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Manhattan is the scene of my most memorable post-adolescence moments, when I visited my very intellecutal Greek American cousin back in '89, at the age of 20.
NOT typical Greek American.
We walked from Maiden Lane up to Sugar Hill. Tasted the bocadillo cubano.
Toured many jazz bars, some of them with live jazz.
Attended a live concert at the Palladium, by Tito Puente and Celia Cruz.
The doorman asked for an ID showing an age >21, so I employed a Private International Law argument, telling him that I 'm a Greek citizen and US law does not apply to me.
He answered "c'mon asshole, get in" in fluent Greek.
I would never come back, 'cause it's impossible to savour bourbon and listen to Afro-Cuban jazz without at least vaping.
I 've found a couple of cosy jazz bars in Athens, Greece, instead, where at least vaping is tolerated (illegally though, 'cause we 've become "civilised" too).