I discovered the Frick my first week in New York, during a heat wave in August. The galleries were surprisingly empty, with only the occasional visitor strolling through the rooms, gently creaking the floorboards. I stood for a while in front of the Bronzino, a portrait of a boy standing against a background of green drapery, and then sat in the courtyard for a long, cool hour.

I don't go to the movies much but when I do I love coming here... they have the best of the independent and international films and it's the last of it's kind in New York.

I love this quaint lil bar, as it's a good switch of energy from the bar next door. Mostly quiet, cozy and with a working fireplace, I like it here.

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.

Within an couple hours' drive of NYC, you can find lots of sleepy seaside towns. Not only can you get your soft ice cream and salt water taffy on, but you can still spot cool, hand-lettered signs and other relics of a past generation's amusements.