The Woodstock Inn

The first time I ever visited the Woodstock Inn was on my way home from a Girl Scout camping trip along the Kangamangus Highway in New Hampshire. My friend's mother, our troop leader, promised us the best breakfast we had ever tasted. She sold the place short. The inside of the restaurant was filled with Victorian style decorations and dark wood paneling. When we sat down at the table, the waitress brought over a basket filled with giant cinnamon buns. Next we were invited to go to the buffet. I have never seen a display like that, except for the restaurant at my hotel in Mexico, which was all inclusive. There were all different kinds of fruit, croissants, bagels, muffins, and scones. There were chefs waiting to make belgian waffles and omelettes with a variety of toppings and fillings.
There were also desserts, sandwiches, pancakes, bacon, and sausage. It was the most delicious breakfast I've ever had. I've also never been so full in my life. Every time my Girl Scout troop went to New Hampshire, we always stopped there on the way home. My dad came to help on one trip, and was introduced to the restuarant. He fell in love. On every family vacation since that day, we always make a stop in Woodstock, NH to eat at the Woodstock Inn. My dad desperately wants to drive up there soon for a Sunday breakfast. It might be a four hour drive, but it would certainly be worth it!

Carnage on Canal Street

In the 70's, my parents were stereotypical hippies. Everything was tye dye and bell bottoms. During this phase, my parents lived in Brooklyn while my dad played with underground rock bands. Due to this brief period of city life, my mother has convinced herself that she is a New Yorker. Every year, she and my sister went Christmas shopping in New York City. When I was little, I desperately wanted to go. But every year, my mom left me with my grandma, saying I was too young to go and that I would complain the whole time. Finally, my freshman year of high school, I was invited to go to New York with them.
My sister searched for fun things for us to do in the city. One idea that particularly intrigued me was visiting Canal Street, a stolen and knockoff designer handbag heaven. I had no idea what to expect as I stumbled off the subway. We were all in for a surprise. Jewelery, handbags, sunglasses, and scarved adorned street after street of stalls and small shops. Tiffany's, Juicy Couture, Rolex, Coach, and Longchamp items were all within plain sight. People shoved and rushed, trying to find a deal on a backroom Dior. Men would call out in thick Asian accents, "Louis Vuitton? Chanel?" When someone uttered the C word, I immediately spun around. My mom was very reluctant as the man lead us back through a secret camoflauged doorway. He spoke over the walkie talkie in a foreign language. There directly in front of me, was a quilted pink leather Chanel bag. Although I don't believe in love at first sight, there was no other way to describe it. The man was very impatient, pushing us to make a decision. My mom bartered and got a great price.
We trudged through many, many more stalls before we retired to Little Italy. On our way, we visited the infamous CBGB's, before it was due to be closed down. Getting back on the bus, my feet were exhausted, but my head was spinning. I had never before seen so many people. I had never experienced a city of that magnitude, and I was mystified. New York never ceases to amaze me. I can see why some people never leave.