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Saturday in the Park with Wales
Wales and I tried to go to Governor's Island (sigh, long story short - it did not happen, for reasons), but we did walk 5.9 miles and spent a few hours sitting on the grass, in the shade in Brooklyn Bridge Park.
In case you want to know why we didn't make it to Governor's Island?
We got the tickets from the electronic machine - which was impossible to read and didn't provide round-trip tickets.
ME: Why doesn't this machine provide round-trip ferry tickets?
Ferry man/personnel: We're a commuter ferry.
Wales: Well that explains it.
Me: No it doesn't. I work for a commuter transportation service - we supply round trip tickets.
Me: Can we get them from the other side?
Wales (sarcastically): No, they'll abandon us over there...come on, I'm sure we can - they won't leave us there.
Ferry man: Actually we will and have left people there - we're a commuter service.
Me and Wales look at each other: ...
Wales: Well we can get them on the other side. It's an adventure.
We find a line - the little sign says it stops at Wall Street, Governor's Island, and then various other sites - ending with Hunter's Point.
Me: Is this the line to Governor's Island?
Ferryman looks at sign: Yes, Ma'am.
So we join the long line.
A whole group of people are lined up to go to Wall Street only.
Me: Does Governor's Island go there too?
Ferry man: just wall street in that line.
20 - 30 minutes later, it's almost past 3 pm.
Ferry man: For those of you left behind - sorry, we can only fit so many on the ferry at a time. You can get on the next one which arrives in about 20 more minutes.
Wales: When does the Governor's Island one arrive?
Ferryman: Oh we don't go there.
We all look at the sign.
Ferryman: The sign is wrong - we only go there on weekdays not weekends.
ME: You're site says you do - on the internet.
Ferryman: We go to Wall St and you catch a shuttle from there, or you can go down further along the pier and pick it up there.
Wales: Will our tickets work for that one?
Ferryman: No, they won't.
Wales and I leave the line in a huff. (I did consider killing the little ferry man, with a moustach and thick accent - but chose not. There would be witnesses, and they'd stop me. So I offered to buy Wales an ice cream cone instead - since she bought the ferry tickets (they were only $5). And once we got in line - Wales was determined to get one from the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory.
The line was another twenty minutes. A bunch of indecisive twenty-something tourists and kids were ahead of us. (All Asian). The ferry dumped off a bunch of rich international tourists - most seemed to be from Spain, Japan, and Germany or Eastern Europe. You live in NYC long enough you can figure it out. )
The ice cream experience wasn't a pleasant one. The girl behind the counter was beyond annoyed with everyone. The people in front of us - felt the need to taste every flavor imaginable. I tasted two - and picked one. But she put two huge scoops - wedged in a tiny bowl. I was annoyed. It was melting quickly and all over my fingers, I also got some in my hair. Wales at least had the foresight to get napkins, and we found a nice place in the garden of the restaurant next door, to sit in the shade, under trees, to eat it. Away from the mob of tourists. Watched a Pakistani Family take photos of each other.
Then we searched for a bathroom, which resulted in navigating a crowd of people standing in line for food, including people with strollers and baby carriages (seriously people, why??), and opening the door - at last for the restrooms - only to pass five - six doors with gender neutral bathrooms, and a cleaning person - who gestured at a line of twenty some people (all without masks standing in front of us). I (who was at that point wearing one) glared at the line and the line glared back at me. We stood in the long co-ed line for about twenty minutes, chatting. And listening to the people around us speak in Spanish. They didn't necessarily look Spanish, but they appeared to only speak in Spanish. No one seemed to know English, or if they did - they didn't see any reason to speak it. (We had - on the way to the bathrooms - passed a bunch of people in traditional Mexican-Spanish costumes, with sombreros, taking photos.
Wales: Did you notice they were speaking "Spanish" from Spain not Mexican Spanish.
Me: Yeah. I could kind of understand it.
Wales: Exactly - you can tell the difference.
Me: It sounds more like French but isn't.
Wales: Yup.
Me: Tourists.
Wales: Yup.
I felt like somehow I'd managed to travel to Spain. Or somewhere in Europe. [Honestly, if you live in NYC, you don't really need to travel to Europe - they all come here and bring their culture with them.] No one was speaking English or English with an American accent anywhere around us in this very crowded mall that had sprung up in Dumb in the old Ruins - which used to house art exhibits, outdoor weddings and was pretty much open space. Now it was a mall with various restaurants, bars, a food court, and theater space. It was also packed with European and Japanese tourists who did not speak English, were twenty years younger than we were, and dressed very nicely. Wales was freaking out.
Wales: What happened? Where did all the art go? What is this?
ME: Gentrification. The artists did their thing, it drew the rich assholes, who developed the place into commercial real estate and viola! Also COVID apparently didn't hurt it at all.
I didn't know why she was so shocked, I'd seen it coming for a while now.
We high-tailed it out of there, and found a spot on the grass, and vegged for about an hour. Watching people. Including a group of young women and their picture perfect dogs - who looked like they had stepped out of a Manga Comic book. Seriously they fit it perfectly. Clothing, shows, mannerisms, hair style, face, body, and dogs. It was as if they were putting on a show - while everyone around them was just chilling.
This is a picture of Brooklyn Bridge Park, which is nestled between Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges on the Brooklyn Side, next to the water.
Then, wandered about aimlessly hunting the York Street Subway, finally gave up and went back up the steep hill to Montague Street, to have a lovely meal at an Northern Italian Restaurant (which had replaced the Brooklyn Heights Cafe).
Prior to all that, we stopped off in another section of the park - where I took better photos...
We also argued about where we were - on the way back to Montague Street.
Wales: We've gone too far - we're at Remsen.
Me: No, we're almost at Pierrpoint.
Wales: You're wrong - I know, this is how I came in.
Me: I'm not wrong. We're almost to Pierrepoint.
Wales: Well, I disagree.
Me: I am willing to bet you any amount that I'm right on this.
Wales: Okay a dollar.
We hit Pierrepoint street.
Wales: Okay, I owe you a dollar. This is a lot longer than I remember.
[Probably because we walked down the promenade on the way - and we weren't as tired.]
We hit a nice restaurant with outdoor dining. We read the menu - yep, it's workable. (It has gluten-free pasta. She had wanted to do Grimaldi's down near Brooklyn Bridge Park - but A) Crowded and B) I couldn't eat anything - it's not Gluten Free.)
***
When we met up - it took a bit to find each other. Why? Well..
Me: We're meeting at the entrance to the promenade at Montague Street.
Wales: okay.
**
Me: I got here. I'm at the Montague and Promenade.
Fifteen minutes later...
Me (texting): Okay, I have to go in search of a bathroom - off to the Barnes and Noble. Will be back soon.
Me: Made it to the toilet at B&N.
Wales: Oh. I'm at Pierrpoint Street and the promenade.
Me (WTF?): Why are you there? Okay, I'm leaving B&N and coming.
Wales: I couldn't find you. Got a little lost and decided to go here and read. LOL
Fifteen minutes later. I find her at Pierrepoint - which took longer than it would have to go down Montague, and I'd forgotten how long and boring that street truly is. Although less people. Apparently she'd gotten to Brooklyn around 12:30 or 12:45 and was wandering about hunting food in Downtown Brooklyn, because she has nothing at home. (She's not a cook.) And when she got my text that I'd gotten on the 12:45 train - she figured I'd take a while. (But I got there around 1:06 and to Montague by 1:10-1:15.)
She got there by 1:20, but went to the wrong spot, and we missed each other. Also, the trip from Montague to Barns and Noble on Court and Livingston was a lot further than I thought it would be.
[With the week I've had, and this Saturday, I've decided the Universe is gaslighting me. I looked up heavenwards and told it to stop. That said, it was all in all a good day and left me in a good mood. I'd missed wandering about Brooklyn with Wales. I like walking aimless about chatting with a friend, even a cranky one who is sick of walking. Altogether - we had clocked in 5.9 miles round trip. It helped work off some residue rage, frustration, and anxiety - to just walk it out. I've been sitting on my ass way too much. I needed to just walk about on a beautiful sunny day. Also sit on a nice towel in a grassy park, chatting with a friend. If it's nice on Sunday - I might hunt a place to sit outside and read. Or not, I'm a bit sore and tired from today.)
Leaving you with another picture from the park...
In case you want to know why we didn't make it to Governor's Island?
We got the tickets from the electronic machine - which was impossible to read and didn't provide round-trip tickets.
ME: Why doesn't this machine provide round-trip ferry tickets?
Ferry man/personnel: We're a commuter ferry.
Wales: Well that explains it.
Me: No it doesn't. I work for a commuter transportation service - we supply round trip tickets.
Me: Can we get them from the other side?
Wales (sarcastically): No, they'll abandon us over there...come on, I'm sure we can - they won't leave us there.
Ferry man: Actually we will and have left people there - we're a commuter service.
Me and Wales look at each other: ...
Wales: Well we can get them on the other side. It's an adventure.
We find a line - the little sign says it stops at Wall Street, Governor's Island, and then various other sites - ending with Hunter's Point.
Me: Is this the line to Governor's Island?
Ferryman looks at sign: Yes, Ma'am.
So we join the long line.
A whole group of people are lined up to go to Wall Street only.
Me: Does Governor's Island go there too?
Ferry man: just wall street in that line.
20 - 30 minutes later, it's almost past 3 pm.
Ferry man: For those of you left behind - sorry, we can only fit so many on the ferry at a time. You can get on the next one which arrives in about 20 more minutes.
Wales: When does the Governor's Island one arrive?
Ferryman: Oh we don't go there.
We all look at the sign.
Ferryman: The sign is wrong - we only go there on weekdays not weekends.
ME: You're site says you do - on the internet.
Ferryman: We go to Wall St and you catch a shuttle from there, or you can go down further along the pier and pick it up there.
Wales: Will our tickets work for that one?
Ferryman: No, they won't.
Wales and I leave the line in a huff. (I did consider killing the little ferry man, with a moustach and thick accent - but chose not. There would be witnesses, and they'd stop me. So I offered to buy Wales an ice cream cone instead - since she bought the ferry tickets (they were only $5). And once we got in line - Wales was determined to get one from the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory.
The line was another twenty minutes. A bunch of indecisive twenty-something tourists and kids were ahead of us. (All Asian). The ferry dumped off a bunch of rich international tourists - most seemed to be from Spain, Japan, and Germany or Eastern Europe. You live in NYC long enough you can figure it out. )
The ice cream experience wasn't a pleasant one. The girl behind the counter was beyond annoyed with everyone. The people in front of us - felt the need to taste every flavor imaginable. I tasted two - and picked one. But she put two huge scoops - wedged in a tiny bowl. I was annoyed. It was melting quickly and all over my fingers, I also got some in my hair. Wales at least had the foresight to get napkins, and we found a nice place in the garden of the restaurant next door, to sit in the shade, under trees, to eat it. Away from the mob of tourists. Watched a Pakistani Family take photos of each other.
Then we searched for a bathroom, which resulted in navigating a crowd of people standing in line for food, including people with strollers and baby carriages (seriously people, why??), and opening the door - at last for the restrooms - only to pass five - six doors with gender neutral bathrooms, and a cleaning person - who gestured at a line of twenty some people (all without masks standing in front of us). I (who was at that point wearing one) glared at the line and the line glared back at me. We stood in the long co-ed line for about twenty minutes, chatting. And listening to the people around us speak in Spanish. They didn't necessarily look Spanish, but they appeared to only speak in Spanish. No one seemed to know English, or if they did - they didn't see any reason to speak it. (We had - on the way to the bathrooms - passed a bunch of people in traditional Mexican-Spanish costumes, with sombreros, taking photos.
Wales: Did you notice they were speaking "Spanish" from Spain not Mexican Spanish.
Me: Yeah. I could kind of understand it.
Wales: Exactly - you can tell the difference.
Me: It sounds more like French but isn't.
Wales: Yup.
Me: Tourists.
Wales: Yup.
I felt like somehow I'd managed to travel to Spain. Or somewhere in Europe. [Honestly, if you live in NYC, you don't really need to travel to Europe - they all come here and bring their culture with them.] No one was speaking English or English with an American accent anywhere around us in this very crowded mall that had sprung up in Dumb in the old Ruins - which used to house art exhibits, outdoor weddings and was pretty much open space. Now it was a mall with various restaurants, bars, a food court, and theater space. It was also packed with European and Japanese tourists who did not speak English, were twenty years younger than we were, and dressed very nicely. Wales was freaking out.
Wales: What happened? Where did all the art go? What is this?
ME: Gentrification. The artists did their thing, it drew the rich assholes, who developed the place into commercial real estate and viola! Also COVID apparently didn't hurt it at all.
I didn't know why she was so shocked, I'd seen it coming for a while now.
We high-tailed it out of there, and found a spot on the grass, and vegged for about an hour. Watching people. Including a group of young women and their picture perfect dogs - who looked like they had stepped out of a Manga Comic book. Seriously they fit it perfectly. Clothing, shows, mannerisms, hair style, face, body, and dogs. It was as if they were putting on a show - while everyone around them was just chilling.
This is a picture of Brooklyn Bridge Park, which is nestled between Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges on the Brooklyn Side, next to the water.
Then, wandered about aimlessly hunting the York Street Subway, finally gave up and went back up the steep hill to Montague Street, to have a lovely meal at an Northern Italian Restaurant (which had replaced the Brooklyn Heights Cafe).
Prior to all that, we stopped off in another section of the park - where I took better photos...
We also argued about where we were - on the way back to Montague Street.
Wales: We've gone too far - we're at Remsen.
Me: No, we're almost at Pierrpoint.
Wales: You're wrong - I know, this is how I came in.
Me: I'm not wrong. We're almost to Pierrepoint.
Wales: Well, I disagree.
Me: I am willing to bet you any amount that I'm right on this.
Wales: Okay a dollar.
We hit Pierrepoint street.
Wales: Okay, I owe you a dollar. This is a lot longer than I remember.
[Probably because we walked down the promenade on the way - and we weren't as tired.]
We hit a nice restaurant with outdoor dining. We read the menu - yep, it's workable. (It has gluten-free pasta. She had wanted to do Grimaldi's down near Brooklyn Bridge Park - but A) Crowded and B) I couldn't eat anything - it's not Gluten Free.)
***
When we met up - it took a bit to find each other. Why? Well..
Me: We're meeting at the entrance to the promenade at Montague Street.
Wales: okay.
**
Me: I got here. I'm at the Montague and Promenade.
Fifteen minutes later...
Me (texting): Okay, I have to go in search of a bathroom - off to the Barnes and Noble. Will be back soon.
Me: Made it to the toilet at B&N.
Wales: Oh. I'm at Pierrpoint Street and the promenade.
Me (WTF?): Why are you there? Okay, I'm leaving B&N and coming.
Wales: I couldn't find you. Got a little lost and decided to go here and read. LOL
Fifteen minutes later. I find her at Pierrepoint - which took longer than it would have to go down Montague, and I'd forgotten how long and boring that street truly is. Although less people. Apparently she'd gotten to Brooklyn around 12:30 or 12:45 and was wandering about hunting food in Downtown Brooklyn, because she has nothing at home. (She's not a cook.) And when she got my text that I'd gotten on the 12:45 train - she figured I'd take a while. (But I got there around 1:06 and to Montague by 1:10-1:15.)
She got there by 1:20, but went to the wrong spot, and we missed each other. Also, the trip from Montague to Barns and Noble on Court and Livingston was a lot further than I thought it would be.
[With the week I've had, and this Saturday, I've decided the Universe is gaslighting me. I looked up heavenwards and told it to stop. That said, it was all in all a good day and left me in a good mood. I'd missed wandering about Brooklyn with Wales. I like walking aimless about chatting with a friend, even a cranky one who is sick of walking. Altogether - we had clocked in 5.9 miles round trip. It helped work off some residue rage, frustration, and anxiety - to just walk it out. I've been sitting on my ass way too much. I needed to just walk about on a beautiful sunny day. Also sit on a nice towel in a grassy park, chatting with a friend. If it's nice on Sunday - I might hunt a place to sit outside and read. Or not, I'm a bit sore and tired from today.)
Leaving you with another picture from the park...