New York City
Sure, I live here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t act like a fucking tourist in my own town. I rang in 2012 in style at a friend’s apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, one of the sketchiest areas populated by hipsters east of Williamsburg and the Lower East Side. There were also multiple sessions of karaoke in Koreatown, pole dance classes in Harlem, and general bar crawling throughout Manhattan – you know, things 20somethings do to feel like they are young again but fuck man, we’re getting old. The convenience of living in NYC is that even when I don’t get a chance to travel, I can still feel like I’m a part of the world.
My boyfriend and I wanted to take a vacation somewhere and try out an all-inclusive resort. I scored a sick-ass deal through TravelZoo for a rooftop penthouse with a private plunge pool at the Marival Residencies. It’s the most expensive vacation I’ve ever taken but it was totally worth it. Skinny-dipping at night, imbibing in top-shelf liquor at breakfast, sunning at the private VIP beach club and having a fridge fully stocked with Corona’s at all times – Puerto Vallarta is the place to go when you want to feel classy but also want to get wasted in the best of ways.
Why the fuck did it take me four years to return to the city I went to college in? Aside from being the ultimate Southern college party town, Charleston is friggin’ gorgeous and everyone should go there because it’s sweet as fuck. I had my fair share of party throw-downs while there but not too many bar experiences, since I graduated early and never had a fake ID (what was I THINKING?!?!). So I went wild this time around, with the two friends of mine who have yet to move to Brooklyn. It was so awesome to show my driver’s license, being served a drink and not be escorted out of the bar for assuming someone else’s identity.
Icelanders don’t typically drink during the week because alcohol here is expensive has hellllllll. It’s so expensive that, as a cute, young female, you can’t even rely on the kindness of a creepy gentleman to buy you drinks – it’s not really the custom there. Luckily, the Duty Free store at the airport was able to provide us with some nice pregame bottles of booze at heavily discounted prices (even cheaper than in the USA). We were able to experience the weekend rúntur, the one day when everyone goes out and gets shitfaced about town. Mostly underage 15-year olds with fake IDs but hey, partying has no age barrier.
It’s been a good year to get trashy, and 2013 is just around the corner. Here’s to the times when travel gets a little “kinky.” Rock on, folks!