Ex-New Yorker in New York (Part 1)
Chapter 132: The Van Stays Behind
Valentine’s Day started romantically: dumping the cassette toilet in the rain.
We got up before sunrise to shut down the Don Don Van: water pump off, propane off, one last check that nothing inside would explode while we were gone. This was the first time since starting vanlife that we were leaving the van behind. It felt a little like abandoning a loyal but slightly smelly dog.
The long-term lot at Northwest Arkansas National Airport was completely packed. We crawled through row after row until we spotted a spot near the front that technically fit the van if you believed in optimism. Nelson squeezed it in. Good enough.
One perk of living in a small town: airports are easy. There were people around, but no lines anywhere. Baggage drop took about thirty seconds. Security took maybe another thirty. Before we knew it we were in the lounge eating breakfast. Then something even better happened: the flight wasn’t full. Both Nelson and I got bumped to First Class.
Vanlife one day. Champagne the next.
Our final destination was Newark Liberty International Airport. I’d somehow never flown there before.
As we approached the city I looked out the window and saw a frozen New York. Snow everywhere. Rivers iced over in patches. The whole place looked like winter had taken it personally this year.
We landed on time and called Cindy. Her luggage, however, had chosen a different itinerary. Apparently it was arriving two hours later on the next flight. So we waited in the baggage claim area, which is the airport’s way of saying, You’re no longer our problem. Inside security there are restaurants, shops, day spas. Outside security there are a few chairs and a vague sense that you should leave.
Colorful characters at the baggage area
Still, catching up with Cindy made the two hours pass quickly. Eventually her bags appeared and we piled into a giant Uber for the ride into Manhattan. There were snowbanks everywhere and I felt very glad about wearing hiking boots.
Newark restroom design is VERY interesting!
We arrived at Cindy and Thomas’s West Village apartment just before 9 p.m. and immediately greeted their ten-year-old greyhound Becca like she was the host of the evening.
Becca! <3
Thomas welcomed us with flowers... roses for Cindy, tulips for me, then tied on an apron and cooked dinner.
After eight months of vanlife, sitting at a real dining table with friends and hot food felt almost luxurious.
We talked late into the night.
Valentine’s Day started romantically: dumping the cassette toilet in the rain.
We got up before sunrise to shut down the Don Don Van: water pump off, propane off, one last check that nothing inside would explode while we were gone. This was the first time since starting vanlife that we were leaving the van behind. It felt a little like abandoning a loyal but slightly smelly dog.
The long-term lot at Northwest Arkansas National Airport was completely packed. We crawled through row after row until we spotted a spot near the front that technically fit the van if you believed in optimism. Nelson squeezed it in. Good enough.
One perk of living in a small town: airports are easy. There were people around, but no lines anywhere. Baggage drop took about thirty seconds. Security took maybe another thirty. Before we knew it we were in the lounge eating breakfast. Then something even better happened: the flight wasn’t full. Both Nelson and I got bumped to First Class.
Vanlife one day. Champagne the next.
Our final destination was Newark Liberty International Airport. I’d somehow never flown there before.
As we approached the city I looked out the window and saw a frozen New York. Snow everywhere. Rivers iced over in patches. The whole place looked like winter had taken it personally this year.
We landed on time and called Cindy. Her luggage, however, had chosen a different itinerary. Apparently it was arriving two hours later on the next flight. So we waited in the baggage claim area, which is the airport’s way of saying, You’re no longer our problem. Inside security there are restaurants, shops, day spas. Outside security there are a few chairs and a vague sense that you should leave.
 |
| Colorful characters at the baggage area |
Still, catching up with Cindy made the two hours pass quickly. Eventually her bags appeared and we piled into a giant Uber for the ride into Manhattan. There were snowbanks everywhere and I felt very glad about wearing hiking boots.
 |
| Newark restroom design is VERY interesting! |
We arrived at Cindy and Thomas’s West Village apartment just before 9 p.m. and immediately greeted their ten-year-old greyhound Becca like she was the host of the evening.
 |
| Becca! <3 |
Thomas welcomed us with flowers... roses for Cindy, tulips for me, then tied on an apron and cooked dinner.
After eight months of vanlife, sitting at a real dining table with friends and hot food felt almost luxurious.
We talked late into the night.
Chapter 133: The $16 Vegemite Incident
Jet lag woke Cindy up before 4 a.m. I respected the effort but did not participate.
Later that morning she and I took Becca for a walk around the neighborhood and went grocery shopping. Cindy mentioned a new Australian café called Tuckershop that sold Vegemite sandwiches and always had long lines.
We looked up the menu.
Sixteen dollars.
For a Vegemite sandwich.
This is essentially toast with butter, cheese, and a smear of salty brown paste. Australian children make them unsupervised.
My inner mom emerged immediately.
“I will make the sandwiches,” I announced.
So we set out to buy Vegemite. That part was easy... a nearby British sweet shop had it. I also tried to find Tim Tams so we could do Tim Tam Slams for dessert.
Strangely, this was impossible.
Somehow you can buy Tim Tams in rural Northwest Arkansas but not in the West Village of Manhattan. The global snack supply chain remains mysterious.
We bought sourdough and cheese and returned home.
I made grilled cheese while Nelson handled the Vegemite application, which requires a VERY thin layer unless you’re trying to start a fight. The sandwiches turned out great. I felt extremely satisfied knowing we had avoided spending $70 on sandwiches that contained no protein whatsoever.
That evening Thomas came home with old-school Cantonese barbecue from Dai Wong: duck, pork belly, soy chicken. We stir-fried greens and cooked rice.
Good old Dai Wong
Tim Tams eventually arrived via delivery and the Tim Tam Slams were a success.
Snorting tea? This is the Tim Tam Slam!
It ended up being the kind of relaxed Sunday night in New York that you rarely plan but always enjoy.
Jet lag woke Cindy up before 4 a.m. I respected the effort but did not participate.
Later that morning she and I took Becca for a walk around the neighborhood and went grocery shopping. Cindy mentioned a new Australian café called Tuckershop that sold Vegemite sandwiches and always had long lines.
We looked up the menu.
Sixteen dollars.
For a Vegemite sandwich.
This is essentially toast with butter, cheese, and a smear of salty brown paste. Australian children make them unsupervised.
My inner mom emerged immediately.
“I will make the sandwiches,” I announced.
So we set out to buy Vegemite. That part was easy... a nearby British sweet shop had it. I also tried to find Tim Tams so we could do Tim Tam Slams for dessert.
Strangely, this was impossible.
Somehow you can buy Tim Tams in rural Northwest Arkansas but not in the West Village of Manhattan. The global snack supply chain remains mysterious.
We bought sourdough and cheese and returned home.
I made grilled cheese while Nelson handled the Vegemite application, which requires a VERY thin layer unless you’re trying to start a fight. The sandwiches turned out great. I felt extremely satisfied knowing we had avoided spending $70 on sandwiches that contained no protein whatsoever.
That evening Thomas came home with old-school Cantonese barbecue from Dai Wong: duck, pork belly, soy chicken. We stir-fried greens and cooked rice.
 |
| Good old Dai Wong |
Tim Tams eventually arrived via delivery and the Tim Tam Slams were a success.
 |
| Snorting tea? This is the Tim Tam Slam! |
It ended up being the kind of relaxed Sunday night in New York that you rarely plan but always enjoy.
Chapter 134: Old Routes, New Hair
Monday began my reunion tour.
I took the 2/3 subway from 14th Street to meet Emma on the Upper West Side, the exact commute I used to take when Nelson and I lived in Chelsea. I expected to feel either emotional or overwhelmed.
Instead it felt… normal, like putting on an old pair of socks.
Emma and I spent the morning catching up on everything: her upcoming trip to France, Clara studying abroad in Shanghai, Patrick in medical school in Germany, Alexia working as a lawyer in the UK and planning to move to Sydney with her beau, while I gave the vanlife update.
The waiter at the café was impressively rude: very on brand for New York, but the Italian donut was excellent. Afterwards I walked through Central Park, which was still frozen but glowing under a bright blue sky. It was beautiful.
That night was Lunar New Year’s Eve. Cindy and Thomas went to Chinatown to see family while Nelson and I returned to an old favorite: Yakitori Taisho. We first ate there in 2007 when we visited New York as tourists. Later, when we lived in Chelsea, we used to walk there for dinner and then walk home through Union Square feeling very pleased with ourselves for living in Manhattan. We even had a farewell meal there before leaving for vanlife. So coming back again felt right.
We walked home sharing a taiyaki and enjoying the city energy. Before bed I checked my phone: 12 km of walking. New York does that to you!
Tuesday was Nelson’s big bureaucratic adventure: renewing his Australian passport. First stop was passport photos at DOI Camera near Grand Central. We arrived twenty minutes early and found a line already forming.
At 9 a.m. the store did not open. People began to look panicky. Nobody lines up for passport photos unless they absolutely have to.
At 9:20 the photographer arrived... a tiny woman who looked well over seventy and apparently runs the place single-handedly. I suddenly wondered what will happen when she retires. There may be a citywide passport crisis.
After Nelson’s photos we went to the Australian consulate, where we waited again despite being the only people there. The room was warm but there was no restroom, which created a new form of stress for Nelson. Eventually the paperwork was completed and Nelson headed to his office in Hoboken.
Aussie embassy's koala looks sleepy...
I went shopping before meeting Cindy for lunch at Din Tai Fung. Cindy had been skeptical because she can eat Din Tai Fung in Taipei anytime. She was pleasantly surprised. We ordered everything.
That evening I made beef noodle soup for everyone. Cooking in someone else’s kitchen usually makes me nervous, but after eight months of cooking in a van it somehow felt manageable.
Wednesday brought something even more important: my long-overdue haircut. Before the appointment I went to breakfast at La Bonbonniere, a cash-only, no frills diner staffed by a group of Puerto Rican guys who look like they’ve been working there since middle school and had the same mom cutting their hair.
Then I spent four glorious hours at the hairdresser with Kako. After eight months without a haircut, sitting still in a salon chair suddenly felt like a luxury spa retreat. I begged her to cut off as much hair as possible. She trimmed, colored, added highlights, then trimmed more. I left with a lot less hair and felt extremely happy.
Makeover in progress!
That evening Thomas cooked steak, Cindy made salad and spaghetti bolognese, and I contributed garlic bread. Another successful group dinner and a cozy NYC evening that was just like 'Friends'.
To be continued!
Monday began my reunion tour.
I took the 2/3 subway from 14th Street to meet Emma on the Upper West Side, the exact commute I used to take when Nelson and I lived in Chelsea. I expected to feel either emotional or overwhelmed.
Instead it felt… normal, like putting on an old pair of socks.
Emma and I spent the morning catching up on everything: her upcoming trip to France, Clara studying abroad in Shanghai, Patrick in medical school in Germany, Alexia working as a lawyer in the UK and planning to move to Sydney with her beau, while I gave the vanlife update.
The waiter at the café was impressively rude: very on brand for New York, but the Italian donut was excellent. Afterwards I walked through Central Park, which was still frozen but glowing under a bright blue sky. It was beautiful.
That night was Lunar New Year’s Eve. Cindy and Thomas went to Chinatown to see family while Nelson and I returned to an old favorite: Yakitori Taisho. We first ate there in 2007 when we visited New York as tourists. Later, when we lived in Chelsea, we used to walk there for dinner and then walk home through Union Square feeling very pleased with ourselves for living in Manhattan. We even had a farewell meal there before leaving for vanlife. So coming back again felt right.
We walked home sharing a taiyaki and enjoying the city energy. Before bed I checked my phone: 12 km of walking. New York does that to you!
Tuesday was Nelson’s big bureaucratic adventure: renewing his Australian passport. First stop was passport photos at DOI Camera near Grand Central. We arrived twenty minutes early and found a line already forming.
At 9 a.m. the store did not open. People began to look panicky. Nobody lines up for passport photos unless they absolutely have to.
At 9:20 the photographer arrived... a tiny woman who looked well over seventy and apparently runs the place single-handedly. I suddenly wondered what will happen when she retires. There may be a citywide passport crisis.
After Nelson’s photos we went to the Australian consulate, where we waited again despite being the only people there. The room was warm but there was no restroom, which created a new form of stress for Nelson. Eventually the paperwork was completed and Nelson headed to his office in Hoboken.
 |
| Aussie embassy's koala looks sleepy... |
I went shopping before meeting Cindy for lunch at Din Tai Fung. Cindy had been skeptical because she can eat Din Tai Fung in Taipei anytime. She was pleasantly surprised. We ordered everything.
That evening I made beef noodle soup for everyone. Cooking in someone else’s kitchen usually makes me nervous, but after eight months of cooking in a van it somehow felt manageable.
Wednesday brought something even more important: my long-overdue haircut. Before the appointment I went to breakfast at La Bonbonniere, a cash-only, no frills diner staffed by a group of Puerto Rican guys who look like they’ve been working there since middle school and had the same mom cutting their hair.
Then I spent four glorious hours at the hairdresser with Kako. After eight months without a haircut, sitting still in a salon chair suddenly felt like a luxury spa retreat. I begged her to cut off as much hair as possible. She trimmed, colored, added highlights, then trimmed more. I left with a lot less hair and felt extremely happy.
 |
| Makeover in progress! |
That evening Thomas cooked steak, Cindy made salad and spaghetti bolognese, and I contributed garlic bread. Another successful group dinner and a cozy NYC evening that was just like 'Friends'.
To be continued!
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