The Gilded Age

I love the way New York City becomes the Escapism Capital of the World at this time of year.

It really is a tremendous relief to world-weary folks like me, who tire of Middle East mayhem and learning that David Petraeus's "moral compass" seemed to be always pointing South. Many of us blew through Sandy with our survival instincts of urban camping, too. And even more challenging than surviving a hurricane and Nor'easter in one week, we got through the media blowout with Obama vs. Romney.

Unabashedly, I welcome Escapism now as we head to the holidays, which everyone says are too soon upon us. Of course, I wonder myself how we got to another round of commercialism so fast. But I revel in the retreat to cocooning and planning recipes, in pre-Thanksgiving buying of Christmas cards that I will never send, and wondering how anyone can host a Thanksgiving dinner for 20 people when they work 60 hours a week and have a 5'x 5' kitchen.

So, I sallied forth on Saturday to Fifth Avenue to observe tourists laden with shopping bags. I swept into Henri Bendel, credit cardless and curious. Magically, I was transformed from fatigue to fantasy. More like a brownstone than an office building, Henri Bendel is stunning architecturally in any season, and now it was airbrushed with gold decoration creatively dangling from a central elevation, not diminishing the beauty of the domed skylight or the Lalique windows dating back to pre-World War I.

Somehow I straddled the two worlds of exquisite materialism and timeless elegance of the structure itself. I imagined how many shoppers did not even notice the etched Lalique poppies and vines that reach skyward from the second floor windows facing Fifth Avenue. They are enhanced by the sunlight that creates an explosive Art Nouveau design, which reveals the glass maker's affection for the natural world. It is a such a startling contrast between the artifice of holiday escapism, and the subtle beauty of the more enduring structure that brought a sense of peacefulness.

I left Bendel bagless, yet richer by far in more ways than one.

Room With a View

From the cozy confines of our 16th floor apartment last night overlooking Central Park South, the Nor'easter looked amazingly like a page from Jack Finney's Time and Again. As in the scene from the novel that takes place in New York City in 1882, the horses pulling a few carriages transcend time and weather forecasts. There is always silence that attends these unexpected snowfalls, and that is as welcome as the beauty that equally astonishes. For a few moments I forgot the relentless images of this past week of the sadness, frustration and despair that are affecting so many of the people who are suffering after Hurricane Sandy. Now came a storm with a folksy reference..."Nor'easter." This time, it was an anonymous reminder of the kinds of New England wallops that bring destruction, while at the same time creating resilience...a word well-known to New Yorkers. 

Electrified by Energy Glass

How is it that a simple idea can be so elusive? Then, suddenly, WHAM!-- there it is, the obvious solution! Energy from the sun-- NOT solar--from totally transparent glass. It is the patented creation held by one company--here in the United States--by a visionary inventor who is now partnered with a brilliant and incredibly nice guy.

What is truly mind-boggling is that the technology actually exists now in its nascent stage, and will surely revolutionize energy in years to come in the same way Apple reinvented technology. Not to mention job-creation here in the United States. So, in high rise office buildings now (and someday surely available at Home Depot for your home) you can have architecturally stunning buildings that can enjoy equally stunning views--minus ugly solar panels. By the way, did anyone ever answer the question as to what happens to solar panels years from now when they no longer work? Not allowed in landfills. Another problem for your children and grandchildren to deal with twenty years from now. Energy glass? Not a problem.

And now the best part. The collection of energy can keep working 24 hours a day, if you so chose to leave the lights on in your office (LED lighting, of course), because interior lighting also creates a "double shot" of energy production. So, the cleaning lady is actually helping you with the grid, while doing the vacuuming.

Most amazing of all is that the glass is laminated with energy producing nano particles that allow all this to happen. I will not get too technical here. Suffice it to say that I saw the process at the plant in Florida and stood in amazement as I watched the light coming in from the parking lot being transmitted to a battery, proving to the simplest mind (mine) that this actually works!

Since hotels and real estate are my worlds, this seemed like a natural extension of interest. With unbounded zeal, I am spreading the word to all hotels and real estate companies to take up the cry. And, by the way, the glass also meets certifications for hurricane, typhoon, tornado, forced-entry, bullet resistance, fire protection and terrorism-proof. I will keep you updated on these wonder-windows.

One last thing, for the moment. The owner of the company, Art, has a test case use for the glass to charge his cell phone. It is the only one of its kind right now, but I think, had he had time, Steve Jobs's next project would have been an I-Energy Apple.

Feeding Frenzy in New York Hotel Real Estate

Chinese, Indian and Russian buyers scouring the New York City hotel real estate market are as ubiquitous as bedbugs these days. And both have a tenacious presence that leaves me wondering how this phenomenon overtook us.

Of course, we are delighted that these foreigners have realized what a great investment is the New York City real estate market. We remember when Japan discovered Rockefeller Center and its environs, as well as many less familiar office buildings. Money is now being poured into our infrastructure with abandon again from Asia. Imbalance of the dollar is one thing. Ego-driven buyers are another.

Let's face it. Wouldn't you rather own a famous hotel in midtown rather than an office building in the garment district? Bragging rights at cocktail parties garner so much more awe-inspired looks and high-rise envy. Ask Donald Trump.

What is amazing to me as a real estate person is that there are still the "naysayers" who believe these hotel sales of lesser known and sometimes weirdly located properties are a "bad investment." Today I was told that the most recent statistics prove that there is overbulding in New York City. Occupancies in January and February 2011, I am told, were below 70% and hotels lost money. Imagine that!!!

My response to these numbers guys is, "Are you kidding me?" This was the most dreadful winter in my life, ever, since I began recording temperatures on my own Weather Channel. I, for one, did not venture outside my front door except to purchase provisions at Whole Foods. So, I do not expect tourists were planning to visit New York City to swan about in Central Park.

I have lived in New York City since 1975. Had I had foresight and money at that time, I would have bought a one bedroom apartment that was offered to me around the corner from Central Park on West 70th Street. It was a charming brownstone, with one bedroom, high ceilings, a built-in bookcase, a back garden access and a loft. Fireplace, of course. I did not have money for the deposit since these were lean days. My friend bought it for $72,000. Today, that same apartment would probably add a couple of more zeros and be done with it. Regrets, I have a few, in the words of Frank Sinatra. That is definitely one of them.

So, to all my colleagues who are predicting the overbuilding of the New York hotel real estate market and who feel it is "way overpriced" I say, "Look to the future." My colleague told me today that the J.P. Morgan Chase numbers guys are looking at those January/February occupancy rates as an ominous indicator of the future profitability of hotels. So, do the foreign investors not care? Are their numbers guys not analyzing the deals correctly? Of course they are. They just have lots of money to spend, which they need to get it out of their respective countries.

In fact, unless the Indian Power Plant melts down in the next few months, I believe we can safely bet on the insanity of these hotel sales continuing to rise at an ever more fevered pitch. There is virtually no hotel inventory left in New York City. We are now looking at converting office buildings to hotels, even in the garment district!

I think the bedbugs have it right, and they are going to remain entrenched in the expensive high rise apartments and newly bought hotels. They are equal opportunity critters, after all. I intend to follow their example and pledge my allegiance to this City, this Borough, this Island. For the sake of our budget deficit requiring new taxes and transfer fees to pull us New Yorkers out of a very deep financial hole, let us hope the Asians and Russians continue to have the same tenacity.

Bloomberg in Bermuda

I was assured by the Bermudian taxi driver that "my Mayor" slips unobtrusively into Bermuda at unexpected times throughout the year to stay in his exquisite and very private waterfront home in Tucker's Town. How he knows that is uncertain.

Of course, golf and the lack of the sirens that we fellow New Yorkers experience are the real reasons for taking a short, one and a half hour flight to the island of Bermuda from New York City. No one bothers Mike there, and no one cares that he is a billionaire in a land of immensely wealthy residents.

My recent trip there was filled with the usual amenities. Perfectly endless sunny days since early Spring. They are experiencing a drought that has not at all affected the exquisite oleander or hibiscus, which are exploding with vibrancy in sharp contrast to the pastel-colored buildings of the picturesque surroundings. The blue hue of the ocean is ridiculous. A painter would never attempt to copy that color to canvas for fear of being called a bad artist. It couldn't be--but it really is--that blue.

The greens of the best golf courses, Mid Ocean and Tucker's Point, are a tad beige in spots. Only slightly off, as thousands of gallons are pumped daily onto the courses. This is a challenge in itself, since the tray rooftops are structured to collect the rainwater from every house for purposes other than drinking. This is a charming necessity, as there are not simply not enough sources of water on the island.

So it is not surprising that my dream last night included both Bermuda and Mike Bloomberg in an exquisitely visual, multi-pixilated frame with Dolby sound. There I was, sitting at the pool deck of the exquisite Tucker's Point Hotel, sipping a tall Dark & Stormy, or as I would call this non-alcoholic version, a Dark & Rainy. There, coming from Mid Ocean from a rollickingly good day of golf was Michael Bloomberg. He approached. We exchanged smiles. He spoke.

"Good day," he said as he smiled. I wasn't sure if that was a formal salutation or a statement about his golf game. "Yes, yes. Of course." I struggled with small talk. But we warmed up to some genuine dialog when I threw in a New York reference or two to Derek Jeter and the Yankees. I shamelessly sought his approval. After all, I voted for Mike Bloomberg three times, term limits be damned. I would carry him to the White House, if I could.

In my dream, and over several cool beverages, we became great and intimate friends in the purest sense of the word. Mike and I were just not attracted to each other in that way. But on a deeper level, we were soul mates who shared the solution to all of New York, if not Life's problems.

As dreams go, this progressed nicely. So much so that he shared with me that he was supposed to meet with his lawyer that very day to write his will and decided NOT to leave his money to his family. No, he thought he would leave it to me instead! And then, he said, "In fact, I'm not even going to wait until I die. I'm going to give you money now."

Fast forward to my return home. I am at my ATM machine and discover my balance is $26 billion dollars! What a guy!!! So I withdrew $100, because somewhere in my subconscious I knew that Mike would KNOW what I was spending. But it really didn't matter how or why. There was plenty of room in my checkbook to donate to his inevitable run for the White House.

Gold Cup Races in Style, Like the Rest of Barbados

There is something irresistible about the pounding track, warm sun, cool drink and the viewing of the white-clad Queens Guard in full dress uniform mounted on horseback that sets the heart racing as well. For, after all, this is Barbados. The British influence is ubiquitous.

It is, however, quite different from say, Ascot, especially when swaying Caribbean music accompanies the Barbadian Police Band and Red Plastic Bag (yes, that is the famous Bajan Regae Rap singer's name) is on the parade grounds singing Ragga Ragga. Full throttle. Ecstatic fans singing with passionate enthusiasm along with him. Colorful dancers swaying sensuously beside him. All waiting for the most prestigious event of its kind in Barbados...the Gold Cup Races.

Name one other island in the Caribbean where you can find such a racetrack. Nope. None. This is an impressive course that is in the heart of an historic area of downtown Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados. People-watching is part of the fun. All the locals are ensconced in the private boxes on this occasion wearing Sunday church attire, especially with Eliza Doolittle hats.

I attempted to put $20 on the sixth horse in the sixth race, my husband's superstitious good luck thing. But, unlike Belmont, there was one ticket collector near the part of the special stands we were so graciously directed to as VIPs. The gentleman was overwhelmed by the queue, the enthusiasm of the bettors, and the heat. I never placed my bet. Got closed out just as "Border Secret," the sixth horse in the sixth race blew past all the others for the win.

My colleagues were an astute group of Canadian incentive buyers, who looked like professsional gamblers all. They were elegantly dresssed and speaking the parlance of worldly bettors, tossing around such words as "Trifecta" and "paramutuel" leaving me quite out of the loop. I decided to pool my money with theirs to increase the chances of a big win. We had about 60 different combinations for Win, Place and Show. I was, indeed, familiar with these terms, but had never personally known the joy of experiencing any part of the winning process.

Terry, a tall, gray-bearded fellow was the leader to whom we all entrusted our money. Smoothly and with meticulous care, he became the guru of the group. He advised us by not picking silly or cute names (we females seem to think "Preach to Me" or "Pure Temptation" had enough gravitas to surge ahead of all others). No, Terry carefully put together all the right combinations based on his reading of their past history. What a concept! With a wad of our cash, he placed the bet for the Gold Cup ultimate race for us all.

Keeping council with himself, Terry imagined what he would do with his win...possibly in the tens of thousands. Erika wanted new shoes with her winnings. Terry wanted to buy the swim up bar at the Colony Club and move to Barbados permanently. I was somewhere in between. A small, low-maintenance beach shack where I could write my blogs, perhaps.

The Gold Cup race was the culmination of hope, joy, apprehension and greed. I was in up to my picture hat. And lo and behold, the exhilaration was complete when we won...$97.00 out of all the possible configurations. We gave the money to a local charity for children with wheelchairs.

I know there was one moment when Terry looked crestfallen, but another surfaced when we realized that the fantasy had a life of its own for the fifteen minutes it lived. We had a blast. Probably would have gotten out of control if we had won big time. When I asked Terry if he would tell his wife about all this back home, he said, "What happens in Barbados stays in Barbados." That's about right, at least this year.