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As I wandered a bit, looking for a bite to eat, I observed things to be even stranger than they first seemed. At first glance, one might confuse Mill Heights for a single high-rise, which towers into the stratospheric haze. Traveling up the staircases that join the tiers, visitors have the distinct sense of moving backwards in time. The other airport lies just outside the city, in a former patch of Nassau County hardwood forest overlooking a halfhearted golf course. To outsiders, it appears as a serrated, black wasteland, with two towers jutting out of the middle. I heard of this place from a Staten Island pastor who was drinking late at a waterfront bar. If you look close at the cobblestoned streets in this neighborhood next to the Financial District, you might notice the opalescent tinge of the rocks. It’s now inhabited by Wall Street-types living in landmarked buildings with modern elevators and exposed brick fireplaces in studio apartments and one bedrooms. And miles away from the epicenter of Manhattan, halfway across the globe, is New York’s edge. Lesley is also a self-taught calligrapher with a humble little shop on Etsy called Letter Be. The show features nine large abstract landscape paintings that were created between 2012 and 2015. The Jersey City culinary food scene is off the charts, and what better way to experience it than to enjoy a variety of cuisines from different venues—all at one reasonable price, and all in one day or one night?
Jersey Girls Food Tours (JGFT) showcase the gastronomic scene in Jersey City, perfect for locals and non-locals alike. Guests can enjoy YUMzzz from the best eateries in town and get a dose of JC history while walking from spot to spot.
During one of the very bad snowstorms this winter, I had the privilege of having brunch at GP’s (11 am-3pm on Sundays) with some fabulous local bloggers. While GP’s offers brunch cocktails for $7,  we were lucky to be privy to a day that the Bitter Bitches —a sexy duo of fantastic mixologists from Brooklyn who know how to make some serious drinks—were behind the bar.
The girls and I went all out with our order, hoping our hunger would allow us to try as much of the menu as possible.
GP’s BLT Panino (pancetta, arugula, tomato, lemon-garlic aioli) was the first thing I tried and it was beyond.
The Wild Boar Hash & Eggs, Toast was a special and a knockout that should totally become part of the regular menu. The ambiance of GP’s is intimate, and the natural lighting as well as the incandescent make it feel as welcoming as it is.
Jersey City’s 6th Borough Market returns for the 2014 season, debuting this Sunday, April 27th at Hamilton Park (1 McWilliams Place) from 11am-5pm.
The 6th Borough Market is a curated mix of artisan crafts and vintage goods for sale, and the experience is topped off with children’s activities and yummy eats. This Sunday marks the second-to-last 6th Borough Market, which boasts tons of unique vendors. The outdoor family-friendly market is located at 1 McWilliams Place (Hamilton Park) from 11am-4pm. This Sunday marks the opening of the 6th Borough Market, an outdoor family-friendly market located at 1 McWilliams Place (Hamilton Park) featuring quality homemade and vintage goods, gift items, jewelry, stuff for kids, beauty and bath treats, and then of course kids’ activities and food. If you can’t make it this weekend, the market will be held one Sunday each month for the rest of the year. The quarterly culmination of extraordinary Jersey City art and music is back! JC FRIDAYS, hosted by Art House Productions, is a city-wide full day of free events here in Chilltown.
After so many generations of immigrants ending up in their little neighborhood, ethnicity has become liquid, amorphous, confusing. Christian churches had muezzins, with little boys with jet-black pony tails ululating passages from the New Testament on the hour.
They were a quiet bunch, and looked a little uneasy with me there, but the mayor, he gave them this confident kind of look.
This was the exclusive neighborhood for an oligopoly of merchants in the late 17th century. I came across it in a neighborhood with row upon row of suburban homes in the glaring desert sun.

W&E primarily spotlights vintage and vintage-inspired design, type and hand lettering, and other equally awesome things.
Bloomberg purchased Governors Island from the Coast Guard for the historic sum of a dollar(Manhattan cost Peter Minuit 25 times as much almost 400 years ago!),I’ve been enchanted by the possibilities of what will become of this magnificent, un-urban, 172-acre island in New York Harbor. All of the elements worked well together, and the flavor combination was a welcome surprise for all of the taste-buds at the table. I can’t even describe it except to say that it was briny and melted in my mouth meaty goodness. I’m very critical of meatballs, always preferring my own, but I really enjoyed these. Artists, collectors and chefs gather to provide a fun experience for families on one given Sunday each month during the warm season.
Think quality homemade and vintage goods, gift items, jewelry, stuff for kids, beauty and bath treats, and then of course kids’ activities and food. This West End is a dusty corridor with pieces of paper blowing around and loud bangs in the night.
One finds the remnants of waves of people spreading out, populating, and then vanishing almost as suddenly, leaving only the dusty husks of their communal institutions teetering in the high-altitude crosswinds.
As such, it is slightly closer than the other two airports to all the non-American places that people generally come to New York from. Luxurious plazas overflow with greenery, and open onto small shops that overlook the water.
The black-and-white pictures you see sometimes of white guys with lunch boxes hundreds of feet from the ground? Over meals of guinea fowl and oysters, the neighborhood’s founders colluded in plots to assassinate their competitors. Over the last few years it has been evolving as a weekend destination particularly appealing to people on bikes, with free ferry service from both Manhattan and Brooklyn. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jersey City Gal with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
In outdoor cafes, people were having high tea with cheeseburgers, smoking clove cigarettes. Indeed, a total history of the neighborhood lies preserved to those oxygen-tanked climbers who probe the upper atmosphere, though not a single person I’ve spoken to has claimed to have reached the top. In the beginning, people found it extremely inconvenient, but before long they began to settle in concentric nation-neighborhoods around the terminal which, unlike the more assimilated ghettos within the city limits, remained on the same time zones as their native countries. A sophisticated light-encryption field surrounds Voidville, and those fortunate enough to live there are required to purchase optical implants to unscramble it. They don’t like it if you come with a motor, so you have to get one of those row boats from the marina. When we got close, he squeezed my hand very hard, like this, and he leaned closed to me, and said, never. Those were actors; that steel was laid by Akwesasne men, who come from near the Canadian border. New York police hired on the sly worked as sentries, keeping the streets empty and pristine.
Art installations abound, with a major retrospective of Mark de Suvero’s massive sculptures last summer.As work on the Master Plan continues, unofficial versions of what the island might become periodically emerge. Today, new arrivals can take a left out of the British Airways terminal, weave through a parking lot, make their way down a grassy slope and find themselves squarely within GMT. The luckiest among them live in the New Black Towers: twin luxury apartment buildings with unparalleled views of Manhattan and Brooklyn. At weekly gatherings they would carve the flesh from the bodies, feeding it to the wild cats along the docks. We walked for what seemed like miles, passing manicured lawns, street lights, glistening manoles, half-moons above doorways. Here’s the latest, courtesy Urban Omnibus, in which this peaceful, almost-too-good-to-be-true escape hatch becomes New York City’s Sixth Borough.
The residents go to work like everyone else, riding the subways into Manhattan, taking elevators, sitting at little desks and cubicles, but at night, they have no choice: They have to go home. Still, others believe that the moniker is of recent coinage — an invention of real estate agents trying to sell the coveted first floor for top dollar.

But New York has its own kind of colony, what with all the work here and buildings rising ever higher.
His architect’s plans called for a courtyard, but he was in a hurry, so he agreed and built his tower with a vast, empty vein in the middle. Whiffs of the spices of the sub-continent twirl with scents of mossy cliffs of Scandinavia. They tread carefully as they round the corner into their windy little neighborhood because life is a little dangerous in the West End.
A short walk away, a banker from Beijing is dressing for work as his Long Island neighbors settle into the sofa for an evening of primetime. Little more can be verified first hand; few residents wish to divulge their identity, for fear that they will be targeted for eye robbery.
Hired workers made bricks with the mixture and laid them down until more than six square blocks were covered. A line of women filed past me, each wearing elaborate burkas that went as far as the thigh — the result, let me tell you, was alluring. There is a saloon, Tom’s, and there is a regular cover band with a banjo player, The June Bugs. Emigrés from Tel Aviv, Damascus and Dar es Salaam find themselves perfectly in sync. The Akwesasne men lived on a few streets in South Brooklyn, and if you go there now, you can find their sons and grandsons. A large fence on the roof prevents anyone from peering over the edge, and my attempts at zooming in with Google Maps were unsuccessful.
I stumbled into an alley where I was shown silver broaches with African designs by men with translucent skin and mohawks. They only plays songs from before the 1960s and eye their audience members a little warily.
The Ethiopians, as in Africa, continue to operate on a mysterious schedule that no one can guess. Take, for instance, the store-front psychic on the periphery who told me that its borders were edging gradually outward, swallowing more of its surroundings every year. On the walls are pictures of the brave Akwesasne men who came before them, who had bad teeth and drank hard at night as they pined for their women and the taste of wall-eyed perch fished from ice holes in the St.
I’ve never seen it, and neither have the little aging Upper West Side residents that live next to it. Little steaming cups of espresso mixed with snake blood were offered in little cafes in dugout canoes floating in a canal behind a row of wood-paneled homes. Visitors drive out from the city to sample each neighborhood’s time the way other kinds of connoisseurs scour the outer boroughs for the most authentic ethnic food.
They met in a little place behind the houses, where they had a stream with salt water and some grass, and lawn chairs. And then there was an old lady, maybe 70 or so, sitting on her porch in a rocking chair in the shade of a big American flag.
When someone forgets the time and it gets late, they tend to leave out the back entrance and scurry through alleyways to get home. Sometimes you can see it from here, a tiny orange glow from their campfire, just a little fleck of orange, a kind of ugly grin. College students skip afternoon classes to get a taste of after-hour seediness as the Thai cabaret.
Where will it be in a year?” We stepped off the pavement onto the hot sand, over the edge. Surveillance cameras seem to miss the streets on their sweep, but if they did, they’d capture dark men pacing the street, little eddies of dust obscuring their faces, silver pistols.

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