From the Caribbean Coast to the Jersey Shore

Summer days down the beach in Manasquan, NJ

Summer days down the beach in Manasquan, NJ

So this summer, I joined a frat. Not really, but yeah.

I remember my family’s reaction when I told them I had decided to join a summer beach house down the Jersey Shore (Manasquan, to be precise).

“Isn’t that a crazy TV show?”

Well, yes.

It’s hard to grasp the whole Jersey Shore culture when you are not from the area. Having grown up in Puerto Rico, you have access to beautiful beaches all year round and it’s hard to understand why you would need to take a 2 hour train ride every Friday to go share a house with about 16 other people.

I was dragged into this craziness thanks to my boyfriend who had done the summer house the previous summer and I am so thankful that he insisted that I joined because this summer goes down as one of the best summers in my books (it would be a tie with that summer I went to a camp in Switzerland and then studied in Boston).

Sure, it was an exhausting summer, full of traveling and activities, but man was it nice to wake up and walk less than a minute to the beach and lay there under the sun. Living in the city, you tend to forget the simple pleasures of nature, like the ability to see the stars at night (I saw about three shooting stars this summer!).

As I sit now pondering about the summer while I look out the window and see fall almost at my doorstep, it strikes me again how fast time flies. It’s time for pumpkins, boots and scarves. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but it’s ok, because I can handle bittersweet.

Here’s to summer nights and clear skies

to kiddie pools and inflatable buddies

to summer tans and summer burns

to summer cocktails and fried food

to laying on the sand and dancing on the roof

to burger grilling and breakfast rolls

to wizard sticks and mario kart

Here’s to sunshine and laughs

Summer 2013, thanks for the memories.

My little art creation in the sand

My little art creation in the sand

I’ll have some seafood gumbo, a side of jambalaya, together with some shrimp and grits, please.

It’s midnight on a Friday night and I have been up since 6:00 a.m. for work. I just landed in New Orleans after two flights from New York City. My taxi driver just pulled over on Bourbon street and has thrown me into the blissful chaos that is New Orleans. There I am, a sober 23-year old girl standing on the streets with her bags, mesmerized by everything happening around her and thinking “What did I get myself into?”

Fast-forward to the next day, my first real encounter with the French Quarter. The streets are a different world and I can appreciate the beautiful architecture and the relaxing feeling of slow-paced freedom. My first impression of New Orleans was that it looked like if Old San Juan and France had a baby with a wild side (a.k.a. Bourbon street).

It was a lot to take in, especially because I was only there for less than 48 hours, but I loved it (48 hours is what happens when your sister decides to turn 30 in New Orleans and you’ve basically already used all of your vacation days, much love sis). One of my favorite parts was Frenchmen street, where I encountered artists from all walks of life sharing their passion, whether it was music, jewelry designing, poetry or fire breathing (No, I’m not kidding. The fire breather said he was drinking magic fluid to make it happen.)

It seemed to me that New Orleans was full of people that know how to appreciate life and value passions as a whole. There seems to be a general understanding that you should admire what inspires you and practice what moves you. Needless to say I was tempted to sit by the poet who was writing verses on the spot. We could have been good friends, just saying.

Speaking of friends, I obviously became best friends with my cab drivers both from and to the airport. That’s not really common for me in New York City, where striking a conversation with a stranger is not always that easy or even desirable. The man that took me to the airport was proud to have been born and raised in New Orleans. Listening to his stories, I couldn’t help but smile as I heard reflected on his voice the voice of many other fighters here that have been through so much since Hurricane Katrina destroyed the area in 2005. New Orleans definitely is an admirable city that has stood back up firmly (Don’t mind the stumbling drunks on Bourbon street).

Below, some pictures of my *lengthy* stay.

St. Louis Cathedral

St. Louis Cathedral

Me posing at a beautiful mural down in Frenchmen street

Me posing at a beautiful mural down in Frenchmen street

Art market down in Frenchmen St.

Art market down in Frenchmen St.

Of course, the infamous Hand Grenade