I'm going to be sick...Pho Sure

Today my co-workers and I ventured out for Vietnamese. After a scenic walk through West Village, we arrived at the corner of Bleeker and Bedford Streets - at a tiny restaurant named, Pho Sure. I was told what it lacked in size, it made up for in its sandwiches.

CEO Ray, said, "Coby, you have to get the Banh Mi. It's a classic!" and everyone agreed. For those Vietnamese-food virgins out there, Banh Mi is a popular baguette made up of pate, pickled carrots, dai kon, cucumbers, cilantro, mayonnaise and meat - in this instance pork belly.

We walked to the Hudson River Pier. It was breathtaking! I sat and took in the beautiful views - while ingesting my less-than-beautiful breadroll.

I struggled to understand what all the rave was about. The pork was minced and braised in bright red jelly. When combined with the pate, it created a lumpy glue in my mouth. I panned around at the others, who were enthusiastically munching away...only stopping to let out the occasional "mmm" and "yum". So I pushed through. I didn't want to knock back, what was widely considered to be, a Manhattan "must-have"!

When in Rome...do as the Romans do*. Right?

*Does not apply to people with sensitive stomachs whom are considering trying a new, international cuisine.

I'll spare the details. But let's just say this 'Banh' was not for 'mi'.

I'm told Pho Sure is worth revisiting. Apparently it serves a mean soup made of Bull's Penis. But I don't have the balls to try it.

An Icon of Tradgedy; A Sign of Comfort

This steel beam was found within the rubble of the World Trade Centres two days after September 11, 2001.

It became a sign of hope and healing for many rescue workers, who searched the site for the remains of innocent thousands who perished in the terrorist attacks.

Nine years on, Ground Zero stills projects a very raw image. There lies a gaping hole; a vast, vacant that is unwillingly exposed. Once home to the two tallest buildings in the world, the 'World Trade Centre Site' is now 'Ground Zero', just 16 acres of harsh memories. The rubble may be cleared, but the sentiment is not.

New York is a noisy city - where you struggle to hear yourself think, over honking horns, screeching subways and crazy crowds. But on this day, the anniversary of 9/11, the Financial District was eerily quiet. But the sense of despair was deafening.

On the evening of every anniversary, two vibrant, vertical columns of blue light are projected high into the night's sky, in remembrance of the attacks. This year, the weather was overcast and some 10,000 birds were attracted to the lights, mistaking them for starlight - which they rely on to guide their navigation. The bedazzled birds are a testament to the memorial and how mesmerising it really is.

I take a stab at life as a New Yorker

A beautiful neighbourhood in Midtown Manhattan, Murray Hill is now the place I call 'home'. A suburb overflowing with rowdy restaurants and busy bars, where residents walk their expensive dogs down its pretty, tree-lined streets.

There is a great deli on the corner - where I can grab my token "Bagel & Schmear". Next to that, a fresh flower shop where businessmen of Wall Street grab a dozen roses on the way home to make up for missing dinner, yet again. Then, there is a subway located just two blocks away (the 6 Line, not the 6 inch kind).

My best discovery so far, has been the local "Wash & Dry". I dropped off my dirty clothes and returned an hour later to find them all cleaned, dried and neatly folded. It was like Mum has done my washing! I suddenly find myself missing home and maintaining eye contact with the Asian lady for far too long. Thank you Chinese Mum...this washing detergent smells of nostalgia and for that, I will tip you generously :)

So I'm feeling good about my amazing apartment, located in this safe, serene suburb. Until.. I checked out Gothamist for the daily New York news and read: Gang Stabbing in E 26 Street.

Two men stabbed - repeatedly in the chest, leaving one dead. It had happened just footsteps away... and at 9:30 AM! A drug dealer left for dead - in sheer daylight.

That's when it sinks in. I am in New York. A crazy city where crime gives no consideration to your ZIP code. Owner of a French Mastiff or not, shit happens.

That's just life in the Big Apple! Gorgeous one day, gang stabbing the next.