It’s been a while. Who am I kidding? It’s been a really long time (almost a year) and I have a great excuse so hear me out. A few months ago, I ~ Finally~ (and I mean Finally, with a capital ‘F’) published my book: Letters to Home. To say that it was a really long fucken journey would be a massive understatement. I won’t get into that here but this is your warning to mentally prepare yourself for that series later.

The highlight of today’s post is about a little small town in Upstate New York called Walton. If you have no idea where or what that is, don’t worry, I didn’t either.

It all began around mid-December 2021, when my friend, Julie, sent me a text message.

She had planned for a trip to Italy the following week and asked if I wanted to come after her friend canceled. While I am a #pro-spontaneous adventures type of girl, I am also a #brokebitch who spent her summer splurging her way through California just a few months prior. You also probably already guessed that I said no because there’s a reason why I am writing a travel guide about Walton, New York, and not Rome, Italy.

To provide some main character background info, Julie is a poet, writer, an overall A+ human being, and also the backbone of helping me publish this book. She unhesitantly took up a role as one of my main editors by reading pages upon pages of my raw and unfiltered manuscript. We met way back in October 2020 while working together at a non-profit. Our only methods of communication were sporadic text messages, comments on Google Docs, and Facetime calls. Throughout this year-long friendship, we’ve never met in person — until this trip.

Four days before the trip, we didn’t have any destination in mind. Truthfully, the destination didn’t matter as much as the experience of getting to meet in person for the first time. We searched for nearby Airbnbs that were a few hours away from New York City. Different towns in Virginia and Connecticut were all possible options but we fell in love with a little Victorian style studio in Walton, NY. There was something about the green walls that were eerily inviting.

With a click of a button, our two days, one-night trip was booked and I was beaming with excitement.

On the day of the meet up, I took the subway to 34th Street Port Authority to take the NJ Transit to Secaucus Junction. Besides the Mitsuwa Japanese supermarket and SoJo Spa Club across the street, I don’t find myself venturing into Jersey often. This was my first time taking the NJ Path and I was pleasantly surprised at how seamless it was, especially with the tickets and schedule easily available on the NJ transit app.

A ten minutes train ride later, Julie picked me up in her 2008 Hyundai Elantra and we drove off with the glowing sunset behind us.

A few hours and a pitstop at Panera Bread and Target later, we drove through the woods and into the sleepy town of Walton, NY. By that time, night had fallen and the car beams guided our way through the one-way street in the forest.

It only took five minutes for my paranoia to heighten as the adrenaline in my body prepped me for the fight or flight response. In the driver's seat, Julie kept trying to convince me that the trees around us were birch trees. “There’s a gloss on the trees!” she said for the 3rd time.

I wasn’t listening.

I kept trying to convince myself that nothing is going to jump out of the dark and swipe my pack of Chewy Chips Ahoy cookies (Yes, they are better than the original ones.)

In her noble but failed attempt, Julie tried to comfort me with stories about how she and a friend almost drove off a cliff in the middle of a storm. Honestly, I don’t remember much of the story because I was looking to see if there was somebody (something?) lurking behind the ✨glossy✨ trees.

Around 8 pm, we arrived at our Airbnb and spent the next hour opening all the cabinets trying to find one thing that the Airbnb host might have missed. In my scant but memorable Airbnb experiences, I’ve stayed at a hostel with 8 other bunk-bed mates. I’ve also stayed at a cozy bed and breakfast in the outskirts of Lithuania, convinced that our Russian-speaking grandma hostess locked us in our room. (It was a really malfunctioning door — or was it?) But never have I ever, stayed at a place that was as well-stocked as this Victorian-style Airbnb.

I flipped open the bottom kitchen cabinet and screamed. “Julie. HaVE YOU SEEN THIS spiCE CABINET. THEY HAVE P-PPAPRIKA.” I didn’t know I could be this passionate about spices.

The Airbnb listing only had one review and under normal circumstances, I would’ve clicked away because I didn’t want to pay $70 a night to stay at my murder site. But there was something about green walls (yes, the damn green walls) and the inner desire to live out my Jane Eyre dreams that made me put my paranoia aside.

In retrospect, I’m so glad that we chose this place. It was a cozy studio above the host’s garage with a full bathroom and enough amenities to act as a doomsday bunker.

A few hours of convos and taking portraits later, we concluded that the centerpiece of this place was the electric fireplace. It adds another level of warmth and coziness to the space. I’m also convinced that it will add 10 points to my quality of life when I purchase my future home.

But enough about the Airbnb...

The next morning, one of us (hint: not me) got up early to read and listen to the sound of the rain hitting against the windowpane. By 11 am, Julie and I packed up all our stuff and I said goodbye to the electric fireplace, the spice cabinet, and the vintage-looking couch (in that order.)

In the minimal research that I did before arriving, I found out that this town has a Holiday Bazaar Market every Sunday in December.

Before heading there, we walked past a diner and into an antique shop called Little Dipper Antiques. There were ceramic vases, vintage postcards, stained wine glasses and so much more. Every inch of this space was covered and I knew that I could easily spend hours in here. There’s always something about the charm of antique shops (and thrift stores) that makes me gravitate towards them. Perhaps it’s the thought of providing a new home for something that’s neglected. Or maybe it’s the imagination that comes with inventing a backstory of the item’s previous owner. Perhaps in a more practical sense: I’m just attracted to the idea of a good bargain.

Speaking of which, I got these earrings for $1 each along with some vintage? (I don’t know how to say this word without sounding like a Williamsburg hipster) postcards that reminded me of my summer in California.

I was also very (and I mean very) close to getting this leather jacket. It fits like a glove and I can see myself wearing this in the atomically slim chance that I want to cosplay as a sexy Matrix character. (I’ve also never watched the movie so I don’t know if this reference is valid.)

The price was too high for my antique shop budget ($37) More justifications for why I didn’t get it: It didn’t have pockets and I already have a leather jacket at home (that has zippered* pockets.)

Do I regret it? I wanna say no. But I also dedicated two paragraphs of this blog post introducing a leather jacket as a secondary character. So in conclusion, — yes, I regret it.

Moving on...

Julie and I walked down a couple more blocks and visited (you guessed it) two more antique shops. One seemed a bit more high end (M & Friends Antiques) — something I can find in the side streets of Park Slope. And the other had a nice collection of vintage (there’s that word again) film cameras.

We made our way over the bridge and admired the rolling clouds of fog that covered the mountains. The Holiday Bazaar was at The Castle on Delaware — a stunning historic venue that features two beautiful chandeliers. The owner and chef, Mustafa Sava, wanted to “combine his love for Walton and its history with his experience as a chef and a restaurateur to save a historical building and create an entertainment venue that would also benefit the local economy.” The origin story is pretty interesting and you can read more about it here.

There were tables set up around the perimeter and center of the space. From holiday ornaments to art pieces, there was definitely something for everyone.

At one of the tables that sold earrings, a lady looked at me, complimented my black hair, and asked if I were Japanese. 🥲 This was the first time that I had received a compliment for black hair and also the first time that I was mistaken to be Japanese. More on this some other time...

A couple of feet away, I picked up a handmade bottle filled with tiny colorful balls that reminded me of the Dipping Dots ice cream. “What are these?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if they were candy or chocolate.

I was seconds away from popping one in my mouth when the lady told me that they are candle melts. It only took 23 years on this earth for me to discover the existence of candle/wax melts. You can essentially DIY your own candle by melting together the different scented melts to create your own unique scent. The only candle I’ve ever gotten was from Bath and Body Works so this was mind-blowing.

Afterward, we ended our trip with a hearty meal at Danny’s, a corner diner that we passed by earlier. I got the San Francisco panini with mozzarella cheese and it was grilled to perfection. (The peanut butter chocolate cake also speaks for itself.)

Takeaway:

At first glance, Walton seems like a quaint little town where everyone knew everybody. After visiting for a day, I can confirm that it is in fact, a quaint little town where it seems like everyone knew everybody.

Julie and I went into this trip with little expectations and came out extremely satisfied with an experience in a rural part of New York. Sure, it’s no Rome, Italy. But it’s undeniable that there is a charm about little rural towns that could easily act as a backdrop to Taylor Swift’s Folklore album.

As someone who grew up and was raised in Brooklyn, NY, I’m aware (but still surprised) that there are still places a couple hours away that has one general store, one gas station, and one post office, (but way too many antique shops) for the seven blocks that make up this town.

Sometimes one of everything is more than enough — at least that is what I am going to keep telling myself whenever my mind wanders to the Matrix costume that could have been.