Matador Network's Blog, page 2145

Monster wave devours pro surfer

Poor Pedro Calado…he…almost…had it. Calado, from Rio de Janeiro, gets up on this epic big wave on Maui’s North Shore, makes a nice bottom turn, but then loses it all at just about the worst possible place — the top of the face as the inside section closes in. What happens next is an epic dose of spin cycle — just watch.

Want to see that wipeout one more time, in slow-mo? Okay:

And that’s why they call this place “Jaws.”


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Signs you were raised on Long Island

Photo by missmareck

1. You wish you could keep Montauk and Westhampton a secret from tourists and day-trippers, but it rarely works. And the Hampton Jitney packed with Upper East Siders rolls into town every summer anyway.

2. If you’re from the South Shore, you take that Billy Joel quote to heart: “You either date a rich girl from the North Shore or a cool girl from the South Shore.” And if you’re from the North Shore, you’re like, “Screw it, I’m basically Jay Gatsby.”

3. You grumble about the endless malls and strip malls all while vehemently defending Walt Whitman mall.

4. Your Strong Island accent definitely comes out after a few Lawn Guy Land Iced Teas.

5. You actually know a bunch of people who look and sound like the Long Island Medium — even when they’re sober.

6. Your party trick is pronouncing impossibly-long Native American names correctly. You’ve had plenty of practice with towns like Cutchogue, Massapequa, Quogue, and Sagaponack.

7. You get a sick pleasure out of scaring people because you grew up sneaking in and out of the Pilgrim State Psych Center and driving around Amityville looking for the horror house.

8. But honestly, the real horror stories came from the LIRR: stories of mysteriously smelly cars, being stranded at Jamaica, and hearing the dulcet sounds of someone heaving on the last drunk train.

9. You spent most of your tween and teen years in diners slurping milkshakes past midnight, and then eventually graduated to hanging out in parking lots. Because nothing says “cool” like standing around in front of the 99 Cent Store at 2 a.m.

More like this How to piss off someone from Long Island

10. Thanksgiving Eve: the biggest party night of the year (spent at Mulcahy’s or The Nutty Irishman, of course). But the downside was you were forced to make small talk with Joey and Courtney from high school.

11. You were pretty excited when that Adventureland movie came out, and you proudly boasted to your non-Long Island friends that you spent the summers of your youth there. You were probably either the kid screaming way too loudly on the kiddie rollercoaster or the kid puking on the pirate ship.

12. Like most suburban kids, you had to learn how to play an instrument, even though you had zero talent for playing the clarinet. No matter how much you practiced, you squeaked every other note during NYSSMA.

13. Most of your friends’ Sweet 16’s were like mini weddings, complete with five-star catering, ball gowns, and a Daddy-daughter dance. You may have even had a cameo on MTV’s ‘My Super Sweet 16.’

14. You lived mere miles from “the City,” but when you were growing up, the only time you ever ventured there was to see a Broadway show or to eat a dirty water dog in Times Square.

15. You’ll only admit it when you’re feeling particularly brazen, but you really think New York City pizza and bagels can’t hold a candle to Long Island pizza and bagels.

16. You get weirdly excited or proud when Long Island is on the national news, even if it’s bad news. “Yeah, Gilgo Beach? My friends and I just hung out there last summer!”

17. Speaking of beaches, you enjoy hanging out there more than most coastal Americans because you actually like the beach: no amusement parks, water slides, carnival games, or arcades. Simply miles and miles of pure sand, water, litter, and aggressive seagulls.

6 things to bring back from France

Photo: Glen Gladman

Forget about the tiny, metal Eiffel Tower, the overpriced bottle of wine, the oh-so-chic, made-in-China cotton handbag with “Paris” written all over it, and the duty-free bottle of Chanel bought in a rush at CDG, this is what you need to bring from France to your friends abroad:

1. Vahiné’s galette des rois kit

Photo: Julien Ducenne

These packages full of baking goodness are worth the 3.90 euros you’re going to spend at the local Leclerc. I personally vote for the frangipane version; nothing says “France is beyond awesome” like an almond and butter-filled pie.

Not only is it tasty, 100% French, and proves that you can think out of the box, but it will also be fun for those at the receiving end of this gift: they’ll bake it, hide the porcelain charm in a large chunk of unhealthy fat, eat it, and wear a paper crown!

You may have trouble finding it outside of December and January, but no worries, there’s plenty more below to please those waiting at home.

2. Breizh Cola

Photo: Stéfan

Behold the king of colas! The pride of Brittany!

Bretons have quite the sense of humour: they took the most well-known product in the world, mixed their own version right here in France, and made all of France proud with “le cola du phare ouest” (get it?). No, it’s not the most traditional French product, but you’re more likely to find a bottle of Breizh cola in a French home than a 1985 Châteauneuf-du-pape.

3. Huile prodigieuse de Nuxe

Photo: Nuxe

This is the perfect gift for those who still believe France is the epitome of chic and glamour. No need to spend a fortune at Sephora on brand names perfumes and lotions, just walk into the nearest drugstore and grab a 20-euro bottle of huile prodigieuse de Nuxe. If Cosmo, Elle, Glamour, and Marie-Claire praise it, you can bet you’ll make someone happy and moisturized.

4. A bag of Carambars

Photo: Sylvain Naudin

Carambars are THE candy every French person used to eat as a kid. I lost a baby tooth in a caranougat (the caramel kind) and my mom remembers when they were sold for 0.05 Francs at the corner store in the 1960s — I’ll tell you, it does not get more authentically French than that. Grab a large bag of them for a couple euros at the supermarket and make some foreigner smile before being held responsible for the decay of all their teeth. Don’t forget to read the joke inside the wrapper before showing the lucky recipients the proper way to eat it: bend the candy, stick it along your front gums, and smile like a simple-minded junk-food addict.

5. A copy of Charlie Hebdo

Photo: Adolfo Lujan / DISO Press

If you’re looking for a present for a French speaker with a good dose of humour and open-mindedness, get them a copy of Charlie Hebdo. Not only will you give them the gift of French satire and journalism, but you’ll support a paper that represents France’s freedom of press and you’ll show those who want to annihilate it that it’s never going to happen.

6. A box of Lu’s petits beurres

Photo: Laurence Vagner

Forget La Durée’s macaroons: First, you must be in Paris to get them and God knows there’s more to France than its capital. Second, you probably have to queue for an hour on the Champs-Elysées before you get to empty your wallet for something that’s good, but got very much blown out of proportions. On the other hand, Lu’s petits beurres may not be as decadent, but they are what real French people eat when they want a treat. You won’t break the bank, they won’t take much space in your luggage, and you’re going to give someone to gift of a genuine French experience.

Cycling guide to Cambodia's Mekong

Photo by David Chang

THE MEKONG RIVER defines Cambodia as much as the temples at Angkor. With ferries every few miles, it’s possible to hop from bank-to-bank, crossing the river with local fishermen and cycling paths through villages that rarely see visitors. The old French colonial city and fishing hub of Kratie (pronounced kra-cheh) is a good place to begin a bike journey of a few (or a few hundred) miles along the Mekong Discovery Trail.

My boyfriend Eben and I recently cycled a 50-mile stretch of the Mekong. Here’s what we learned.

Finding gear and a guide

For 2-3 day journeys, you can rent bikes from CRDTours. The company was established by the Cambodian Rural Development Team to foster alternative livelihoods so that villagers may supplement their fishing income with tourism capital and avoid harvesting methods that kill the endangered Irrawaddy river dolphin. CRDTours offers detailed maps of the route, and may arrange private guides and homestays in several island communities.

For serious cyclists interested in traveling the couple hundred kilometers north to the Laotian border, consider bringing your own bike or purchasing one in Phnom Penh. This far off the beaten path, gear can be an issue, as we couldn’t even find helmets in Mekong hub towns like Kratie. Bike panniers and trailers are also unheard of, so be sure to at least bring a daypack.

When to go

January to February is the best time to visit Cambodia — the monsoons have subsided, but the land isn’t yet fully parched. September and October have fewer crowds, but you may get caught in the rain.

Photo by Xipe Totec

The Irrawaddy river dolphins

Dolphins draw visitors to the Mekong, with Kampi most popular place to arrange tours, marked by a concrete dolphin statue 15km north of Kratie (a 40-minute ride). For $9 a person, you can charter a motorboat out onto the river, but be aware that engines alarm the animals and drivers hungry for tourists’ approval often nose too close.

A better option is to save your dolphin watching for sunset or sunrise and have CRDTours arrange a more intimate boat ride with a native fishing family further upstream. Talk to Mr. Tula before you leave Kratie, or call enroute (+855099834353) if you decide later.

Though Cambodia was once home to over 1,000 dolphins, snipers slaughtered most during the Pol Pot regime, practicing their aim and harvesting the animals’ fat for generator fuel. Today, the Irrawaddy’s numbers continue to diminish in the shadow of industrial pollution and illegal fishing methods that employ battery shock and chemicals. Only 70 dolphins survive on the Mekong, 25 of which live in the currents off Koh Phdao Island.

More like this 13 places you'll almost certainly end up as a tourist in Cambodia

On our CRDTours-arranged visit, Ecocommunity President Manvichika took us to see the dolphins in his fishing boat off Koh Phdao. The boat wasn’t much wider than a kayak — we sat cross-legged on woven mats. Charting downriver, you’ll be surrounded by dolphins. Watch the surface for the slice of a dorsal fin. More importantly, listen as the sound of the dolphins’ breath breaks the silence before their bodies.

At the Rapids

Continuing up the road a few kilometers from Kampi, you’ll find the Rapids, a picnic area with palm-thatched gazebos constructed over the river. Here, the Mekong forks into a web of capillaries flowing myriad silted islands. Leave your bike with the motorcycles of local picnickers (of which there will be many), and spend an hour or two out of the sun in a hammock.

Order a coconut and sticky rice and beans steamed in bamboo tubes while dangling your feet in the Mekong, or wade among the golden sandbars that streak downstream beyond the boardwalk until the channels between islands become too deep.

Return to your bike and continue upriver, passing mats of cassava roots and rice toasting along the road under the intense Mekong sun.

The turtle-sitting monks of Sambour

The town of Sambour, a thriving metropolis in pre-Angkorian times, remains on the map because of its temple. The largest wat in Cambodia, Sarsar Mouy Rouy has 108 fluted pillars and a brightly muraled ceiling. The temple is abandoned except for a few old men sprawled on the cool tile floor. You’ll find the monks not in the temple but manning the Mekong Turtle Conservation Center in a building behind the wat.

This project was recently initiated by Conservation International and is managed by the monks at Sarsar Mouy Rouy. Here, the endangered Cantor’s Giant Softshell turtles — thought to be extinct until they were rediscovered in 2007 — are raised through their most vulnerable 10 months of life in a few humble tanks. The turtle-sitting monks are eager to show guests around and hitch up their saffron robes to dig up turtles burrowed in the sand.

Photo by Peter Winter

Island hopping on Koh Phdao

Before catching a ferry to Koh Phdao, have a drink of fresh coconut milk over the river and watch cows wander down Sambour’s main street. As the sun plunges behind the floodplain, roll your bike aboard the ferry with passengers traveling home after a day of labor on the mainland. Don’t be overcharged; it should only cost 2,000 riel (approximately 50 cents). Make arrangements with CRDTours in advance to sleep overnight on Koh Phdao with one of the island’s 14 families who host visitors in rotation.

Once ashore, bike the island’s slender geography, riding a wave of singsong greetings as children chase you through the stilted homes of Koh Phdao. “Hello, hello, hello! Where you go?” The path weaves between rice paddies, dry by winter and grazed by mud-caked buffalo. When searching for your homestay, look for the house with a sign marked “My Turn.”

More like this Cambodia beyond Angkor Wat

During our stay, our ‘room’ was a curtained mattress tucked in the corner of a large open space. Expect intimacy over privacy. A “food group” organized by the village’s ecotourism committee cooks dinner for all guests in the village and delivers it by motorbike on a huge covered tray balanced on a woman’s head riding sidesaddle. Our hosts ushered us upstairs to eat, rolled out a square of linoleum flooring, and positioned two fans to blow on us as they laid out a feast of Mekong grilled fish, fresh greens, and eggs fried with chives. Don’t feel guilty for the fuss, this is Cambodian hospitality at its finest.

Villages of the western bank

Our most memorable encounter on this less developed side of the river occurred when Eben’s rear tire went flat. We shouted into the shade of a stilted home for someone with a bike pump, and a team of four men swiftly emerged. The lead ‘mechanic’ was a shirtless man with a pump that didn’t fit the nozzle. He wore a red-and-white-checkered krama (a Khmer scarf) and vigorously shook each of our hands with both of his before he squatted at the bike.

A group of women and children swelled around us. Even though we couldn’t communicate, we waited anxiously together until he managed to inflate the tire with a misfit pump and a rubber band. He tested the leak with a wad of spit and hopped onto the bike to ride it in a triumphant circle. The crowd broke into applause as the tire held, and we were quickly on our way back to Kratie.

A longer stay

It’s possible to sign up for a week of volunteer tourism with the Cambodian Rural Development Team in Koh Phdao’s string of villages. Guests learn about rural agriculture while contributing to projects from building community toilets to transplanting rice with families in the wet season.

Additionally, you can cycle one of CRDTour’s other routes, like the 40km Dolphin Trail that originates in the town of Stung Treng (145km north of Kratie). Visit the CRDTours office for maps of this path and many shorter loops highlighting local cuisine and sites in smaller Mekong towns.

For more adventurous travelers, talk to Mr. Tula at CRDTours about biking all the way to the Laotian border (410km round trip from Kratie). While the route is not very developed, CRDTours can assist you with developing an itinerary and arranging homestays.

This article was originally published on April 18, 2013.

13 signs you'll never Argentine

Photo: Julian Rod

SO you’ve lived in Buenos Aires for three years. You’ve roasted beef over hot coals, you’ve overpaid for tango shoes and even used them occasionally, and your accent is so convincing you could make a viral YouTube video out of it. Argentine friends tell you “sos más porteño que el Obelisco” and “estás más acriollado que el dulce de leche”, just because you drink Fernet and end your every sentence with “boludo.”

But as you watch them link arms and jump up and down to some dreadful Argentine ska-punk band from the early 1990s, you begin to doubt that you will ever really be one of them. Cultivate that doubt. You will never truly be an Argentine. Here’s why…

1. You’re puzzled by the excitement such ordinary foods inspire in the locals.

You think alfajores are all right, but you’d rather have a Twix. You don’t have an irrational emotional urge to eat pasta every Sunday. Cremón cheese adverts anger you. “That’s not cheese!” you mutter at the TV. “That’s NOT cheese!”

2. You feel a twinge of anxiety when your taxi doesn’t have seatbelts.
3. Your poverty / crisis / quilombo threshold is too low.

Don’t get me wrong, you enjoy a good old cacerolazo as much as the next Recoleta housewife, and a severe devaluation of the peso would bring you and your foreign bank account nothing but joy. But your patience will prove short if the government keeps depriving you of iPhones and Sriracha sauce, and at the first sign of things really kicking off 2001-style you’ll be on the first plane to Barcelona (feeling no patriotic duty to fly Aerolíneas). Also, don’t all these poor people get awfully depressing after a while?

4. Your clothes are all wrong.

You think “elegante sport” is the Spanish for “show jumping.” You don’t know when to wear a tie or not (answer: never wear a tie). The only time you ever wore alpargatas was for a fancy dress party, to which you went as the world’s least-convincing gaucho. It’s even worse if you’re a foreign woman in Buenos Aires, enduring the third year of a gruelling buffing-waxing-shopping-dieting regime in constant fear that the slightest slip will result in being cast out from polite society.

5. You’re scared of the plug sockets.
6. You think people catch colds from coming into contact with what we doctors call the “rhinovirus.”

In fact, colds are caused by going out with wet hair and an exposed neck when the season changes. Also, it’s not a cold, it’s flu. Probably swine flu.

7. You don’t know the first thing about piropos.

You think it’s quite rude to shout out compliments and / or oral sex requests / offers at passing women. The most daring thing you ever said to a strange woman in public was when you asked a pretty girl at the bus stop the time. You’ve never had sex with a prostitute either. Maricón.

8. You’re too polite. You say “hola” when you walk into a supermarket.

You say “por favor” to the bus driver. You think the Spanish for “thank you” is “gracias,” when it is in fact “listo,” and you think the Spanish for “goodbye” is “chau,” when it is in fact a stony silence.

9. Paradoxically, you’re too rude.

You take your shoes off indoors. You eat lunch without using a napkin. Sometimes, you just can’t be bothered to kiss people goodbye. Ortiba.

10. That’s STILL not cheese!
11. You can’t make a drink in a bar last longer than 30 minutes without ordering another.

And you never cease to be amazed at how these people can jabber on until 6am with just a 7-Up for sustenance.

12. Your Spanish will never be good enough.

You could immerse yourself in a small village in Entre Ríos for thirty years, cut yourself off from all contact with the English language, and the locals will still think of you as a foreigner and comment that you’ve still got a bit of a “tonito inglés.” The bastards.

13. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t get that enthusiastic about Erasure.

Because they’re terrible.

This article was originally posted on DanielTunnard.com, and has been re-published here with permission.

Fit filmmaking gear in one backpack

Gearing up for travel filmmaking is quite the endeavor and can lead to ridiculously heavy and cumbersome luggage. Luckily, the Vaga brothers are here to share their secrets on what camera gear to bring along when making travel videos.


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The fight to save Peace River Valley

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I LOVE HONEYBEES. They really know how to dance.

While on production in British Columbia with photographer Garth Lenz, I met Guy Armitage and Mary Bereton of Hudson’s Hope Honey. Guy also loves bees and he has searched for the best nooks and crannies in Hudson’s Hope for his hives to live. They are picky, and he is dedicated to their happiness. Happy bees make the best honey. Unfortunately much of this prime bee real estate will be underwater if the proposed Site C dam is built. Guy, Mary, and their bees are among the many who will be affected by the proposed dam.

Site C would flood 83 km of the beautiful Peace River Valley, displacing all who call it home.

There are often differing opinions around energy development. What is unique about Peace Valley is that you’d be hard pressed to find someone in the valley who supports the proposed Site C dam. I couldn’t tell an unbiased story on this issue if I wanted to. The business community is against it, because the economics are not sound. The $8.8 billion project would be funded through taxing BC citizens. No one is talking about the need for more hydro power; BC has hydro power already. Site C would flood 78 First Nations heritage sites, in violation of the First Nations treaty rights. Some of the best class agricultural soil in BC is found in the Peace River Valley and is of course worthless underwater. This valley is also used by wildlife as key portion of their migration routes.

Everyone living in the valley has something at stake. I asked Xavier Beam about the proposed Site C dam. He was standing in his backyard on the banks of the Peace River, holding a fishing pole and shading his eyes to watch his younger brothers paddling in a tiny canoe. He responded, “Well, they are going to build a highway right through our house and then flood it…I just have this huge problem with that.”

I caught a screening of DamNation right before I set off on this project, and was astonished by the extent to which dams are no longer considered an effective way of creating energy. Dams are obsolete. With thousands of unsafe and deteriorating dams to address, building new ones is a step in the wrong direction.

There is a lot of buzz surrounding dams right now, and decision makers are listening. There is simply not a good argument for the Site C dam and the BC government knows it. The solution is simple — don’t build the Site C dam. Everyone wins, and Guys’ bees will be happy.

More information in the links below:

“Building the dam is the equivalent of turning gold into lead.” — Dan Potts, the former executive director of the Associate of Major Power Customers of BC
“I think the cost of hydro-electric dam construction is so astronomical that no one will ever do it again and we’re going to have this huge white elephant. Potentially it’s going to drive our industry out of business.” — Craig Thomson, Energy and Environment Supervisor at Canfor Taylor Pulp Mill
“The alluvial soils to be flooded to produce overpriced power for the Site C dam are capable of producing sufficient fresh vegetables to provide the nutritional needs of a million people. Forever.” — Wendy Holm, Professional Agrologist
“Obsolete dams impose a high cost on river communities and ecosystems, our economy and tribal cultures. We have found better ways to do the work of dams.” — DamNation

This US town banned cell phones

When did you use a corded phone for the last time?

In Green Banks, West Virginia, not only do the inhabitants use corded phones every day, but they also have no access to wifi, cell phones, and are banned from using microwaves.

The explanation for this ban is simple: the town is a “national radio quiet zone” because it is home to a number of sophisticated telescopes that could be dammaged by wireless transmitters’ interference. The cutting-edge Green Banks observatory plays a very important role in studying remnants of the big bang, stars being formed, new planets, etc.

If this looks like your idea of hell, well, think again. The people of Green Banks have learnt to appreciate their unplugged lifestyle and the benefits that come with it: human connections.

While the telescopes are helping scientists to explain the origins of life, the good people of Green Banks are just enjoying it fully. It’s a win-win situation.

Feature image: goog-god-guy

12 signs you learned to drink in NYC

Photo: Zachary Robert Repko

1. Your drinking game of choice was Kings.

Casual drinking usually meant cramming into the 5’x7’ shoebox of a bedroom in whoever had the biggest apartment, or whoever’s parents weren’t around. Space for beer pong or flip cup was basically non-existent, so smaller, easier games — like Kings, Spin the Bottle, or Never Have I Ever, usually sufficed.

2. Drinking anywhere outside of New York is a huge pain in the ass.

We groan and gripe in places like South Carolina, where the liquor stores are completely closed on Sundays, or London, when the pubs do a last call at 10:50pm. These little eccentricities make zero sense to us, especially because anywhere outside of New York alcohol is considerably cheaper. We’re spoiled with bars that close at 4am (or don’t close at all), which stock unique liquors and craft beers, so our expectations are just super high once we leave the metro area.

3. You collected body stamps.

Everyone always knew where you had been the night before based on the red ink stamp or black permanent marker X on the top of your hand. A blue smiley face signified you were at a dive bar somewhere on Avenue A. A neon yellow wristband showed you were dancing at a gay bar around Chelsea. Eventually you found places like Pacha where stamps were doled out to anyone who looked hot, young, and stupid enough to spend money to be surrounded by other hot, young, stupid people who didn’t mind the amateur DJ of the week.

4. Your bodega salesman had your back.

Amir jokingly wagged his finger at you when you put a case of Natty Light on the counter, but as one of his best customers, he always let it slide. Selling alcohol to underage minors is nothing new in New York City. Is it completely illegal? Hells yeah. Dangerous? Probably. Something to be proud of? I’m not sure. But it’s hard to raise a fuss when almost 75% of the borough bodegas participate in this practice. We considered it a contribution to the astronomically-priced rent encroaching upon anything north of 80th Street.

5. You RSVP’d to every Bar Mitzvah, Quinceañera, and Sweet 16.

These parties were full-blown catered affairs at places like Villa Russo, or Giando on the Water, resulting in pitchers of soda for the kiddies and an open bar for the adults. If you couldn’t get an obliging drunk auntie to pass around some Jack and Cokes, you had an emergency flask on hand to make your own. It made the dry chicken fricassee taste better, and loosened you up for doing the Electric Slide.

6. You had a fake ID at age 14.

Kids from around the area come to NYC specifically to purchase false identification. You knew which sketchy “10-cent Copies” centers made the best scannable cards, and as long as you were with a few other teenagers, being led to a secret door at the back of the store was a rite of passage. Four IDs or more, and you got a discount.

7. You made it a mission to score free drinks.

$12 cab fares, $15 cover charges, and $8 cocktails adds up. You worked your whiles as much as you could to get free drinks from friends or strangers. Sure it was slutty, but it saved you precious cash that went towards buying MAC cosmetics, new heels from a no-name shop on 7th avenue, and clubwear from Strawberry.

8. House parties were like, next-level.

Unless you happened to make friends with a trust-fund Dalton kid, movie-style drinking parties were almost exclusively held away from home. But every so often someone would rent a beach house for a week and invite all of the neighborhood families to come along. Then shit would get real. Those few times when you made it out to a party in Flushing, Marine Park, or a cousin’s place on Long Island, where someone had an actual backyard bigger than five-people’s worth, seemed like a dream.

9. You tried drugs before everyone else.

When the thrill of underage drinking ran out at approximately age 16, you experimented with drugs. Most of it was innocent — a few joints on the fire escape at 2am, or uppers prescribed to you by the family shrink — but scoring angel dust, ecstasy, crack, and other ridiculous chemical substances was never difficult. Someone’s mom always had cocaine “to make it through the day,” and if anyone ever asked, you could tell them exactly where they could buy heroin, and for how much. Some of your friends became drug addicts, but most of the time it was an, “I’ll try anything once” situation that was overrated anyway.

10. The night always ended with drunk food.

A $1 slice of pizza, disco fries, or pancakes at the diner, falafel from a guy who shaved meat for a living, a ginormous pastrami sandwich from Katz’s Deli, a hot dog that snapped when you bit it from Gray’s Papaya, or — if you were really drunk — something off of the Dollar Menu at McDonalds, was a must when the booze got to be too much for you to handle. Sitting in Washington Square Park at 2am, you didn’t care about how terrible the styrofoam container holding your chicken and rice with white sauce was for the environment; you were just fucking hungry.

11. Pre-gaming was the game.

Because alcohol is so expensive in the city, the easiest thing was to hunker down at someone’s apartment and make uneven mixes of your favorite cocktails, or fill water bottles with straight-up vodka and wander the streets looking for celebrity parties to crash. Even if you did end up at a bar after midnight or something, you usually split drinks with your friends before complaining about being “tired” aka too poor to buy another drink.

12. There was always someone around to buy booze for you.

Finding someone older to purchase your liquor was never really an issue. There was always Enrico, the pothead down the hall, or Dejah, your best friend’s older sister who just graduated from City College. Rich kids had their nannies, maids, or the doorman. You always had a “go-to” booze buyer in your corner of the city.

How adventurous are you? [QUIZ]

Featured photo by Alan