When I first moved to New York, enamoured by its parks and museums and design firms and restaurants and bars, I never imagined that there could be much more to its geography than that. How wrong I was. My first drive across the George Washington Bridge was jaw-dropping - the cliffs of New Jersey are astonishingly tall, covered in a dense thicket of trees. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Drive up 87 to the Catskills or the Adirondacks and you'll witness the Hudson River winding its way through spectacular scenery and unforgiving seasons. Now I can't get enough; just two hours up the road, it's like the city never existed. Perfect recuperation after a long week.

Erie Basin is a really wonderful little shop full of old, creepy and beautiful things, such as Victorian mourning jewelry (some with hair in it), Freemason masks from the 1900's, tiny children's rings from the 1700's, and all kinds of other treasures. It is really as much a museum as it is a store, and all of the items have a haunting and unique aura.

My first job in the city. The family and friends and raised New York Megan. Also very good coffee. And lovely neighbors.

While the current trend in noodles may well be ramen, this bafflingly-named Japanese restaurant just ten minutes from my apartment specialises in udon. Unless you are my friend Diego Zambrano it will probably take you several visits to get through all the things you need to try on the menu - the gyoza are otherworldly, the sushi 'tacos' clever enough without being silly. New York has thousands of awful Japanese places; this is not one of them. It's super nice to come in on a Sunday night and eat at the bar next to curmudgeonly old guys barking at each other in Japanese.

Paris in Brooklyn, etc. I have to try hard not to say 'Garçon.' But either way, 'monsieur' would be more appropriate; proper French waitstaff, proper French food.