Since concrete and glass looks pretty much the same any time of year, city folks treasure those three precious weeks each year when the trees upstate explode into a riot of color and the woefully overburdened Palisades Parkway explodes into an elongated parking lot as foilagers flock to the Hudson Valley in search of the perfect Instagram.
Timing is everything in foilaging. Looks like it might be a week too early, there's still a lot of green around. It's pretty safe to say it's not Jets supporters, because there aren't any of those left in the state.
Last rays of sunshine before Polar Vortex 2. That's like Sharknado 2, but without the flying great white sharks that snatch people out of airplanes. So on reflection, it's not at all like Sharknado 2.
The Bear Mountain summit hike is only a little over an hour outside of New York, but it feels a world away. Until you get to the top and see the new 432 Park Avenue super tower jutting up above the tree line. Just to remind you that Eurasian oligarchs and Party sycophants are still looking down on you even when you're on top of a mountain.
It could be worse ladies, it could be snowing already.
All this foilaging is making me a bit peckish. Let's move on to the foraging part.
Stone Barns Farm is the kind of place where skinny-jean wearers from the city can go see cuddly sheep and boisterous piggies and convince themselves they're living off the land without ever having to lift a shovel of manure or stagger out at 5am to milk the cows.
Blue Hills at Stone Barns specializes in forcing one to eat one's vegetables for four hours straight. Not only that, you have to cut your own veges right off the stalk. And you pay 200 bucks for the privilege. No wonder New Yorkers have booked the place solid for months in advance, brussels sprouts are the new Hermes.
Nothing says environmentally conscious like a zero carbon emissions herb trolley.
That's a rather suggestive looking fungi there, wouldn't you say?
In the time it takes to digest the cellulose from 20 courses of foraged vegetables we can roll forward one week and 3,000 miles. Sunny San Deigo here we come.
The funky Lucha Libre taco shop bizarrely combines Mexican wrestling with tacos. Somehow it just works. Even the perplexing golden VIP booth that can be booked out for special occasions somehow fits the wacky vibe. Although the hapless dude who thought his date would be wowed by tacos delivered in gold foil looks like he's about to strike out big time.
The U.S. Grant Hotel is a timeless oasis among the glow-in-the-dark margaritas and Big Ass Beers of the Gaslamp Quarter.
But hey, no one comes to San Diego to sit around listening to the Lame Ass String Quartet in a hotel lobby. Dick's Last Resort on the other hand specializes in, you guessed it, Big Ass Beers and those classy neon margaritas.
Watch out ladies and tacos in no particular order, the boys are on the prowl.
Go big or go home. Then again, that was the theory behind the Great Wall too but that didn't exactly send those pesky Mongol hordes home.
The University of California San Diego, anyone want to take out a hundred grand loan for a Masters in Surf Administration?
The ritzy La Jolle neighborhood adjacent to the campus is where those who were wise enough to avoid the liberal arts sections of the college will eventually live.
Heading down to La Jolle's seal cove, that's where the seals who studied finance or law wallow. All others, please swim on to the cove below that Pacific Beach trailer park.
This how you live if you own one of the biggest west coast supermarket chains; in a house with more square feet than one of your superstores.
Just make sure you don't accidentally stray into the Air Force base's airspace. With all those Department of Defense budget cuts there's a shortage of practice targets to shoot at.
Back east the rest of those leaves have gone out in a golden blaze of glory. Out here the sand stays golden year round.
A pier without a garish amusement park? Are we sure we're in California here?
A game theory expert from the RAND Corporation analyzes how best to project American naval power in the Pacific. His shocking conclusion: don't tie up your aircraft carriers as tourist attractions.
Probably before the days of Skype at sea.
The elegant Hotel del Coronado is a throwback to an age when Hotwiring was something that got you a jail cell not a hotel room.
Four more years. There's a lot more beers where that came from before graduation day.
Little Italy has gone all hipster. No more stodgy pasta joints and takeout pizza parlors. Instead funky ramen joints with glowing words in the floor. We'll assume it's an ironic monologue.
Queenstown Public House is a little bit of Kiwiana in San Diego of all places. The old Victorian house wouldn't be out of place perched on a hill in Wellington, not to mention serving up fish and chips that would be right at home on Cuba Street.
Fuel for an inland excursion to Joshua Tree National Park, about three hours northeast deep in the arid Californian desert.
Is that the legendary Rockshua Tree?
Mei reckons it's a long way to drive for a few trees.
Hidden Valley, apparently it was once the perfect hiding place for herds of cattle rustled from the surrounding ranches. Mei hopes there's still a few steaks left behind.
They did say to watch out for the last remaining rustlers lurking deep in darkest recesses of the valley. The grizzled remnants of a lawless, shoot-from-the-hip past. Just watch how quick Rock is on the draw when it's time to pull out the snacks.
Pretty desolate out here. Probably time to build a casino and water-leeching resort complex.
Don't touch it, that tree is like ancient. You know, from like from the 1990s or something.
Ouch. That is almost as painful as reading through this entire blog. Almost.
Bird's eye view of Coachella Valley, best known for the big music festival that rocks the valley once a year. Because crowd surfing is the only kind of surfing you'll ever do out here in the parched wilderness.
What's with all these new age Joshua Trees?
When stranded in the desert, head for the nearest oasis. These days it's not enough to provide a puddle of tepid water for weary camels, if you don't offer oasis-side martinis and nachos you're going to lose your four palm trees rating.
The scenic route back to San Diego involves a lot of hairpin turns. Whether it's worth it depends on how easily you get car sick.
The quintessential American diner, a lonely outpost on the dusty road to nowhere, the kind of place that's all about the journey and not the destination.
Time to grab a final taco in La Jolle before unpacking the coats and heading back to the frigid east. Maybe that Masters in Surf Administration isn't such a bad idea after all.
