week ten: the one with no interviews.

You can find my “Week Nine” post here.

There was a week between now and my arrival in BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, for my next interview. That made this a travel week. Sunday marked my final day in Chicago, so Alex and I had a casual day together. We went to Trader Joe’s, where I got some snacks for the road, and then to Wrigleyville so Alex could get the right Cubs merch. That afternoon, there was a sidewalk sale on Armitage Street, and all of the stores had let their business spill out their doors, bringing families out, up and down the street.

The whole “waking up naturally around 7:30 am” had been such a blessing the past week. Full of energy, I freshened up and said my goodbyes, leaving Lincoln Park in high spirits, remembering the same feeling of admiration I had when I left Seattle. My first time in Chicago had been browsing shops with my friends, going out to eat, and walking through parks—just stuff people do in their daily lives—and I loved it. I definitely wished to spend more time here in the future. Somehow, I would find myself here again and I could go see the Bean and do all of the touristy things. But now, I was headed to ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA.

The next eight hours passed by… familiarly. Half of the drive was essentially the same route I took to get to Ann Arbor just a few days before. However, this time, I randomly stopped in FREMONT, INDIANA, for a quick lunch before I had to face the process of traversing the state of Ohio. I parallel-parked on the side of Toledo St.—because I was very good at parallel-parking, and took any opportunity to show the world—and hesitantly walked into Fremont Bar & Grill. From the outside, I wasn’t sure if my map had led me to the wrong place. My other options were a pizza joint and a Subway across the street. The street was empty, and I was in a very small town where I didn’t know what the people were like. But I gave it a go and walked into the dive bar where an assertive, yet charming woman behind the bar greeted me. A few folks were sitting at the bar side. Across from the bar was a table full of older men, all of whom I assumed were regulars grabbing lunch and drinks at 1 pm. The bartender handed me a menu and told me to sit wherever I’d like, and I made myself comfortable on a slightly wobbly table. I didn’t say anything the whole time I was there, which was a bit unlike me, but I honestly felt as if I was intruding. It was by no means the fault of anyone at the bar, but I felt like a fly on the wall, just present while these men bantered with the bartender in a way I felt they did often. At one point, after I got my sandwich and drink, one of the men got a little too cheeky, and the woman threatened to spray him with the spray nozzle thing that you see bartenders use to make a variety of different mixed drinks—and then she did it. There was a quick yelp, and everyone in the bar started laughing, and I kinda just stared, my mouth open mid-chew. I left there with a smile on my face, having just gotten a little slice of something fun and different.

The next five hours flew by—they had to, you see. There was nothing much to see along the highway in Ohio, and before I knew it, I was pulling up at Abbie’s apartment. For context, Erie was a decent place to stop to break up m journey from Chicago to New York. When I was planning my route months ago, t just so happened that my sister’s friend’s cousin lived in Erie, so it was settled. She was a complete stranger to me, but I had messaged her before I had left Raleigh and she was eager to offer me a place to stay. My sister generally keeps good company, so I was sure Abbie would be great, and she surely was. I brought my stuff in, but I was ravenous—the sandwich from Fremont was just a memory at this point. Abbie was good, as far as food went, but she told me I had to go to Sara’s, so I immediately hopped back in my car.

Sara’s Restaurant was a little 50s-themed restaurant where I knew I would be getting just the right kind of American comfort food, paired with a sensational shake. The 50s-style signs covering the walls under the red hue of the neon lights, the Coca-Cola logos, and Betty Boop, and checkered flooring—it was the right kind of vibe to enjoy at the end of a long day. An order of curly fries. A tasty sandwich. A salted caramel milkshake topping any shake I had ever had at any Cook Out, back in the South.

The next morning, I woke up on Abbie’s couch not wanting to get up. Sherman, my new feline friend had made a little home right beside me, and I wanted nothing more than to let him rest there all day in his little red and white striped shirt. Eventually, though, Abbie and I drove through Erie to The Juice Bar to start our day. Erie was a sweet, small city where I hadn’t seen any sky-piercing buildings. Everyone seemed a bit relaxed. Abbie had to go to work so I tried to get some emails sent that afternoon at Pressed Books and Cafe. The bookstore was a well-decorated space with excellent lighting and hardwood floors. The children’s section was adorable and reminded me a bit of my community library with the little reading nook and the playful wallpaper and carpeted floors. They seemed to have all of the new titles and ample gift items toward the front. That evening, Abbie and her roommate took me out to Calamari’s for dinner, and then we met up with Abbie’s friend at the bayfront, where I got to see a bit of the Erie social scene as the sun set on Lake Erie. The steady, rippling water felt like the calm before the storm that would surely be my last week before arriving home.

Wednesday morning, I lightly knocked on Abbie’s room, whispering that it was time for me to go, and she sleepily gave me a little hug before I said my goodbye to Sherman. He couldn’t understand me, of course, but I told him he was the cutest little cat and I wished him the best. At some point on the road toward PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, while I was sniffling, I remembered that, during the night, Sherman had plopped down on top of my head, declaring it his sleeping grounds for a few hours. My allergies had nearly taken me out, but I had let him be.

*Beauty inside Uncle Bobbie’s, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania*

It was a pretty straightforward drive to my lodgings in PLYMOUTH MEETING, PENNSYLVANIA. The highways here seemed a bit more like the ones back home, with lots of green trees lining both sides of the road. I drove through some farmland in Franklin. Bradford. Snow Shoe. The hotel bed in Plymouth Meeting beckoned me to take a quick day nap before I thought to explore the area. At around 5:30 pm, I walked into Uncle Bobbie’s Coffee & Books in the historic Philly neighborhood of Germantown. I had seen the name of the store pop up a few times during my research before I left. It was an endearing store with a cafe serving delicious coffee under a fascinating light feature comprised of floating book pages gently swaying. The ceiling was an elegant, yet simple textured white tile. There was a display of books and merchandise up front and more bookshelves in the back. Walking through, I noticed a particular selection of books on minority-centric stories, for all ages. It was wild to walk past a children’s section and see books so dramatically different than the ones that I had available to me. This must be a really special space for a diverse, tight-knit community. There were some older men sitting in chairs behind the cafe area. They looked comfortable, almost cemented into their seats as they chatted, and I figured they came to this place often. I remembered what Danielle from Chicago had told me about black-owned bookstores serving more as community hubs.

On the way out, I asked the barista for any good food recommendations. Fortunately, there was a seemingly authentic Jamaican place around the corner called Grill’N’Dutchy where I ordered a jerk chicken tray with mac and cheese and plantains. I had never had Jamaican food before because, to my knowledge, there simply weren’t any places like this back home. There was so much good food to eat packed into that little Styrofoam container that once I was done, I simply passed out for the rest of the night.

Day by day, as I inched closer to NEW YORK, NEW YORK, I tried to fill my day as best I could. Thursday morning, I left as early as I could to drive through Valley Forge National Historical Park. I almost had to see these remnants of the Revolutionary period if I was here. Also, the more accurate reason was that I had recently watched National Treasure—one of the greatest films of our time—and wanted to live in that movie for a day. There was nothing wrong with that. The driving Encampment Tour through Valley Forge, where, as we were taught in school, General Washington trained the Continental Army, was dotted with statues, the preserved 18th-century quarters of military officials, and the National Memorial Arch. The landscape was simply beautiful as well, and I could almost project my imagination onto the fields in front of me and see what it might’ve been like there 250 years ago. An hour later, I was in the heart of Philadelphia, where I took my time to walk around and get a feel for the place. I passed by some towering office buildings, the National Museum of American Jewish History, and the American Philosophical Society. At Christ Church Burial Ground, I saw the final resting place of Benjamin Franklin, just minutes away from Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell. There was so much history packed into this small part of the city. I would’ve loved to have gone on a field trip here when I was younger.

After that, I was done with the history tour and wanted to check out the indie bookstore scene in Philly. I first stopped at a place called Brickbat Books in Queen Village. There was a loud, unusual tune playing over the speakers when I walked in, but I liked the quirkiness. Natural light from outside illuminated the orange and black checkerboard floor, and the floor-to-ceiling, cubby-style bookshelves filled with new and used books. It seemed like an excellent place to pop in on a hot day to browse and find something unexpected. I walked a bit further after that to Head House Books. The sign swinging in the breeze above the store caught my attention when I had gone out to look for lunch. When I stepped inside, I found a colorful arrangement of books on wooden tables and shelves, and ornate rugs that expertly blended the historic vibe of Philly with a contemporary splash. I was a bit taken aback by how much I loved the way they organized and arranged their bestsellers. It was all very visually attractive, I thought over lunch later, as I dug into a chicken cheesesteak at the Famous 4th Street Delicatessen.

My final stop before heading to New Jersey was Harriet’s Bookshop. My friend and colleague, Deneane, had mentioned the black-owned bookstore before I had left, and I told her that I’d definitely be stopping by. I parked in the Fishtown District after having some trouble finding a parking spot and eventually walked into Harriett’s. I felt like I had stepped into the pages of a book. The walls, ceiling, and every piece of furniture were all white, but they had been painted with black bordering lines, so everything felt a bit animated. The bookseller at the front kindly offered me a bottle of water, which was just what I needed. I followed the intricately-painted black-and-white chevron pattern on the floor, towards the back. There weren’t a crazy amount of books crowding up the space, but a few showcased on the shelves that really summoned you towards them. There were quotes and photos painted on the wall and a back door that led to a small patio with pops of green and bright yellow in between some used books. I took some photos so I could show Deneane.

Later that afternoon, I arrived at my aunt and uncle’s place in MONROE TOWNSHIP, NEW JERSEY. It felt great to be in a familiar, home environment, where my aunt could spoil me with good food and my uncle could keep asking if I wanted to watch something on the big TV. I was exhausted and napped the whole day. Why was I napping in the middle of the day like this? It was the second or third time I had done so since leaving Chicago. I didn’t like it, but I also couldn’t help it. Maybe I was starting to burn out a bit. I can’t burn out when I’m this close to finishing. I ended up taking my uncle’s offer that night instead of going out or doing anything even remotely taxing. I went down to the basement and covered myself in blankets on the comfy couch, and watched a few episodes of Bones before falling asleep. I think I was really missing home. This was close to that.

Friday filled me with the same kind of excitement I would feel the night before a field trip as a child. I hadn’t been to New York City since last year, and it was truly one of my favorite cities in the world. I’ve seen all of the sights and done all of the doings in the Big Apple already, so getting to just live life without a plan in the city had been my reward on the last visit or too. Of course, for this trip, I did have a bit of a plan to work around—to see the parts of the city I hadn’t been able to dive into previously. That morning over breakfast, my aunt told me about a bookstore she knew of in PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY, not very far from where we were. I had some time before I had to be in Connecticut for my train to the city, so I was game for a bit of exploring. One of my sister’s friends, Angela, had recently gotten into Princeton University, so I felt the urge to go see a bit of the campus anyway.

I arrived at Labyrinth Books around 11 am, and it took me only a few minutes to figure out what made this store, plainly situated amongst the gorgeous shops and restaurants of Nassau St., a labyrinth. I found myself enamored with the college-town vibe, seeing many young folks walking around with their tote bags, taking their time to browse the displays of new titles and bestsellers upfront. But as I went deeper and deeper into the store, there was an assortment of genres—from history to poetry—to explore, along with ample gift items and stationery, and other gems to find. We were lucky in Chapel Hill to have some bookspaces so close to us; Students loved to study at the tables at Epilogue and Prologue on Franklin St. after grabbing a delicious drinking chocolate or latte. There weren’t tables spread out around Labyrinth, so it got me wondering how the makeup of college students here was different than back home, in regard to their book-buying habits. I left Labyrinth with a tote bag I couldn’t resist before I strolled around the magnificent buildings comprising the Princeton campus. It was a hot summer day, so I sauntered past the occasional tour group and even some tourists snapping pictures under tall, beautiful, old arches. What a place to learn. I would’ve felt out of place if my face wasn’t buried in a book in a place like this.

I went back to Monroe and freshened up before departing for STAMFORD, CONNECTICUT, quietly thanking my uncle during his work call for having me as I left. Driving through NEWARK, NEW JERSEY, I could already see the unmistakable skyline of Manhattan skyscraper clusters, and then the Empire State Building standing triumphantly alone a bit to the side. I was already experiencing some uncomfortable traffic patterns, leaving me unsure about whether I should speed up to keep the driver behind me satisfied or let them disgruntledly pass me as I focused on the road ahead. I wasn’t stupid enough to actually drive into New York City and use Lola to get around. My plan was to stay with my friend, Meghan, and her family in Stamford, and commute in and out of the city when I didn’t need to be there via Amtrak. This would keep my car out of harm’s way and my sanity intact. Meghan did a similar thing for work a few days out of the week, so I was sure she could show me the ins and outs of efficient train travel. I was also really looking forward to riding the train—I loved the train. I think relinquishing control and responsibility of transportation to someone else and being able to see the land as you travel—giving ample time to also read a book or work—made trains the superior mode of transportation. Rolling up to Meghan’s house filled me with excitement because I had never met her family, or been to her home, having met her in North Carolina at UNC. She had a beautiful home and a nice back patio. I couldn’t help myself from obsessing over her kitchen, and all of her dad’s artwork. We were able to spend some time catching up before I had to get to my train. I would be back at her place on Sunday, and we could properly catch up then.

The train station was only a few minutes away, and I was traveling light, with no need for my equipment until I would return to the city later next week. I managed to get there about twenty minutes early but still couldn’t find my way to the right platform until the last minute. Pro-tip: if you find yourself unsure about which track your train’s going to arrive on when it could be there any minute, find someone who works there to help you out, regardless of how well-traveled you are. You’ll save yourself the embarrassment of missing your train and the headache that ensues. Within an hour, I was on what I felt was a ridiculously long escalator, ready to emerge at Moynihan Train Hall. Navigating the subway system in New York was incredibly easy after the first few times, especially after you understood the basic geography of the area and what lay uptown and downtown. I had asked my friend George for help finding a place to crash while I was in the city, and he connected me with one of our mutual college friends, Trey, who was more than happy about hosting me for two nights in Brooklyn. He and his roommate, Jack, got me well acclimated to their impressively large couch, and that evening, I found myself visiting some favorite spots in Brooklyn. It turned out that Bushwick was home to many folks who had just graduated from my university. I found myself wandering the streets for a while, alone. It felt great to be back, but I must’ve been in a mood or something because I found myself feeling lonely walking around in one of the busiest cities in the world. There’s a difference between feeling lonely and alone, though. I wasn’t alone at all. But I was human, and I couldn’t help feeling that I would’ve loved to have shared these amazing moments I had had all summer with a loved one. Of course, when I was in work mode, I was in the zone. But it was hard for me to compartmentalize such a transformative journey into the category of a “work trip,” if that makes sense. This summer cemented a notion that I had about travel being an important part of the career I wanted for myself. I also learned that I want to be out there telling stories with a partner, or a team of folks to work with.

I found my spirits lifted when I saw the unmistakable silhouette of Anabelle and Rainey, the friends I had spent time with on the first few days of the trip in North Carolina, walking right toward me. I broke into a sprint, definitely alarming them at first, but then we embraced, not believing that I had just run into them on the street when we had been planning to meet later at a pizza joint a short distance away. I had the unique pleasure of also meeting a friend who was visiting them, Alexa, from Barcelona—another favorite city of mine. To be among friends in New York City... there was nothing else like it.

The last day of the week was packed with connecting with friends and ramping up the momentum for what was sure to be a memorable final week for shooting for the project. George had texted me to offer a suggestion for breakfast. “Go to Bittersweet in Clinton Hill, get a salami and salted butter baguette and a coffee, and go sit in Fort Greene Park.” A sensational breakfast, for sure. I sat, chomping on my baguette, people-watching in the park, unsure of how I could’ve started the day any better. I had some time before I was going to meet with my friend Jordyn from UNC for lunch. That meant one thing—bookstore time. I hopped on a subway towards Carroll Gardens because if I was in Brooklyn, I simply had to go to Books Are Magic. There was a large mural with the store name on the side of the building, next to which staff was setting up for some sort of event. The store itself wasn’t huge, but it felt like just the right size for a community store, with a large children’s section in the back, and carefully arranged books for all ages and audiences on bright, wooden shelves.

*Outside Cafe con Libros, in Brooklyn, NY*

Herein lay the beautiful danger in stepping out on a beautiful day in Brooklyn—you’d be drawn into the most charming store and wouldn’t be able to resist leaving without getting something. Fifty dollars would be gone in an hour. After a bit of browsing, I decided to move on to another store nearby called Cafe con Libros, an intersectional feminist bookstore with a neat little outdoor seating area under black and white patio umbrellas. The interior housed some bookshelves with titles and merch highlighting minority voices on either side, with a coffee counter in the back. I could see myself wanting to come here for a cup before work every morning, feeling great about investing my dollar in creating an inclusive space for all folks. Spaces like Cafe con Libros just go to show that being a bit more intentional about where you buy your books or even a somewhat daily purchase of coffee (for people like me) can go toward creating a visible impact for underrepresented groups. And these kinds of places were truly everywhere nowadays. Even if you don’t have one in your community, you can almost always find ways to support them or other great causes on online.

The noon sun was bringing some undesirable levels of heart, so I quickly made my way over to Downtown Brooklyn, finally meeting up with Jordyn at Brooklyn Bridge Bistro, where we caught up on my project and how life in New York had been for her since we had last seen one another—all over some scrumptious sandwiches and mac & cheese, by the way. Jordyn didn’t have too much going on that day, so we decided to keep the good times rolling, heading over to Central Park for some live music event that Trey and Jack would be at. It always amazed me how utterly massive Central Park was, and how there were just little pocket outdoor worlds sprinkled throughout the expanse of green. We eventually all found each other and had a quick afternoon dance among the other folks there without a care in the world. The sprinkling of water from a hose sprayed the crowd with a cooling mist that ended up kinda soaking us after a while. So, that was enough of that.

One of my friends, Sofia, wanted to meet up at the MET, which was pretty much in Central Park, too. Having never gone before, I figured there was no better way to end the week. Definitely one of the most impressive museums I’ve ever stepped foot in, the Metropolitan Museum of Art would have to be a repeat visit to dedicate most of a day to. We didn’t really make a dent, although we spent some time perusing ancient Egypt, MET Gala dresses, and the large open space with Greek statues before finding our way up to the public rooftop area, where I let the sight of the city before me take my breath away.