mariachis in manhattan

In some miraculous way, I escaped from my post-finals dreamworld and made it home from the Cape. In a journey that involved five different modes of transportation, a broken Blackberry (I shed a few tears), and a United States atlas (the GPS is so last season), my trek back to reality ended with a very amusing subway ride. I'm not much of a 7 train rider, but it came in nice and handy this afternoon. As I traversed the tunnel to the platform, I actually welcomed the smell. No joke! After a few weeks, I'll be back to hating anything and everything about the aromatic stench of Manhattan's underground, but as me and my two Vera duffels navigated through the stiletto-stomping commuters on our way to the train, we were graciously welcomed to sit with a traveling mariachi band. We weren't serenaded, but their costumes and hysterical demeanor were amusing enough. What was best about their presence, though, was how they simply fit in among the corporate blazers, awful accents, and littered MetroCards. Huge hats and gold-adorned jeans, they barely phased the throng of the iPod-listening crowd that traveled along with them.

All in all, It was the perfect welcome back kind of ride and made me extremely excited for the summer ahead. Just like Dorothy said there's no place like home, to me, theres no place like New York. I wonder if Mr. Haan makes ruby slippers...