NYC - Sea Level; Telluride - 8,750 Feet
I am sitting in a bed and breakfast in gorgeous Telluride, Colorado. I am surrounded by mountains, and the stars--hidden in NY by lights and pollution--are sparkling in the dark blackness above. The night is mostly quiet with nary a car wandering the dark roads. The crickets are chirping soft and steady, and the oxygen machine is thrumming like an iron lung.
Ha, not what you expected? Tonight I am enjoying the clean crisp taste of good ole O2 through the nostrils instead of sampling the drinks and food in Telluride. Oh, I feel like an old lady, yes, but they tell me it's not that uncommon.
I am here for A and M's wedding. I arrived last night with a terrible headache, but just in time to catch the second half of the pub crawl. I did not, however, drink a drop of alcohol. I didn't even want to, so, you know how much my head hurt.
By 6:30 this morning, the oxygen deprived tides were tossing me about like a wayward sardine. And, I was tossing a few things myself. A. and her mom came to my rescue, and before I knew it, I was in the ER being seen by one of Telluride's altitude specialists and a super sweet ER nurse. She even layered me up with heated blankets. With the handsome doc, the sweet nurse and A's kind sister taking good care of me, I had little to complain about.
A saline drip, several anti-nausea medications, a shot of a steroid to reduce the swelling in my brain and some nifty pills, and I'm almost back to normal. They insisted I take the oxygen with me, so here I am in my hotel room inhaling oxygen, one of the body's key nutrients.
And all of this makes me wonder... will I better enough to have a glass of champagne tomorrow at the wedding? One can only hope.
In other news this week. A new tiki spot called the Hurricane Club opened on Park Avenue. Thursday night, I met CME and friends to taste the drinks and sample the food.
The entrance to the Hurricane Club is clever as you can't see through the screened revolving doors. After a few disorienting seconds you are spilled out into a dark hallway in front of set of large double doors. The space is huge and long curtained lights hang above angled mirrors over a large bar in the center of the room, but as CME said, it's like walking into another time when you step into the large dark space... at least until it fills up with young present-day New Yorkers and the club music starts playing.
There is still some refinement needed to the mixology at Hurricane Club... I couldn't pick out the cardamom that was supposed to be in a bourbon and apricot mix. The second cocktail that arrived at the table for me was not what I had ordered. The waiters and bartenders seem to still be learning the menu. It's no wonder since all the cocktails are numbered rather than named. I can appreciate this, as someone who struggles more with writing titles than with content. But, numbers don't have enough personality to help remember what's in a drink.
Once corrected, my second beverage was delicious, spiced with the deep earthiness of cinnamon. CME had a deliciously creamy pineapple drink, and one of her colleagues was the only one to try a frozen concoction that was a true star... delicious and lovely to look at.
The food was hit or miss, and a bit on the greasy side. Our picks were the beet and goat cheese canoli and the duck sandwiches.
I'm sure you won't read anything about this club without hearing of the shoe shine man and the rum 'fountain' near the bathroom. The shoe shiner is very charismatic, and he is also in charge of the rum fountain, which is really more of a sink. Each night you can buy a small bottle of a different kind of rum for $4. I love it. It's like a penny squisher machine for lushes. If only every bar had one!
That's it ladies and g's. I'm tired and need my oxygenated beauty rest before tomorrow! Stay tuned!
(P.S. - Family, if you are reading this, I'm okay! Really, already feeling much better!)
I am sitting in a bed and breakfast in gorgeous Telluride, Colorado. I am surrounded by mountains, and the stars--hidden in NY by lights and pollution--are sparkling in the dark blackness above. The night is mostly quiet with nary a car wandering the dark roads. The crickets are chirping soft and steady, and the oxygen machine is thrumming like an iron lung.
Ha, not what you expected? Tonight I am enjoying the clean crisp taste of good ole O2 through the nostrils instead of sampling the drinks and food in Telluride. Oh, I feel like an old lady, yes, but they tell me it's not that uncommon.
I am here for A and M's wedding. I arrived last night with a terrible headache, but just in time to catch the second half of the pub crawl. I did not, however, drink a drop of alcohol. I didn't even want to, so, you know how much my head hurt.
By 6:30 this morning, the oxygen deprived tides were tossing me about like a wayward sardine. And, I was tossing a few things myself. A. and her mom came to my rescue, and before I knew it, I was in the ER being seen by one of Telluride's altitude specialists and a super sweet ER nurse. She even layered me up with heated blankets. With the handsome doc, the sweet nurse and A's kind sister taking good care of me, I had little to complain about.
A saline drip, several anti-nausea medications, a shot of a steroid to reduce the swelling in my brain and some nifty pills, and I'm almost back to normal. They insisted I take the oxygen with me, so here I am in my hotel room inhaling oxygen, one of the body's key nutrients.
And all of this makes me wonder... will I better enough to have a glass of champagne tomorrow at the wedding? One can only hope.
In other news this week. A new tiki spot called the Hurricane Club opened on Park Avenue. Thursday night, I met CME and friends to taste the drinks and sample the food.
The entrance to the Hurricane Club is clever as you can't see through the screened revolving doors. After a few disorienting seconds you are spilled out into a dark hallway in front of set of large double doors. The space is huge and long curtained lights hang above angled mirrors over a large bar in the center of the room, but as CME said, it's like walking into another time when you step into the large dark space... at least until it fills up with young present-day New Yorkers and the club music starts playing.
There is still some refinement needed to the mixology at Hurricane Club... I couldn't pick out the cardamom that was supposed to be in a bourbon and apricot mix. The second cocktail that arrived at the table for me was not what I had ordered. The waiters and bartenders seem to still be learning the menu. It's no wonder since all the cocktails are numbered rather than named. I can appreciate this, as someone who struggles more with writing titles than with content. But, numbers don't have enough personality to help remember what's in a drink.
Once corrected, my second beverage was delicious, spiced with the deep earthiness of cinnamon. CME had a deliciously creamy pineapple drink, and one of her colleagues was the only one to try a frozen concoction that was a true star... delicious and lovely to look at.
The food was hit or miss, and a bit on the greasy side. Our picks were the beet and goat cheese canoli and the duck sandwiches.
I'm sure you won't read anything about this club without hearing of the shoe shine man and the rum 'fountain' near the bathroom. The shoe shiner is very charismatic, and he is also in charge of the rum fountain, which is really more of a sink. Each night you can buy a small bottle of a different kind of rum for $4. I love it. It's like a penny squisher machine for lushes. If only every bar had one!
That's it ladies and g's. I'm tired and need my oxygenated beauty rest before tomorrow! Stay tuned!
(P.S. - Family, if you are reading this, I'm okay! Really, already feeling much better!)
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