Palm reading

I’m writing to you from my friend Natalie’s apartment in sunny West Palm Beach, Florida. Meera and I got here on Friday and are almost at the end of our trip. I have had the best time and want to tell you about the highs (the beach!) and lows (my phone got stolen) of my trip to South Florida so far.

I’ve needed this trip. As you know VERY well, I’ve been having trouble with work/life balance, and this vacation away from snowy New York is the perfect opportunity to reset. Most of my week prior was spent being cozy in my apartment before getting ready to see Nat.

Natalie was one of my first friends in New Hampshire. We both moved there at the same time after graduating college (her at Emerson) to work at the news station, I the assignment editor, her the producer. She started off on a fellowship but became a full hire and objectively slayed. She worked overnights, so I would see her at the end of my shift and the beginning of hers.

We still found lots of time to hang out, and she was a massive part of my life in NH. At work, I was more of the troublemaker while she was doing everything right. She is one of the kindest people I know and has enriched my life so much. We’ve been through so much together, and I’m so lucky that she still liked me even while meeting me at one of my lowest points. We got acclimated to our post-college lives together, and I’m so beyond sure that she’ll be in my life forever. She’s the queen of work hard, play hard, and we’ve shared some killer memories.

Because of her contract, Nat stayed in New Hampshire almost a year after me before transferring to a station in West Palm Beach. Of all the stations under the same parent company, West Palm looked like a great option because it’s close to her sister in Miami and lots of her family in the Dominican Republic. Despite being a Jersey girl through and through, I commend Nat for moving to yet another place that she’ll have to build a life for herself.

Natalie was back in the tri-state area a few weeks ago when both of us turned 25. She’s been in West Palm for four months, and I was looking for something to do President’s Day weekend. She offered to host Meera and I, and we were so excited. We’ve done quite a few trips together around New England, and I wanted to see the life she was building in a warmer land.

We took an early-morning flight from LaGuardia. As much as I love saving money on public transport, I’ve been burned far too many times with getting to these airports early in the morning that I scheduled a Lyft for the reasonable time of 4 a.m. We were flying everyone’s favorite airline, Spirit. The Spirit/Frontier area of Terminal A is in this very different, much smaller building of the airport. It has this ornate art deco entryway that provides charm before your experience sucks.

Spirit is one of many case studies in how expensive it is to be poor. Yes, the flights are much more affordable, but you have to pay so much to do so many things. Their luggage rules are complete scams. Checked bags are $50+ which already blows, but carry-ons are even more expensive. Meera and I thought we were being smart by stuffing everything into our personal items and one huge checked bag. However, Spirit’s luggage limit is actually 40 lbs instead of what I assumed to be 50. And our bag ended up being 55 pounds. How much did this overweight bag fee cost? I actually cannot believe I am admitting this embarrassment…$120 on top of what we already paid. My bag cost more than my flight. I should have done more research.

Already in a grumpy mood from the early morning and Spirit’s scams, we had quite some time in the terminal, which had only two food vendors, a Dunkin Express that wasn’t open yet and a pizza place that was serving breakfast food for some reason. Most of the bathroom stalls were closed off and I had to walk to the opposite end of the terminal to relieve myself. There were so many people, and the lines to board were so long, snaking around many seats. In this moment, I realized that this terminal is the modern equivalent of steerage, a.k.a. third class on a ship like the Titanic. No one is happy, everyone is loud, and conditions are clearly dire.

We had a calm enough flight that I got through with oldies music and podcasts before arriving at Palm Beach International, which was a breeze to get through, and much less chaotic than Ft. Lauderdale and Miami airports to the south. I threw off my hoodie with glee upon stepping outside. The weather this trip has been cooler for Florida but perfect for me, mid-60s to early 80s over the course of the weekend.

Natalie picked us up in her car, looking as gorgeous as ever in more weather-appropriate clothing than my sweatpants were. She lives in an apartment complex with amenities that actually fits into a producer’s salary. It’s funny to see all of her  furniture plopped into a different place than the one I know. We changed and left for some brunch.

One great thing about being a local news person is knowing so much about your surroundings, even names and places some locals don’t know as much about. Natalie was giving us so much info about the streets we were driving down and lore about different neighborhoods. I was eating it all up. This is exactly how I like to understand a neighborhood. But one annoying thing about being a local news person is being a spectator or researcher of an area instead of having the time and freedom to live in it like everyone else. I was happy that we could also give Nat a chance to explore even more of her new digs.

Most of the knowledge I have about this part of Florida is from the Netflix documentary about Jeffrey Epstein from a few years ago. I remember there being a great divide between two of the towns, Palm Beach and West Palm Beach. I’ll get more into Palm Beach later, but it’s one of the richest areas of the country. West Palm has a bit of a reputation problem because of its stark difference, as any neighborhood would be next to somewhere as grand as Palm Beach. There are some really poor parts of West Palm or areas with empty storefronts, but I’ve found most of where I’ve been to be really lovely. People are apparently real sticklers about correctly identifying the town, especially Palm Beachers that would be offended to be described as someone from West Palm.

West Palm Beach is an administrative hub for the county (with a beautiful courthouse) with a bustling downtown. Natalie drove us around for a bit before parking next to Clematis Street, one of the more popular commercial areas. West Palm kind of reminds me of a better, less trashy version of Atlantic City, New Jersey with these long drags leading to water. We walked past a plethora of businesses and bars on Clematis, with Nat pointing out so much of her life (this place has apparently has great Thai curry, here’s a bar her friend recommended).

We had brunch at a place called Yolk that apparently has a few other locations in the country. We sat outside and drank mimosas out of a carafe (a thing I’ve used many times but a word I literally just learned from that menu, sorry) while perusing over their huge menu. I can never resist chicken and waffles, and they were satisfactory here. A solid start to the trip as we flew from tangent to tangent in conversation.

After filling up, we walked around downtown, which is a strong word for a place that doesn’t have anywhere close to the bustle the word exudes. The architecture is a fun departure from what I’m used to, and there are lots of places to sit and take in the scenery. Although there are a lot of locals, the town’s large tourist faction is made up of either old people (of which there are many) or bachelorette parties.

We stood by the yacht-filled water for awhile, which looked straight onto Palm Beach. Accessible by drawbridge, Nat said we could drive around and see where the area’s actual beach is (West Palm is bayside). After peering into many storefronts, we grabbed coffee at one of my new favorite coffeeshops ever. Salento is connected to the public library, and new library cardholders get a coupon. We walked into this Colombian roastery while one of the employees was leading a tasting. The place was so cozy and unpretentious despite me just saying there was a tasting. I cannot express how amazing their iced vanilla latte is. The ice was all blended up, so it had a thicker consistency that was just all goop with no block to the liquid. All three of us squealed. I can’t stop singing Silento, Silento…Now watch me whip…

Hopping into the car, Nat drove us to Palm Beach, and there is an immediate vibe shift. I’ve been to many wealthy neighborhoods, but Palm Beach might be one of the most intimidating. There isn’t a crack in the mold; every single building screams wealth. There are lots of boutiques, and the only business names you’ll recognize are either financiers or luxury fashion brands. It’s gorgeous and extremely exclusive. People walking around or sitting at restaurants are almost all white (duh), old, and plastic surgery’d into oblivion. I’d love to have dinner with them and hear about their lives. I’ve been seeing this TikToker very recently that does fit checks with the preppy ladies she sees on the streets of Palm Beach.

She parked at what’s actually Palm Beach (the beach), and we spent a few minutes with our feet in the sand. The water was various shades of blue that only South Florida can truly give me, although it was a bit cold. We vowed to stop by for real the next day. Driving home, we passed by a ton of crazy mansions we tried to see through the bushes before happening upon the craziest of all, Mar-A-Lago. Unfortunately, it is really pretty.

Exhausted by our day already, we spent some time recharging at home before the night ahead. It was nice to chill with some video games and YouTube videos. In preparation for the drinking ahead, we Ubered downtown, which just cost $6. For dinner, we went with sushi/Thai joint Kabuki and shared enough rolls and noodles to beat us into submission. It’s so nice to sit outside in the middle of February.

Now for the debauchery. We started at a multi-story bar called Banko Cantina. The first floor had a band singing some sort of Latin genre and the second floor was closed off, so we were happy to be on the rooftop with a DJ. It was still very early into the night, but there were people of varying ages milling about. The music — a mix of pop, reggaeton, and hip hop — was perfect. We downed some drinks and danced. Two youths approached us thinking we, too, were 21 years old.

This gay son/thot daughter cousin duo seemed really fun at first, but they quickly lost us, more so the boy. He was obsessed with Snapchat and fascinated that we did not use it. It took him five minutes to take a group pic of all of us he wanted to post on his story. I was bored after the third try. This white boy told Nat his type is “ghetto white boys.” Sigh. At least this is a memorable reference.

Staring out at the downtown West Palm rooftops, we had our sights set on the ground, where there sat a club called Clematis Social that had half-off drinks before 11 according to their Instagram (we would eventually be swindled). Natalie added the boy on Snapchat who begged us to let us know if the club was fun. All of us were weirded out by this duo, who immediately started messaging Nat where are you multiple times after we left.

We walked a few blocks away to this club, and I think this would be my favorite place ever…if I were 21 years old. Although there was a large age range, the club was teeming with college students in town for the long weekend. The music featured songs ranging from forgotten recent hits (I just wanna rollie, rollie, rollie with a dab of ranch) and my least favorite song of all time, “Mr. Brightside” (you can’t convince me this isn’t the corniest song of all time). The sprawling space had three bars, lasers, smoke, and high ceilings. There were goofy neon signs that read things like f*ck water, drink tequila or IYKYK or Spread love, it’s the West Palm way. We most certainly had a fun time, but it would be other worldly if I were younger.

South Florida looks like a fun place to be straight and single, at least much more fun than New York. So many men came up to talk to our group (or just Nat), and many of them weren’t creepy, they just had confidence. Conservative figureheads who ask Where are all the manly men? need to come here. These guys are confident, straightforward, and (often) attractive. Players beyond, I assume, but fun to meet, especially as a visitor. Many of the guys we spoke to this weekend were from the area, too, and not just sillies on vacation. So many Brooklyn men need to know how to make a move and not be such a beta sadboy. After enough dancing, we got home at a not-suuuper unreasonable hour and quickly fell asleep.

It’s Saturday, the day of what is billed as the largest farmer’s market in the nation, which is a weekly occurrence most of the year down the entirety of Clematis Street. What was a place of pandemonium the night before was a different, more wholesome brand of mayhem. Tents selling various wares lined the street, and we snaked through endless crowds. We happened upon a cute clothier and all bought the same vest in different colors from the sale bin in hopes of all wearing them that night like a girl group.

The end of the street before the bay is a much more open area, with a green and fountains. All of the food vendors are here, with people eating everywhere and a stage with a singer/guitarist playing campfire-type songs. Nat and Meera chose açaí bowls while I opted for the exact opposite, a BEC with brisket that absolutely rocked my world.

I’ve felt so grateful this whole trip for Nat and getting to share these experiences with her and Meera. We escaped the heat for a few moments to drive back to Palm Beach. Instead of going to the main beach area we did the day before, Nat wanted to try a hack a friend told her: park for free at the grocery store (Publix, duh) and walk a few blocks over to Sunset Avenue Beach.

After walking past glitzy condos, we arrived at the beach’s entrance, which was guarded by a gate. While Meera and I were off in our own world, Nat realized the gate had a passkey, so she did some quick thinking on how to keep the gate open as, luckily, some ladies left. Once we walked onto the beach, Natalie told us about what just transpired before our eyes.

We felt like we were sneaking into somewhere so exclusive, like we had just hacked this inaccessible neighborhood. Like the water, the beach was calm with few people. We tanned and only swam once due to the coldness of the water. I hit the ocean before the others, and I got time to get used to the iciness and bask in the water. The ocean always brings me gratitude, a feeling much stronger than what Nat and Meera experience as people who lived a small fraction closer to the beach than I did growing up.

The temperature shifted as clouds covered and uncovered the sun. One of the many boats on the water stopped near shore for a long time and blasted their music, which was the kind of EDM only a college student could love. After a few hours, we were ready to leave. A bit further down the beach is The Breakers, a famous resort visited by high society. The resort itself is obstructed from streetside view, sitting at the end of a long line of lawn and trees. To have it so close by where we were laying seemed like a hack, so we decided to walk over.

After what was a harder-than-expected trudge through the sand, we appeared at the resort’s beach. There were quite a few nicely dressed individuals walking above us on the resort’s grounds, and the place just seemed so exclusive. We turned back, and found not one, but two Portuguese Man-O-Wars on the shore (jellyfish that won’t kill you but will give you a horrible day). Upon leaving the beach, we realized the gate, despite having a passkey, could just be pushed open. I thought the lesson I learned was to act like you’re meant to be somewhere to get what you want, but turns out that it was that most things aren’t as closed-off as they may seem.  

Sleepy and sandy, we retreated to Nat’s apartment to shower, watch the latest Drag Race episode, and get ready for the night. Nat told us about the alleged fun a few towns down in Delray Beach, so we went to dinner at the restaurant Beli’s algorithm thought I would enjoy the most, Dada. Mostly outdoors, the space was allegedly inspired by the art movement of the same name, and the menu mentioned a few artists. At the end, it said some menu items could be exchanged for art. We asked our server what that meant, and he said he did not know. They had two cocktail sections of the menu, one for mojitos and the rest for other cocktails. I enjoyed a mojito and their burger with a challah(!!) bun and shoestring fries (the best kind).

The restaurant was near Delray’s main fun drag, Atlantic Avenue (which I think is a street name that exists in every coastal Floridian town). Atlantic Avenue felt bigger and fuller than Clematis Street, with bars bursting at the seams with people. Again, all ages. This would be a fun place to be a divorcee.

We chose the one club on the strip, Honey. Their bouncers expressed their excitement for us coming and gave us free drink cards, a phenomenon I don’t think I’ll get in New York. We enjoyed the multi-roomed space, which felt like a less-country version of a Manchester bar we used to go to (The Goat for my Granite State readers).

After sitting and talking for a while, we realized how fun the music sounded and walked over to the dancing area. I would not call it a dancefloor. The DJ was positioned in a hallway-like space separating the indoor and outdoor parts of the bar. We danced in front of the booth as people passed by us and others lingered to dance. I cannot believe I am saying this as someone who lives in the DJ capital of the world, but this DJ (named Bonkers) was one of the most fun DJs I’ve ever heard. There are so many ways to screw up if you’re a DJ playing pretty much only top hits that everyone would know. Bonkers was so smooth and had us excitedly guessing which song could possibly come next.

We were having the best time. The music was fantastic, and we had the best time as the three of us. Despite having a few drinks over the course of the night, I felt sober by this point. Still, I felt bold. A man grabbed my waist to get past me (as many do to many girls) and I turned to him and said I don’t like when people I don’t know touch my waist. Some other dude tried dancing up on this girl we were talking to, so I just went up to him and told him to leave her alone and go away.

Well, the boldness was shut down when I felt my phone leave my pocket. I put my phone and wallet in my front two pockets to prevent them from being stolen and kept putting my hands in my pockets throughout the night. As soon as I realized my phone was gone (which was almost immediately), I knew it was stolen. It wasn’t on the ground, and I didn’t see it anywhere. The night took an immediate turn for the worse. This had never happened to me before!

I cannot commend Meera and Nat enough. They asked and looked around while I alerted various bar staff, who were sweet enough. The bouncer was like Don’t let this ruin your night! Stay and dance! in a way that sounds mean written out but was oddly sweet (although stupid) upon hearing it. Meera realized my Find My iPhone was not updating at all and my phone was turned off almost instantly. This leads me to think I was truly targeted, and no amount of preparation, sobriety, or awareness would have prevented this from happening. I could not win.

I was so frustrated. Meera and Nat said I reacted calmer than most people would, which I believe to be true. As soon as it was gone, I immediately knew I would not find it, so I avoided the step most people go through of frantically hoping it will turn up. Natalie got the bouncer’s number in case the phone would turn up. The bouncer introduced me to a cop who could allegedly file a report for me, which did feel like it could do something.

Of course, the police were unhelpful. This dude was off duty, and he said there was already a lot going on that night. I saw two on-duty cops at the bar next door who said the same. So frustrating. They all gave me solutions and instructions that were refuted by the next person I would speak to, so I ended up not filing. It was funny to see multiple cops throughout the strip in uniform but drinking and dancing with people. Weird town.

Anyway, I was obviously sad. I was so nervous that my phone hadn’t backed up recently and I’d lose data and pictures. Even though my phone was turned off, I was nervous they would somehow get into it and get all of this information about me that I wouldn’t want them to have, whether personal or professional. I cried into my hands for a minute while Nat and Meera rubbed my back, which honestly felt the most reassuring of all of the extremely helpful things they did that night.

The night was obviously over, and I felt so bad that this happened. Not really like anything was my fault but that I needed people to cater to me. It was interesting to feel how uncomfortable I was with them tending to me. This is a new feeling that’s come up in the past few years, this rejection of immediate emotional support from people when something happens to me. I always want to be strong and just feel like I don’t need to be causing a scene. I almost feel like I’m better than someone who needs to be taken care of. This is funny because there are so many times I allow myself to be pampered and cared for, at least with tasks or physical things.

There are so many things I realize I need my phone for that I took for granted before, obviously. I tried changing so many passwords and was unable due to two-factor authentication, which always leads to my phone number. I just went straight to bed after looking at TikToks on Meera’s phone. I certainly did not feel great but not this unbearable sadness because I knew I would go to a T-Mobile store as soon as it opened.

We woke up and I felt a bit better. Sleep heals, always. After eating some bagels and drinking Nat’s fantastic coffee concoctions, we braved what would be a very rainy day from start to finish, which we knew would happen. I got a new (pink) phone, and everything worked out great. Problem solved. Back to fun!

In planning this trip, Natalie mentioned she lives near a Topgolf, a golf driving range chain that none of us had been to but all of us were curious about. This was the perfect rainy day activity, we decided…and so did everyone else in one of the golf capitals of America. We put our names down for a three hour wait.

We sat at one of their upstairs bars, drinking local (delicious) beers and eating both buffalo chicken dip and unconventional nachos. Everything was yummier than I thought it would be. The older bartender chatted us up periodically; he was a bit quirky but really nice. It’s crazy how after so much nonstop time together the three of us still haven’t run out of conversation topics. We sat for two hours before, thankfully, a bay was ready for us to play in.

My parents (dad especially) made me try every sport as a kid, and I had a golf phase in late elementary/early middle school. I remember going to the driving range with my dad and brother and just blistering the living f*ck out of my hands. I remember walking through the hottest day doing 18 holes with two of our neighbors, and I was so beyond bad compared to the other father/child duo. I remember golf frustrating me so greatly that I would swallow tears while readying my next drive.

I talked in a past newsletter about having such a crazy therapy session one day in New Hampshire that I went on a bender for the rest of the day doing random activities, like driving past a driving range and turning around to go slam balls. It was so cathartic. One of my friends I worked with (reader of the newsletter Sean) hosted golf tournaments for our newsroom and I wished I had enough skill to feel comfortable about going.

I was so excited about Topgolf because it was completely free of pressure and expectation, both from myself and those around me. The bays have cozy couches and screens with games you can play with your friends. We all stumbled about and slowly got better, but I won a few games. Topgolf is one of the good things that’s come out of suburbanization, having enough space to do something silly!

It was already time for dinner, so we went back to downtown West Palm and hit up Bodega, which is not the various places I get my BECs around my home. It was the restaurant’s anniversary, and Natalie knew they were doing 2 for 1 cocktails and $2 shots. I orally vacuumed yucca fries and birria quesadillas. There weren’t many people sitting around this cute spot, which made me sad for their anniversary.

The server told us to go next door, where stairs would lead to a second-floor party space. Again, there were very few patrons. A DJ playing reggaeton for less than 10 people. We stayed for awhile to enjoy the ambiance and met a bachelorette party all dressed as grandmas. They were hilarious. It made me want to go all-out silly for if/when I have a bachelorette party.

Tired of the emptiness, we went back to Clematis Social, the 21-year-old-y bar we went to night one. The music was similar and there were less people despite it being a long weekend. The grannies arrived and were a hit, dancing all over the place and being silly. Again, West Palm seems like the most fun place to be straight. We did not stay too long.

Reality has returned slightly today. We spent the morning with Nat before she started work this afternoon, and we’ll see her later. We got coffee at Salento again, where I want to spend every single day. Then, we went a town over to a turtle hospital/sanctuary.

We had so much fun at this turtle spot. Each turtle had its own pool with signs telling us about them and why they need care. Most of the turtles were from nearby who had suffered shark bites, boat hits, or fishing line entanglement. Some turtles were actually from Cape Cod, recovering from being cold stunned, which happens when temperatures get way colder than they’re prepared for.

There were some other animals hanging around, like nurse sharks and jellyfish. We watched a feeding and learned about ocean environments with lots of children but also non-parent adults. There was an exhibit with lots of small screens you could draw designs on animals that would all swim about on a larger screen together. Tons of little kids were designing things, most of which said things like I <3 butts and Big Butts. Kids are awesome.

Now here I am. I’m hungry. I’ve been sitting writing this stream of consciousness for a while. I’m not editing because I want to go eat dinner with Meera. This has been such a lovely trip, and I’m going to miss this little interlude with a friend I don’t get to see much anymore.

Some things I learned…I understand why West Palm and Miami are two different media markets. I always assumed they were so close together and a breeze to get to due to train and car access. Although it’s not particularly hard, they aren’t really neighbors. West Palm can easily be grouped with other southern coastal Floridian towns, though. It’s not like you have to spend your whole life within a few miles.

As a New York elitist, I don’t think I would choose to live here. However, I would probably enjoy it if I were in circumstances like Nat, someone who needed to choose somewhere that worked with her job. The food was much better than I expected it to be. I also remembered how lucky I am to live in such a gay place. So much so that I’m not sure I could live anywhere else where I’m not around tons of gay people all the time. Also, there were so many New York references, whether it was the native-New Yorker DJ in Delray Beach shouting out his hometown or the plethora of New York license plates on the cars here.

I do recommend visiting here for a weekend like the one I spent. What a privilege it is to have amazing friends that live in places you probably wouldn’t go otherwise but get to truly immerse yourself in and enjoy. I’ll be back to complaining about capitalism and the cold very soon.