The New York Weekend is a rite of passage for the Philadelphia transplant, and probably for any Philadelphian with an exploratory quality. Love Philly though we may, and loathe NYC as we might, to put everything on the shelf and go lose yourself in the biggest city in the country is just good for the soul.

As backhanded a compliment as it is, I've always considered the proximity to New York one of Philadelphia's greatest assets. Ninety miles is just far enough away that you don't have to suffer the Apple's cost of living, but close enough that a weekender is worth the thirty bones you'll drop Septa and New Jersey Transit.

I've made this trip at least twenty times in nearly seven years in Philly, making sure to do touristy things like walk the Brooklyn Bridge and visit the Met, but also weird things like pop into a Buddhist monastery in Staten Island and watch a ska band perform at a Catholic street festival in the Bronx. (As an aside, I have a whole web site of photos from all five boroughs somewhere in the back of the pipeline.)

This particular trip, on the weekend of February 9, 2007, was a collaboration with Mark Adams, a combo of Bob Dylan and 60s folks pilgrimage, late night buzzed up hijinks, good eats and many miles logged in the old town, strictly Manhattan south of Penn Station: Flatiron, the Bowery, the Village, the World Trade Center site, Union Square, Chinatown, Little Italy, Chelsea, Battery Park, Wall Street, South Street, Empire State . . . this was my view of our NYC weekend.

To Mitch B, James C, Bob D, Pippa V, Jared Z and Brother Mark: thanks, y'all.