“I feel like we tapped into the energy source of the city, found an authenticity at street level that tells the story of an old New York that lives on after dark.”

I recently attempted to walk 100 blocks in a night, with my friend ‘Samuel’ as my partner in crime. We almost made it – falling just short at 67 after the police used a megaphone to kick us out of Central Park.

But it wasn’t a failure….the end goal was never really the 100 blocks but to discover and capture a grittier side to NYC, an old New York that many associate with the 90′s before the gentrification of the new millennium.

It was an adventure through the night with a myriad of characters to colour the journey. I was attacked by a crack addict and her dealer in Tompkins Square Park, I spoke to a couple of musicians who let me photograph them and invited me to their show, I shot a man smoking on his stoop, chatted with a guy roaming the streets with all his possessions in search of a bus to anywhere but here and was privileged to a performance of The Harlem Shake. I feel like we tapped into the energy source of the city, found an authenticity at street level that tells the story of an old New York that lives on after dark.

This is the New York I want to know. I am excited about making this a regular project and continuing to explore and document a darker side to the city.

Enjoy the journey.




“For the first time…I consider the worst-case scenario. Being that my visa gets denied and I have to fly back to Australia leaving behind all my belongings and the life I have built for myself in NYC”


 12:20pm – I call the US consulate in Canada to schedule my visa meeting. I’m hoping for something in two to three weeks time. The operator informs me the next available meeting is tomorrow morning at 10:30am and after that sometime in October…..October is not going to work…tomorrow….well…I’m going to have to make it work.

I hang up the phone and call dad for advice. It’s sometime in the middle of the night in Australia but he answers. He always answers because he’s my dad and he’s awesome. “Am I doing this?” I ask. “Go for it” he replies. That’s always his answer. I think it has something to do with the time of night I call him and his subsequent level of intelligence. Regardless, I continue to call.

I check flights. The only flights that are going to get me there on time arrive one hour before my visa meeting. I presume that customs in Ottawa is a walk in the park and the airport is probably a 20min drive from the airport. If both my flights run exactly on time…I might make it. I’m not going to have time to check in anywhere and drop off luggage and I know they are particular about what you are allowed to bring into the Consulate – so I won’t be able to bring any luggage with me; Just my documentation, a small handbag and the clothes on my back.

 1:30pm- I head off to my friend Jake’s place to print my visa documents. Jake proves himself to be ALL TIME and even paperclips my documents for me. I hug him goodbye and wonder how long it will be before I see him again. For the first time…I consider the worst-case scenario. Being that my visa gets denied and I have to fly back to Australia leaving behind all my belongings and the life I have built for myself in NYC. Mini panic attack ensues.

 2:15pm – I jump in a cab and head uptown to shoot a wedding. I try and push aside my personal Armageddon to focus on the job. I am a pro after all.

 7:00pm – I finish and head home. Check and re-check my documents. Download and backup the days wedding. Shower, eat and head off to bed for a few hours sleep.


 2:45am – I wake up (hating life)

3:15am – Leave for the airport (hating life)

 4:00am – Arrive and check in

 5:30am First flight boards on time. I am off to a good start. I already feel like a warrior of life. If I can pull this off I can achieve superhero status…surely.

 7:30am – I arrive somewhere to get my connection. They keep calling it Dulles – its not until I’m halfway through the airport that I realize I’m in Washington DC. United Airlines sends me an email informing me my gate has changed but my flight is on time. Hallelujah. Round two…winner!

 8:00am – I call Bank of America to put a travel notice on my cards. They ask me when I’m leaving the country. “Right now” I reply as I literally hand over my boarding pass.

 9:15am- I land in Ottawa 15mins early. When does that ever happen? Breeze through customs and jump in a cab. Apparently I look fancy because the cab driver presumes I am a visiting dignitary heading to the consulate for a meeting. I don’t bother to correct him. He is surprised I don’t have accommodation booked and points out all the fancy hotels close by. I indulge the fantasy and nod like I’m considering them.

 9:50am: I arrive at the consulate

10:00am: The security guard rejects my handbag because I’m carrying my laptop. In Australia – the consulate stores your electrical items for you, apparently not in Canada. The security guard tells me to put it in my car and come back. “I don’t have a car”- I tell him. “Not my problem” He replies.

 10:05am: I’m out on the street searching for somewhere to stash my bag. The lovely lady at the home wears store across the road informs me that although she can’t take it, there is a coffee shop around the corner that does that kind of thing. I feel like I’m trying to buy drugs. I head off to said coffee shop, drop my bag off, thank them profusely and run back to the consulate.

 10:20am: I go through security at the consulate. The guard asks me if I found somewhere to store my bag. I did…I tell him. “See”…he says… “that’s why God gave you a mouth” he replies. Thank you asshole!

 10:25am: I take a seat…stoked I have made it this far.

10:35am: They call me up to check my paperwork. She files it away and gives me a number. I sit back down and wait.

12:00pm: Still waiting

 1:00pm: Still waiting

2:00pm: Still waiting. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since 7:00pm the night before. Not even a glass of water. There is no water available and it crosses my mind that this might be an interrogation technique. I start wondering at what point I will become dangerously dehydrated.

 2:30pm: They call me up for my interview. I am immediately terrified. My future and everything I have worked for lies in the hands of this man in his plastic throne. Dear god…please let them approve my visa. I’m trying to play it cool but I’m already considering the cost of flights back to Australia. He comments on my cute Australian accent. I reward him with a flirtatious giggle. (At this point I am prepared to do literally anything) He tells me he has approved my visa. I break out into a huge grin. He smiles back. My first thought is….thank god. The second is…I can’t believe I’ve pulled this off. I can pick my visa up on Monday he tells me. I leave and try to high five the security guard on the way out. He dodges me and looks at me like I’m retarded. I float to the coffee shop to retrieve my belongings. “I was approved” – I announce to no one in particular. The girl behind the counter gives me a free latte and I buy a croissant and a bottle of water. The first thing I have had to eat or drink in almost 20hrs. I slump into a chair and broadcast the news to my family and friends.

3:30pm – I have a visa but nowhere to sleep for the night. I am too exhausted to search for anything so I decide to treat myself to one of the fancy hotels the cab driver pointed out. I head to The Westin because it’s the closest and because I know their beds are amazing. I tell the girl at the reception that my visa was just approved and I am celebrating. She upgrades me for free.

3:45pm – I get into my fancy room and collapse into bed. I have no intention of leaving the room. I order room service, watch a movie and take pics of my feet whilst boasting to pretty much anyone who will listen about my amazing life. I am obnoxious but I don’t care. I have my visa. I sleep for 13 hrs.


 10:00am: I wake up and stretch luxuriously in my king size bed. Check out is midday and I need to find somewhere else to stay till Monday. I book into a place with airbnb in downtown Ottawa. My airbnb – Karen – confirms my stay.

 11:59am: I check out and commence a period of mourning for my king size bed and fluffy robe. I need to buy a change of clothes, find a Starbucks and bust out some emails. My life in NYC is continuing without me.

 5:00pm: I meet my airbnb host and immediately like her. In true Aussie style I rename her Kaz. Kaz is an aging rocker who spent years travelling the world working in community radio. She tells me a story about selling weed to The Stones in India. She immediately becomes one of my favorite people.

6:00pm: Kaz (my new bestie) and I head out for dinner and drinks.

7:30pm: I wander around the trendy part of town called ‘The Market’ and finish the night with a whiskey at the Chateau Lafayette.


 9:00am: Kaz takes me to an alternative yoga class that involves a lot of chanting. Surprisingly, I love it and float out on a yoga high.

 10:30am: Kaz and I enjoy breakfast in the sunshine at a local café

 2:00pm: Kaz and I enjoy a romantic stroll together along the canal. Ottawa is surprisingly beautiful. I had no idea Quebec is literally the other side of the river.

3:00pm: We head out see Lucky Ron at the Chateau Lafayette. Lucky Ron is a country music legend who has been playing the same set at the Chateau for 30 years. It’s a true locals event and I am grateful to Kaz for the locals insight. The bartenders recognize me from the night before. (probably because I am wearing the same clothes)

 3:30pm: I try Poutine…the French Canadian take on Chips and Gravy. They add cheese curd, which sounds revolting but in reality is next level. It morphs to my ass immediately but tastes delicious.

 4:00pm: I try and go drink for drink with Kaz, which is a grave mistake. We are drinking huge bottles of beer in tiny glasses. I think this is a crazy Canadian trick to get you to drink more. It works.

5:00pm: Lucky Ron comes on and the party steps up a gear. Everyone knows the words and sings along…rocking out hard to Johnny Cash. Ron’s wife Kathlene looks like she might have been to every single concert for the last 30 years. She stands side stage and conducts the crowd. Ron rewards her with a love song entitled… ‘Sweet Kathlene’. Umm…yeh – there aint nothin sweet about Kathlene. By the second set I am up dancing with the rest of the crowd…. pulling out some sweet thigh slapping lasso moves that are a hit with the locals.

 7:00pm: In a random turn of events I recognize someone I have been talking to on Tinder. He is a musician in town for a gig. We chat for a while before he heads off for his gig.

8:00pm: (or sometime that night) I end up at the bar doing Drambuie shots with some dude possibly in his 70’s with limited English. I keep referring to him as ‘the homeless guy’. Note to self…just because he has a beard doesn’t mean he is homeless. I have vague recollections of moving furniture at some point. My next clear memory is grabbing pizza with Kaz and heading back to hers/mine for a nightcap. I collapse into bed in a drunken slumber.


 8:00am: I wake up to messages from my Canadian Tinder friend. He invites me out for breakfast. I roll out of bed and attempt to look presentable. I may or may not still be tipsy.

9:00am: Super fun breakfast date… for me anyway. We have what I’m pretty sure is exactly the same conversation as the night before. None of which I can remember. Steve is a good sport and lets me retell my life story for a second time. (High five Steve) After coffee and breakfast I start to feel human and head back to touch base with Kaz.

10:30am: Kaz is taking me to her friend’s lake house today. It’s 40 mins outside the city and a beautiful summers day. The sunshine, the spontaneity, the adventure – I’m loving the moment. I feel so grateful that what I thought was going to be an awful experience has turned into such a glorious adventure.

 12:30pm: After helping officially open the lake house for the summer, we relax with beers on the deck. I put in some quality floating time in the lake and drip dry in the sun…this morning’s hangover a distant memory.

4:30pm: We head back to Ottawa after a late BBQ lunch. I’m expecting to hear about my visa tomorrow. Kaz tells me where I need to pick it up from, how to get there and even hands me the bus tickets. I am humbled by her generosity.


 12:30pm: I haven’t heard anything about my visa so I decide to wing it and head to the depot on the off chance it has arrived. I have a phobia of catching buses along with post offices, nail polish (makes me feel like my nails are suffocating) and filling it out paper work. Luckily Kaz’s directions are so good, I breeze through the semi traumatic bus experience and make it to the depot. Yes they have my passport and yes the visa is inside. They hand me my passport and right then and there I decide it is my most valued possession.

12:35pm: Outside the depot I fall into step with a cute German boy. He has been studying in Montreal and is off to visit friends in California. He regales me with stories of student life in Montreal. I make a mental note to put it on my travel wish list. I have made plans to catch a bus back to New York that night at 7pm travelling via Montreal. As luck would have it, the cute German is on the same bus. Thank you life.

5:00pm: Kaz gets home from work. She is going to walk me to the bus. I can’t believe my luck that I landed with Kaz for the weekend. I am forever grateful. Canadian people are literally the nicest people in the world. I challenge anyone to say otherwise.

7:00pm: I give Kaz the double handed salute and jump on the bus…. searching for the cute German boy. I locate him; he recognizes me and we start to chat. He asks me what my blog is called and we fall into silence while he checks it out and I consider the ‘candid’ nature of my writing. He is quiet for quite a while and I ask him what he thinks. He is surprised the blog is so personal. Sigh…I can see where this is going. I retreat into Kirra world and we ride the rest of the journey in silence.

9:30pm: We arrive in Montreal and I bid my cute German friend goodbye. He disappears – leaving me with thoughts of what could’ve been.

10:45pm: I board the bus to NYC. The last leg of my journey. I am exhausted and can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.

12:00am: (or some stage in the middle of the night) We cross the boarder and my phone vomits messages at me. Life in NYC has continued without me. We stop at customs and the customs officers bark orders at us, herding us out of the bus like cattle. Their whole demeanor screams “Welcome to ‘Merica assholes”. Yup… definitely not in Canada anymore.

 12:15pm: They let me into the country. Hurrah!

 2:30am: I unsuccessfully attempt to sleep on the bus.

 6:05am: I arrive back in New York. I am exhausted and emotional. I actually tear up as I leave the bus depot and breathe in the city. I’m back. I made it. It’s a grey rainy day but the city never looked so god damn beautiful. I take a moment to reflect on my journey and how hard I have had to work just to be here. I hail a cab and head back home. That’s right…home. Can’t get rid of me now.



P.S : No luggage also meant no camera but here are a few of my fav iphone pics :)

Dear Haters

I will continue to be the kick ass version of myself. I am confident that in doing so – I will attract other kick ass individuals who don’t let their own insecurities dictate their view of the world or others.

Dear Haters,

Thank you for your feedback on my last post….The NYC Man. I heard you…I understand that you believe me to be childish, assuming, and rude. I know now that you consider me to be an angry man hater and that is ok. You are entitled to your opinion, as I am mine.

I report on the world as I see it. I will not censor myself for your benefit. This will undoubtedly ostracize some people at some point and I am ok with that. I will continue to be the kick ass version of myself. I am confident that in doing so – I will attract other kick ass individuals who don’t let their own insecurities dictate their view of the world or others.

Perhaps the descriptions cut too close to the truth. Perhaps you saw yourself in one of the ‘stereotypes’ and your feelings were hurt. Perhaps you took offense on the behalf of others. Perhaps I should get my tiny violin out while you run home and cry to your mom.

In conclusion…I would like to add that any man worth his weight in gold has evolved beyond the stereotype. These men know that their personality can’t be pigeon holed into any one category and won’t feel judged by some childish, assuming and rude know it all with an opinion on pretty much everything.

You do you…I’ll do me.




“Trust fund babies can look forward to a lifetime of therapy as they deal with issues such as…why didn’t mommy hug me enough when I was a child ? and why do daddy’s wives get progressively younger?”

The NYC dating scene can be brutal. Monogamy is something you consider after an extended period of time doing the dating dance…by which time either party may have decided to upgrade. In a city where even the models have PHD’s…it can be tough going. I would say most people are dating up to or exceeding three people at any one time. Their primary, someone they are interested in and someone they are currently fazing out. As someone who enjoys dating – I am happy to share my wisdom based upon my own experience. After extensive ‘research’ I have categorised the NYC man into seven different stereotypes….enjoy!

The Finance Guy…

I have many a girlfriend who resolutely refuses to date anyone from Wall st. Such is their reputation for douchbagery that the mere mention of their career choice can result in a stone walling from the female species. Of course, there are women who either don’t know better or don’t care – happy to look the other way in exchange for an apartment on Park Ave and a holiday house in the Hamptons. These are generally the same type of women who favor breast augmentation and believe that having a career is something you do before you get married. The finance guy enjoys the convenience of paying for sex and will continue to do so throughout his first, second and possibly third marriage. A direct descendant of the frat boy culture and a close relative of the ‘Jock’ they tend to hire their own, the ultimate boys club bonding over a taste for prostitutes and a kink for currency. They can be identified by their expensive suits, preppy appearance and manicured fingernails. The finance guy can typically be found dining at Rothmans in midtown. Close contact may result in a one-night stand and a subsequent trip to the doctor. Extreme caution is advised

 The Hipster…

Originating from Brooklyn, the hipster attempts to shun mainstream society whilst conforming to his own kind – resulting in a failed attempt at individuality. Pre requisites for entry into hipsterdom include neck tattoos, jeans so tight they double as tights or alternatively jeans rolled up to reveal a hint of ankle, slicked back hair, bowler hats and vintage clothing. Fixed wheel bicycles are the preferred mode of transportation and are a symbol of status, especially if you can brag about how you purchased it from Craigslist for $10 or even better – assembled it from environmentally friendly scrap metal you melted down yourself. Possible hipster dates include, candle lit yoga, a gallery opening or a local market featuring organic produce, an assortment of chalkboards for wanky motivational quotes and of course, a healthy selection of second hand crap you can fill your apartment with. The culture represents a blending of gender roles and you may often question the sexual bias of your hipster boyfriend, especially when he hogs the mirror and takes twice as long to get ready. Hipster professions include photography, photography oh and did I mention photography? But if snapping pics of his own feet doesn’t quite pay the rent, he may take on a part time job as a mixologist and revel in his role as a misunderstood artist. Hipsters can be found in the Williamsburg / Greenpoint / Bushwick area and rarely venture into Manhattan.

 The Nerd…

This is where my personal preferences lie. Sexy nerds are a thing to behold and it is my belief that nerds are taking over the world. The Nerd is engaging, successful and ambitious. Although not natural performers in the bedroom, they are open to feedback and inclined to intellectualize the act in an attempt at pleasing you. The nerd might struggle with fashion sense – a plain black t-shirt and jeans is a popular go to and he is more than comfortable wearing the outfit several days in a row – hinting at his questionable personal hygiene. Be warned, The Nerd will inevitably ditch you for an afternoon of xbox and or a Frisbee tournament with his high school friends.  Possible professions include – anything within the tech realm. They are active members of the startup world and tend to be awkward outsiders of the hipster community. Nerd hotspots include, networking events and anywhere in Dumbo.

 The Divorcee…

Now officially in my late 20’s I am a prime target for first round divorcees. Interestingly enough, women actually find The Divorcee desirable. Whilst single men approaching their mid to late 30’s are overlooked – branded as life long play boy’s or damaged goods, the divorcee has already proven he can commit and is therefore desirable to women who are into that kind of thing. What can I say, practice makes perfect. Drawbacks include, angry ex wives, possible small children and a truckload of personal baggage. The Divorcee tends to gravitate towards the safety of online dating as he awkwardly re-enters the dating arena.

 The Trust Fund Baby…

The Trust Fund Baby is either being groomed to take over the family business or has run away to join the hipster movement in an attempt at defying his white republican parents. The Trust Fund Baby can be found hanging out at Soho House bragging about his new app or fashion label – all funded by daddy’s unlimited bank account of course. They tend to date within their own circles and their wedding day will resemble a merger between families, a showcase of power and wealth that solidifies their social standing within the NYC elite. Old money gravitates towards the upper west side, whilst new money has taken up residency on the upper east side. Errant trust fund babies may also find themselves in Williamsburg on a creative sojourn, as they struggle to ‘find themselves’ before taking their pre destined place at the top of the family hierarchy. Trust fund babies can look forward to a lifetime of therapy as they deal with issues such as…why didn’t mommy hug me enough when I was a child ? and why do daddy’s wives get progressively younger? Closely linked to ‘The Finance Guy’ and a parasite of the Hipster community, The Trust Fund baby possesses they type of self entitlement that comes with being born into money. Shackled to family expectation and social status, The Trust Fund baby will choose a wife who knows how to play by the rules.

The Native…

Sometimes its hard to find natives in a city full of transplants. But when you do…it’s a rare treat – if only for the entertainment factor. The native New Yorker lives and breathes the city. It is their playground and they know it intimately. The city is their first love and they will never leave. The are hardened, street savvy, cynical, brash and aggressive – with a bullshit detector that is finely tuned. The native knows the art of hustle, they are survivors and the original Jack of all trades. They have names like Danny and Freddie and may have lived in every borough- earning their street cred from a childhood growing up in The Projects. They talk fast, walk fast, f*** fast. Where the transplants might find the pace exhausting, the native thrives on it, tapping in to the pulse of they city and using it to energise them. The native will take you to his favourite hole in the wall in chinatown, he knows the best pizza can be found deep in Brooklyn and opposes clean living of any kind.

 The Eternal Bachelor…

Has evolved beyond his original stereotype into a league of his own. The ultimate NYC man, a true product of his environment, The Eternal Bachelor has snubbed his nose at convention and decided that variety is the spice of life. He is independent, successful and charming and will often date two or three women at the same time. He feels superior to his ‘married’ friends and questions why they have wives when they could hire cleaning ladies. Many a woman has unsuccessfully tried to change him, only to learn that you can never change a man who doesn’t want to. His apartment is his kingdom and he treats it accordingly. He is clean, well kept and keeps in shape. He knows how to cook and even enjoys it. At first glance, he appears to be the ultimate catch. Women fall hard and fast but become increasingly frustrated at his lack of emotional availability. As the honeymoon period comes to an end, so will his interest.  He is addicted to the rush of the first time, the first date, the first kiss, the first touch… His parents have long since given up on him finding a wife and look to his less attractive, less successful but more reliable brother to provide them with grandchildren. He is the king of the jungle, a true alpha male who will never be tamed, destined to leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

I would love to hear from my readers. Please feel free to share stories about your experiences and or suggestions for additional categories.



ps…I believe my innate ability to insult pretty much everyone is a trait I picked up from my father. Thanks dad.