New York City is America at its best and worst. Vibrant, fast, big, loud, crowded, anonymous. The pace can whirl you into a fantastical frenzy of eating, walking, drinking, talking and dancing. Fortunately "The City That Never Sleeps" offers some of the world's best restaurants, interesting things to see, well-tossed cocktails, a melting pot of transplanted people from all over the globe, and chic clipboard nazi-patrolled nightclubs.

I visited some more with Mario and met his new girlfriend Sarah at a party Friday night at Chelsea Piers. I like her. She's an outgoing, blue-eyed blonde who likes to dance. We both said we reminded each other of each other. Sarah, Mario, Mario's best friend Nick, his girlfriend Phelan and I went to Astoria in Queens for a German beerfest followed by Greek food at Uncle Nick's. Then karaoke in Korea Town back in Manhattan. Mario, Sarah and I sang a three-part rendition of "Barbie Girl" and I tried not to balk when the $143 bill arrived. A truly multi-cultural night it was. That's New York for you.

I befriended a newspaper vendor named Rajesh from Gujarat who works at the end of Akash's block. I must admit I find a new interest and a bit of a thrill in talking to Indians. I never felt that way before; though I was curious about and perhaps a bit perplexed by their culture I had no idea even where to begin getting my head around it. Now I seem to be subconciously seeking them out and have had numerous fun useless conversations with taxi drivers, vendors and some random people on the subway.

I am in the throes of reverse culture shock. I was warned about this. When you go to foreign lands you expect them to be different. When you come back home, you expect it to be the same. But it's not. All of a sudden you see things through the eyes of a foreigner.

While walking from Akash's place in Tribeca (near the bottom of the phallic-shaped island of Manhattan) to Mario's place more than 80 blocks uptown, I passed a small basketball court on the corner of 7th Avenue and 4th Street (I think) and stopped to watch a game. How American! Ten tall sweaty urban black men in tanktops and baggy shorts running about in a large cage on the corner of a busy intersection! I love this country. Near the b-ball court was Gray's Papaya Restaurant with the following slogan painted on the window: "OUR HOTDOGS: - The thunderous pop when you bite into it - the saline tang of the pink flesh!! Oh! Yes! (Please! I'm Getting Hungry Aleady!)" Wow, uh, me too! Mmmmm! I think...

Oh yeah, I'm finding it a bit strange to walk down crowded streets and actually understand what people are saying! I feel like I am eavesdropping and it's kind of fun. Now if only I had some binoculars.

I enjoyed dinner with Daryl and Darran and the short tour of their very cute, typically-tiny Manhattan apartment on E. 77th Street. Life in the Big Apple appears to be agreeing with them, even Darran whom I don't think I could ever picture in *a* city, nevermind *this* city. I imagine downsizing their 2 BR - 2 BA house in Wisconsin must have been tough, but they look truly happy in their new nest.

Some of you have asked why I haven't written anything about Burning Man. I may, but at the moment I kind of like the fact that this year's event is as of yet completely unchronicled for me. I also didn't take any photos this year and I must say it was a bit liberating. You might however read this article, written by one of my favorite SF columnists about his first Burning Man experience and look at these photos by Patrick Roddie.

I am now in Boulder, Colorado for the wedding of my oldest friend from junior high school and high school, Jennifer Tracy. She's marrying Larry Leung, whom she met in college here at the University of Colorado seven years ago. I am in the wedding on Friday and came a few days early to spend time with them and help out a little with wedding prep. I will head back to San Francisco on Sunday.

Due to non-existent pressure to sum up an entire year of traveling memories, morals, lessons and growth experiences into one pithy blog entry, I've been avoiding writing anything at all in hopes that it would all come to me one of these days. It hasn't, so here I am on another regular day in this continuous journey and figured I'd slap up a post.

I'm in New York City at the moment, staying with my friend Akash in his gorgeous, huge 14th floor TriBeCa apartment. Akash is a friend I met 9 years ago when we were both interning at Hostelling International in Washington D.C. Despite the mini Hindu shrine hidden in the kitchen pantry, a Rajasthani painting on the wall, a stack of Indian movies including the recent blockbuster Kal Ho Naa Ho and a pile of Indian books (some of which I've read, including Rohinton Mistry's partition-era A Fine Balance and Yann Martel's fictitious and somewhat silly Life of Pi), Akash jokingly admonishes himself as a 'fake Indian,' claiming I might have a thing or two to teach him about India.

I'm sleeping on an air mattress, have my own bathroom stock-piled with toiletries and a cabinet full of about 7 types of good ol' American sugar cereal. Which reminds me, going to an American grocery store after being in Asia for a year was a shock to the system. The colors! The brand names! The lists of unpronouncable processed ingredients! Eye-level marketing, food fads and crazes, manufactured flavors, smells and colors, all of it a part of a multi-billion dollar desire-creation industry that to be frank, makes me a bit ill. Please, somebody tell me what has happened since I left that caused every American to single out the poor little carbohydrate as the most hated of food villains and rally against it with such fervor! I'm going to ponder this over a bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

Akash's apartment has a rooftop terrace where I did yoga yesterday. The view of Manhattan's skyline and countless other people milling about behind windows and on rooftops reminded me why more pairs of binoculars are sold in this city than anywhere else per capita worldwide. I wonder if any bored office workers were ogling my asanas.

Last night I went to dinner with Mario, my ex-boyfriend from 6 years ago. He pointed out that I appear to have become a bit more of a hippy (I could've been wearing an Evan Picone suit; with these shells in my hair I'd still look like a hippy). I pointed out that his livingroom looks like a Pottery Barn catalog.

After a drink on his fire escape hanging over the intersection of East 57th Street and Lexington, right near the famous string of high-end department stores and boutiques on 5th Avenue and a few blocks from Central Park, we went to dinner at a swanky sushi place. I tried not to cringe or think too much about the dirt cheap cocktails in Thailand when I caught a glimpse of the New York standard price tag of $11 for drinks. It was easier to forget after drinking a couple of them and even easier when Mario swooped up the bill. If only I could assume the role of 'destitute world traveler' every day of the year.

Tonight I will meet my friends Daryl and Darran for dinner at their place. Daryl and I went to Smith together. She and Darran used to live near me in the Bay Area, but got married two years ago and moved back to Wisconsin. Daryl pursued a certificate program from Sotheby's which then parlayed into a full-time position to die for. She and Darran moved on up to the Manhattan lifestyle a few months ago and I look forward to seeing how they've settled in.

More latah.

I am back home alive and well in California. I just returned from 8 days at the Burning Man Festival and will return to my sister's house tonight to face reality. A travel epilogue is coming soon...