Manhattan is where the margins find centrality — a place that not only welcomes but demands your ambition, your interest, your nuance and self-expression. 

In contrast to what this world of narrative tells us, very little of life is actually continuous. 

To travel within Manhattan is to constantly feel underdressed, is to have the thrum of the bass speak to your blood, is to be on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, headlights rushing beneath your feet, and yet feel exhilaratingly at peace. Is to be rife with options of where to eat the best food you've ever had, is to smile at skaters of all ages exchanging handmade beaded jewelry, is to exist in every language, background, and overpriced cheesecake place at 1am and still belong. Past and present collide into cacophony, sprawling dimensions of everything happening everywhere, all at once. 

To know oneself is to pretend we are continuous. To take the pieces that don’t fit and paint them with acetone in the dark of our childhood bedrooms, to shove them underneath our beds, to file our personalities down until we’re something that fits the mold.

But New York is anything but continuous, and travel itself is nothing if not the endless quest to find yourself in the unfamiliar. It is the willingness to be led by curiosity, empathy, and a small bit of naivety. We believe that to want to travel to Manhattan is to recognize our ALL our fragments are worth celebrating. For so long, New York has been nothing more than Caravan's pipe dream. Someday, a younger David and Montse fantasized in Montse’s first year. Someday, the two of us affirmed in our first EIC planning meeting. Someday, we promised as we drew up posters for Spring 2024 recruitment. Today, the fifteen of us realized on the ride to our Airbnb, our disbelieving eyes drinking in their first taste of New York City. 

First Cara-flight, first east coast trip, first time so far from home and responsible for a gaggle of college students in the Big Apple — it was a lot of firsts for our last trip as EIC’s. Some of it was hard work, and some of it was chance. You can call it luck, and you can call it fate. Like it or not, we are beholden to it. Regardless of who anyone says you are or where you are from, we hope that in these pages you find something to take for yourself and belong to — even if it’s the feeling of alienation itself.

Safe Travels & Forehead Kisses,
Audrey & Montse