Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

New York City is as wet of a city as you can get. No, I’m not talking about rainy although it has its moments, I’m talking about boozy. There are bars and liqueur stores around every corner, making it almost impossible to avoid. It so happened that I went to NYC a few weeks after I’d turned 21 and I was expecting to drink myself into pro-status, especially considering I’d had maybe two nights including alcohol since turning legal. I was past my due, but ready to change that.

After my first “day drinking” experience we putzed around town for a while, got coffee, did laundry, went grocery shopping, all the essentials when visiting a new city. I’ll tell you that I really got my exercise that weekend, almost worth moving there just to be healthier. Shocker too, I never expected to get healthier in NYC, Denver sure, but NYC no way. After the beer gardens of awesomeness, I was expecting a lot for my last night in New York.

First off, we hit up a Mexican joint named Don Burrito. I can eat Mexican anytime, anyplace, and for any reason so I was already glad the evening was heading in a good direction. Of course, at any Mexican eatery you will ALWAYS fill up on the free tortilla chip appetizer with salsa. Mmm. I did, don’t worry. And even though I’m slightly lactose intolerant I chugged a huge glass of horchata (basically an almond flavored milkshake) while I was nomnoming on the order of tacos we’d got. I’m still not sure what type of meat was inside them as it didn’t really taste like beef or chicken, but it was tender and what you don’t know won’t kill you.  A little surprise has never been a bad thing for my life, and a few weeks later I’m still alive so it was obviously a good decision.

Then we headed to a bar called Union Pool. We were hoping to actually play a game of pool there, but like many of the bar names around New York, they lie. So I don’t remember seeing a single pool table in the joint, but realistically it could have been hidden behind the swarms of people milling about or just circled up in hipster euphoria. There was a line waiting to get in that stretched around the corner of the bar and my expectations soared that it was so popular. I handed the bouncer my ID and, like everyone who has ever checked my ID, spent a good 30 seconds longer than needed to calculate how old I am. I blame it on the sucky red stripe that says UNDER 21 UNTIL 2012 that boxes off my picture. Because it is indeed still 2012, it causes a ruckus everywhere I go. Bouncer:  “Oh you just had your birthday then.” Me. So eloquently: “Yup.” Bouncer: “Happy Birthday.” Then I moved inside and tried to shove my way to the bar. I was smiling at least, I can’t help it but when bouncers wish you a happy birthday you just feel amazing for a moment.

I ordered a vodka -cran and some sort of beer and we shoved through the din to the outdoor beer garden. If I’d been hoping there was more space or fewer people out there I was wrong. Just piles of people everywhere, standing or sitting on the bleacher style risers set up by the perimeter. To me it didn’t even look like people were having fun. There was little to no movement once people found their spot and the usual friendly bar roughhousing was nonexistent. People just talked. It was eerie and after we finished our drinks I suggested we mosey to another bar.

Berry Park, the BEST bar I have EVER been to awaits the next installment.