The Rockaway Dream

 This was my view going over the water to get to the sort of peninsula that is the Rockaways, a thin strip of land that juts out from the west end of Long Island, across Jamaica Bay to the south of Brooklyn, but part of Queens.  First I took the A line all the way to the end stop, called Far Rockaway.  Rockaway Beach is on the other end of the peninsula, and it was my ultimate destination for the day, but I had to ride the subway to Far Rockaway first.  Once there, i walked all over the area, up and down and side to side.  I walked from the subway station to the state park on Jamaica Bay.  The neighborhoods were total suburbia. Very quiet. It's shocking that you can be in a neighborhood that has a view of Manhattan,  yet is full of decaying old mansions and quiet stoops attached to modest abodes. It's really a world away from Times Square in every possible sense. It's easy to see why people are so connected to their specific neighborhood in New York. Funny story: Scott and I met a music critic from Brooklyn who told us without a trace of irony that he "went away" to college in The Bronx. If you grew up in the quiet nether reaches of Far Rockaway,  I can see why a different borough would be like going to a different world.

After I had walked a couple of hours, I looked around and there was no cute little cafe for breakfast. Hipster culture has in no way touched Far Rockaway. I honestly have no idea how it has managed to stay so uncool.  I stepped into a market and a guy behind the counter said, "Let me cook for you! What would you like?" I requested a bacon egg and cheese sandwich and he willingly obliged, with one caveat: "I cook halal. There's no pork on my fork!" Thereafter followed a discussion on the merits of beef bacon vs turkey bacon. It was a delicious sandwich and it was only 3 dollars. My new friend the chef, Cobe, told me that he commutes 2 hours each way on the subway from Brooklyn to work in his cousin's market. Why? Because he couldn't find work in a place in line with his religious beliefs. He proudly told me, "I'm a chef. But I want to cook halal. And I want to work in a place that doesn't sell beer." The sacrifices this guy makes to adhere to his beliefs. Inspiring.

Ok, so I finally felt satisfied that I had explored Far Rockaway fully, and I got back on the subway and took the shuttle out to Rockaway Beach. This place was annihilated by Hurricane Sandy just as it was enjoying a revitalization. Now, everything is new. If Far Rockaway has escaped notice, Rockaway Beach hasn't. It's kitschy, hipster and surf. There's a stretch on shoreline there that's the only place in greater NYC where it's legal to surf. I laughed though when a guy told me everyone was out there amid reports of "2 to 3 foot waves!!" You take what you can get, but it's not the North Shore. :)

I came prepared to live my Rockaway dream, with a swimsuit and towel. For several hours, I beached it, nestled in front of an orange-clad lifeguard, between a German family and a group of tattooed teens. I imagined what it would be like to be one of the East Coast families who vacation here every year. Every so often I waded out into the Atlantic to cool off.  It was a perfect beach day and I savored every second.  As weird as it sounds, I truly felt like I achieved something. And as a bonus, it exceeded my expectations! I felt triumphant, grateful and a little bit euphoric. Maybe a lot euphoric, but that could also be that it was a perfect day, and I still had dinner with the love of my life to look forward to.

Goodbye Rockaway Beach.

I joked with Scott that I was getting his name tattooed on my hip. He kindof believed me.

I was to meet Scott at Beauty and Essex, a swanky restaurant on the Lower East Side, located in back of a pawn shop. Yes, it's that hip.

I felt a little thrill when I saw this guy down the street! Over a divine three course meal, we shared the details of our separate adventures.

Look at this guy! Who wouldn't tingle with excitement seeing him walking toward you?

I'm lucky to have a guy that I'm totally on the same page with. And if one of us turns the page, the other one is right there to read along anyway. It's good.

So that was our first day in New York.  Well, the first 14 hours of it. We still had a late-night cello recital to attend...