Today I flew to Washington (state, that is) for the first time. I know it’s not in keeping with my ‘new thing in New York’ premise, but I’m counting it anyway. And it takes my tally of states up to 31:

I left home at the crack of dawn and flew to Seattle before boarding a mini sea plane to San Juan Island, where my friend Jane lives.


Jane is a friend from university in Scotland; she has the fortune to have one parent from here and one from there, meaning she can hop between the two places whenever she fancies. And it’s funny that she’s ended up here of all places because you wouldn’t be blamed for mistaking the green, rocky landscape and clusters of islands for the Scottish west coast.

This place is amazing. I thought I’d get a feeling of relief as I soared over the tiny, barely inhabited islands – relief that I didn’t live there, isolated from the world. But I didn’t. It’s breathtakingly beautiful and there’s something so romantic about how about how Jane spends her days working in her boyfriend’s bakery before driving along the winding roads back to write at her cabin, with a wood burning stove crackling beside her.

After dinner, wine and chocolate from Brooklyn, we stumbled up a path in the dark to overlook the water. Jane pointed out the silhouettes of mountain ranges, lights denoting her favourite bars – and even the buzz of Victoria in Canada in the distance.

Sorry New York, but I think I might like it here.