front of the museum are fast food trucks like everywhere else in the city, including the famous "Nathan". My experience was a disaster. I ordered an American sandwich (that's all) for $18 + tax, about $22. When I got the food in my hands, it looked nothing like the ad posted above me, and the taste was, to me, awful. I asked for a refund, which the vendor did, not without a grumble. The woman in line in front of me had also returned her hot dog, so I should have stopped there.

It's quite easy to navigate because the museum is divided into periods and the security guards are very helpful in guiding you. I must admit that it was a lot for me. So many things to see, it made me a little dizzy. I didn't really know where to look. I stopped at what attracted me and let go, telling myself that again, I couldn't see everything. I found a work by Hopper. And I was the happiest. I went back to see it after having a look around. The Lighthouse at Two Lights, 1929.

I also found Tables for Ladies, 1930, there.

I saw Picasso there, all in color. I discovered Winslow Homer and Winold Reiss. I found what I was looking for, again, a journey. A different opening to the world, a foreign prism, spectacle, timelessness.

I crossed Central Park to take the subway to the West Village where I saw that there was one of the best places to eat a smashed burger: Hamburger America Soho, discovered while reading This item .

I liked it, but nothing more. I much preferred it. Skinny Louie in Miami for example.

I returned home after enjoying the late afternoon light on the West Village and Soho. The neighborhood's buzz at rush hour. When locals play tennis in the city center, bustle around the shops, and relax on terraces.

Day 7:

That day, I knew from the start that I would go to Coney Island. The weather forecast said it would be nice.

Easily, thanks to line D, I found myself on the beach, my feet in the sand.

Good to know: when I arrived I bought a 7-day subway pass for $20 which allowed me to easily get around everywhere in New York.

Coney Island was deserted in the morning. The rides were closed. I sat on the beach and watched the horizon. Then I walked to Salt & Sizzle where I made friends with an employee who let me try lots of samples of local iced cocktails , ordering fries and a drink. The fries with cheddar on top were very good and generous, as was the price. I really liked their terrace at the back; the west side of the terrace is well exposed to the sun and the chairs are comfortable. The sun came out quickly, and I walked to the end of the promenade heading west. I felt free and light. At first, I sat on a bench facing the beach, but it attracted me too much. So I walked along the seaside and started dancing spontaneously. I was alone in the world. From time to time, someone passed by in the distance, but here, dancing on the beach doesn't surprise anyone. Apart from a few (older) young people who came to ask me what sound I was listening to on my headphones, I was able to stay in my open-air bubble.

I collected seashells for my son and tried to get him a Pikachu plush toy at the fair, but I lost at the gamble, and no one would sell me one.

I had a pistachio milkshake at Coney's Cones (expensive but good), I liked having so many choices of ice cream to make my milkshake.

On the way back I stopped on the High Line to prolong the pleasure of the end of the day and appreciate the very special light.

I got home at 7:00 PM because the girls were waiting for me to go out to dinner together on our last night in Bushwick. We had Thai food at Klom Klorn . It was fabulous. The restaurant is truly tastefully decorated, refined yet simple. Everything I love. The beef ravioli was delicious. We shared the dishes and ate from the same plates. We had known each other for three days, and that evening had the allure of lasting friendships.

Day 8:

I had one last breakfast with my Chanette, filled with nostalgia and gratitude. I went for a last walk in Williamsburg, where I had a Lavender Matcha at Black Brick Coffee (and an AMAZING apple turnover). I absolutely recommend it. I loved this place.

Not far from there on Bedford Avenue you have the ALO boutique and lots of small vintage shops among others.

I went home to hug the girls and took my Uber to JFK.

I looked out the window and in just a few days the landscape had become familiar to me and I felt like I was leaving a part of myself.