Recently I’ve learned that a certain amount of naiveté is incredibly useful when undertaking a major change. A few months ago, I took a new job and moved across the country from NYC to San Francisco. I happened to arrive on the hottest day in the city’s history, but after that shockingly scorching first impression, I’ve discovered it’s one of the best places to get lost.

Long ago someone decided to overlay a grid plan on this hilly strip of land, which leads to some unexpected twists when you’re wandering around… streets that turn into stairs, or that seem to drop off straight into the Bay or put you eye-level with the top of the Transamerica Pyramid. Not to mention cable cars rumbling by, flowers blooming in December, wild parrots squawking overhead, and the muffled drone of foghorns through the night. I will probably have more to say about this change later, but for now, this is different, and different is good.

A friend and I went on an East End Food tour with Eating London, followed by a long ramble through the side-streets of Shoreditch. Highlights included the salt beef from Beigel Bake on Brick Lane, meeting Lenny the pub cat at Pride of Spitalfields, and of course, the street art lending pops of colour to almost every little side street and alley.

Ancient Romans had a certain fondness for erotic art. The excavation of Pompeii and Herculaneum, which had been buried beneath volcanic ash as if frozen in time, betrayed a societal frankness about sex that scandalized the people of the 18th and 19th centuries. This was beyond the odd nude sculpture–they found penis-shaped objects, dirty graffiti, fornicating statues and explicit frescoes all over town, as if the middle ages had never happened. The public, they reasoned, simply could not handle this, and they hid the objects away in a “gabinetto segreto,” or secret cabinet. For many years the cabinet was only open to gentlemen of “high moral standing,” and over time, it became rather infamous. Around the year 2000, the collection was opened to the general public and you can see it today at the Naples Archaeological Museum, provided you’re over 13, or accompanied by a guardian.

When you enter the secret cabinet wing of the museum, it’s useful to remember how these pieces would have appeared in their normal environment. One thing is immediately obvious–penis imagery was ubiquitous in this society. Fascinus, a Roman god depicted as a phallus, was thought to have the power to ward off evil spirits, and lucky phalluses appeared on walls, streets, lamps, paintings, amulets and even as wind chimes, cast in bronze and strung with bells.

Some of the frescoes were originally located in bath houses or brothels–Rome had legal prostitution, and in that context, this is reasonable mood-setting decor. Other artworks were found in luxurious homes, such as a mosaic of a satyr and a nymph found at the House of the Faun, so there is high-class stuff in the mix as well.

And then there are pieces that are hard to contextualize. The most famous is a sculpture of the god Pan having sex with a goat, which was originally found in the garden of a lavish villa. It caused a stir as recently as 2013 when it was openly displayed at the British Museum (with a PG-13 warning), instead of curtained off.

I suppose the most shocking thing about it is that it survives at all since later generations have found it so obscene. It’s amusing to think of these objects rising from the ashes in all their bawdy glory, winking at the prudes of the future.

By the way, there are many other wonderful artifacts from Pompeii on view at the museum. I’d highly recommend a stopping by on your way to the archeological site, as it’s the only way to see the treasures that were found there.

I firmly believe that a historic storm is a perfect opportunity to huddle indoors and work on new cocktail recipes. Satan’s Circus, a drink I tried at NoMad last week, has a dynamite combination of sour cherry and hot peppers, and really hit a rare sweet/tart/spicy trifecta. The drink takes its name from a nickname for the Tenderloin, an old red-light district in Manhattan that’s roughly where Chelsea and the garment district are today. Picking the right name for a cocktail is a skill I’d adequate with naming a band.

The ingredients call for rye whiskey, lemon, aperol, cherry heering, and Thai bird chili peppers. I procured the cherry heering, which I can see adding complexity to many drinks (it’s weird, as a kid I hated anything sour but now I’m crazy about sour cherries). The peppers were a bit more difficult to find since the supermarkets had closed due to Winter Storm Jonas. I was stuck with some random bodega peppers helpfully labeled “long peppers.” Fortunately, the mystery long peppers had the desired effect.

Recipe adapted from Bon Appetit:

2 oz rye whiskey
3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
1/2 oz cherry heering
3/4 oz chili-infused aperol (Soak Thai bird chilies in aperol for approx 10 min. Take the usual precautions when handling hot chili peppers!)
Shake with ice for 30 seconds

Now I just need to get that Weezer jam out of my head…

Traveling across Italy by train made me a little bit angry. Do you know what it would mean if the US had efficient rail service that whisked you along at 200mph? It will never happen, America is too enamored with automobiles, but as a carless New Yorker I can dream.

In any case, we made it from Rome to Florence (or Firenze, as they say in Italy) while I was still in the middle of a quick cat nap. Of course, 8 hours isn’t much time to work with, but I recommend starting with an espresso and a climb to the top of Giotto’s Belltower (all 414 steps), which beats the view from the Duomo because you can actually see the Duomo. You also quickly get the lay of the land and a bird-eye view of a surrounding city, which was a bit peculiar to a foreigner’s eyes.

I mean, my home city (and Rome, for that matter) are places of interesting architectural juxtapositions, but Florence presents the pleasing view of a city that seems carved out of one stone. A jumble of terra cotta roofs stretched beyond eyesight, disappearing into mist and mountains that made with think of the dreamlike backgrounds in Leonardo da Vinci’s paintings. Forget Mona Lisa’s smile–what the heck is happening behind her? These kinds of surprises are the things I most enjoy about seeing art in person. As interesting or important as a piece is to the rest of the world, I need to find something in it for myself. It could be an unexpected emotion, or something that’s not even particularly meaningful–more like an inside joke between friends than a stunning insight.

As far as art goes, wandering through the Uffizi is a must. One of the oldest art galleries in the world and chockfull of Renaissance masterworks, it’s also relatively empty on a weekday in mid-December, making for serene and well-heated strolling. Afterwards, there was plenty of time to wander through the Christmas market and down narrow streets in what turned from aimless sightseeing into a focused porchetta sandwich crawl. Regrettably, I didn’t take down the name of these sandwich shops. I didn’t expect to write about Italy at all. All I can say that they had long lines of Italian speakers trailing out the door and seemed like a good bet. While this methodology often fails in New York City (the hype machine has led me astray before) it yielded delicious results in Florence.

I think anyone who has lived in New York City for a certain period of time knows that midtown, and Times Square in particular, should be avoided. But snowstorms provide an exception to the rule. Having been through five of the worst snowstorms in the city’s recorded history within 10 years, it seems like we’re getting used to weather events shutting down the city that’s never supposed to shut down.

Since I don’t live upstate anymore, and I don’t have to deal with snowed-in driveways or slippery roads or vulnerable power lines, I don’t mind when snowstorms come to visit. It’s pleasurable to watch the streets empty, the tyranny of traffic replaced by adventurous cross country skiers and frolicking puppies and snow angeling tourists who haven’t gotten wise to the fact that throwing oneself into drifts leaves a rather cold and wet sensation that lasts longer than the thrill.

It’s as close as Manhattan gets to a ghost town, and I imagine the effect is even more pronounced at night. But it doesn’t take many white-out wind gusts to convince me there’s more fun to be had indoors.

I’ve heard that the best part of travel is the anticipation of an upcoming trip, but the planning and preparation feels like extra work to me. I simply want to be somewhere else without worrying too much over logistics. Fortunately Rome was sort of perfect for a last-minute getaway. You can simply walk and see beautiful, fascinating people and buildings and art without trying, even when you’re lost in its maze of streets.

It goes without saying, the street food is reliably great–fresh, high quality, and cheap. In addition to all of the gelato you can handle, I definitely recommend the crispy, thin-crust pizza al taglio at Il Forno Campo De’ Fiori, the porchetta sandwiches at El Buchetto, and the cured meat/cheese/balsamic gold mine Volpetti (a food tour of the lovely Testaccio neighborhood was a fun and tasty investment). I also won’t complain about sunny, 63 degree days in the middle of December–though I was told it’s usually a bit rainier this time of year. I’ve been back for a couple of weeks but I can’t seem to get this city out of my mind.

I miss upstate New York every October when the autumn colors peak. City park foliage is pretty but just can’t compete. Fortunately, the Hudson Highlands are a quick train ride from Grand Central and offer plenty of views and solitude. Aptly named Breakneck Ridge is one of the most challenging trails in the area since it involves “rock scrambling” – a new phrase I became intimately familiar with on this hike. You are rewarded of magnificent views of the Hudson River and Storm King, but the steep descent is more challenging that the climb. Bring a solid pair of hiking boots a map, and understand how to read trail signs. Be sure not to miss the eerie ruins along the Cornish Estate trail.

I caught the briefest shot at the “super moon” eclipse from midtown Manhattan (the worst place on earth for astrophotography) when the clouds parted for a few minutes and I looked up from my dinner. It occurred to me that it’s easy to see why ancient people reacted with superstition and terror to these events. And perhaps dating myself, I remembered seeing Haley’s Comet as a very little kid, at a time when I had no expectations for what I was seeing and no way of recording what I saw. I’m not sure what I would have thought if my father had not explained what we were looking at and why, and there’s no way of knowing.

Recently I started an exciting new job at One World Trade Center, and took a trip to the observation deck on the top floor. The coolest part of the experience were the elevators, which are wrapped with a video replication of the building of Manhattan–forests are replaced by skyscrapers as you rise into the sky. The views, of course are unparalleled–you’re looking down down at the skyscrapers towering above the financial district, with a sweeping vistas of New York Harbor to the south and Midtown to the North. I can’t lie–this place will forever be haunted to me, no matter how familiar it becomes, but it’s nice to see it coming back to life.