I’ve spoken about being in NYC this past August, haven’t I? I’ve mentioned that briefly already? Yes, I thought so.
Like many ladies out there, I’m a Sex and the City fan. I adore the series, have watched it a bagillion times (totally a real unit of measure) and sometimes feel like the girls are my friends. Is that sad? Yeah, I thought so. But I don’t care, I’m happy. Peta, Vicki and I feel the same way, and so when in NYC together we were surely going to pay a visit to Carrie’s apartment. It was just another thing that was absolutely going to happen.
So we did.
We stumbled across the apartment after hunting down an Israeli falafel shop for lunch one day – another one of Gwyneth’s recommendations. Deliciousness ensued.
I chose the Harissa Falafel. Perfection. We ate our falafels outside the shop on a little park bench and I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for chickpeas in my life.
Bhey met us mid-falafel after finishing work early, and promptly informed us that Carrie’s apartment was just around the corner.
It was meant to be.
It was also meant to be blurry – for some reason we couldn’t grab a both quick and in-focus shot. But that’s ok, it just adds to the dream illusion… ok? Good, thanks, appreciate it.
A little bit of an anti-climax, perhaps. I was really more in love with the street than the apartment (although it was truly fab).
Perry street, where Carrie’s apartment lies, is just gorgeous; light, tree-lined and peaceful. I loved all of the West Village, actually. There’s something incredibly magical about the area.
Ahhh to have the money to buy an apartment next to Carrie and Taïm. That would be a real dream…
Falafels and Cosmos around the clock.