It was time to head back up to New York City. Browsing a campers catalog I had picked up at the turnpike rest stop, I made an unexpected discovery...there was an RV park right across the Hudson from Manhattan! We had never expected such luck. We thought we would be Long Term Parking Loiterers for sure. Yeah, the ad said it cost $40/night, but it was with full hookups and the convenience to the City was unmatchable. We started up the turnpike with high hopes.
We listened to Simon and Garfunkel's 1987 concert in Central Park as we drove. Suddenly, Brant shouted "New Jersey Turnpike!" in the middle of SONG. "That's why it sounded so familiar!" Eureka.
We pulled into the Liberty Harbor RV Park under a grey sky. The smoke-filled trailer that served as an office housed two ladies which took my money ($50/night...they refused to honor the price printed in their ad) and told me to park anywhere that was open. The service factor wasn't very high so far. Then we drove around to the actual campsites and the service factor dropped even lower. What was basically a parking lot with weeds masquerading as grass, the area surrounding it was littered with discarded metal and run down fences and a boat graveyard. The restrooms were basically clean but smelled much too strongly of the little chemical circle things you can put in your toilet, and three of the five washing machines in the laundry were broken.
Basically, the place was a dump. It hurt to pay $50 a night for the opportunity to stay there. But we were within the grasp of New York, where $50 a night for a place to stay is a great deal, even if you have to bring your own roof. And the location was great, because we were just a block away from the train station that would link us up with Manhattan. And we stayed there and had a great time, in spite of it all.
Maren and Brant took rollerblades into the city that afternoon, but got rained out shortly after arriving at the World Trade Center towers. The next morning they decided to make a day of it though, sans rollerblades, and took out early to see the Statue of Liberty and explore New York, New York. After getting some stuff done, I met them on the island and we walked up to a cool sushi joint with excellent food, superb ambiance and horrible service.
Maren at the base of the tallest buildings.
BP and the Manhattan skyline.
Maren at the Techno Echo.
Pensive Maren, Statue of Liberty.
Maren departed on Wednesday, via light rail, PATH, subway, and finally jet. She was accompanied on all but the last mode of transportation. Gotta hand it to New York...they got the whole public transportation thing down.
That evening, we met with my friend Alison, whom I've know for some ridiculous amount of time like 20 years. She's been living in the NYC area for the past six years and is doubtful that she'll ever leave for good. We hooked up at her office at Rolling Stone, then headed to the West Village to a restaurant bar called Chalmers....note this is a place we would never have made it to without Ali. A speak-easy during prohibition, it's basically someone's basement in the middle of Gwyneth Paltrow's neighborhood. You walk down this residential street, go into someone's private courtyard, and push open an unmarked door to reveal a dark den of lively chatter. The place was packed when we were there, and aside from the unique atmosphere the food (and the beer) was good, too!
Alison, with her tales of all the wonders of The Big Apple*, convinced us that we simply had to stay at least one more day. We planned on getting to see a Broadway show, and Ali recommended a few other things to check out. We were stoked, and rode the subway back to our classy RV park looking forward to tomorrow.
*For those of you who have ever wondered, like me, why it's called The Big Apple, here's the answer I got: Back in the day, when jazz was really big, musicians traveled from gig to gig driven by a love of music and that on-going necessity—money. Well, they had a slang term for cash: sugar. And apparently down in the jazz district of New York, there was lots of sugar to be had for the jazz player. And since the apple is the fruit with the highest sugar content, the nickname picked up as musicians began referring to their goal of playing in New York City as getting to "The Big Apple."
