By Ryn GargulinskiIn Brooklyn: It still rocks. It’s still adorned with gorgeous views of the second-coolest bridge in the world, the Verrazano-Narrows, parks packed with dogs afrolic on deep green grass and it still has good bagels. Trees still grow there, although many were knocked asunder from their first tornado in 50 years the day after I left. My favorite thing about Brooklyn remains that neighborhood feel, something that took me about 10 years to appreciate after kicking and screaming at my move out of Manhattan. I’d not have it any other way, except to perhaps make the subway ride into my favorite Manhattan haunts a little quicker.
At Coney Island: They are going to wreck it by ripping down everything fun, funky, seedy and cool and erecting high rise somethings that people will pay top dollar for and still live near a crime-ridden neighborhood. Much controversy is hitting the graffiti-ed wall on this one, especially since rumor has it the guy who snatched up all the land will raze everything and let empty lots fill up with broken bottles to force the city to approve whatever zoning he needs to build what he wants. The bat cage and speed racers were already gone, say goodbye to Astroland and the kiddie rides, but at least word has it no one's destroying the adorable Freak Show.
At the Beach with Wendy: Since she despises Coney Island, we took a couple of jaunts to Jacob Riis Park in the Rockaways. Must admit the atmosphere is much calmer by the seaside, especially since I was once hit in the head with a soccer ball at Coney Island. I still love the sand, the sun, the umbrella to block the sun since everyone in Tucson talks about skin cancer and the majestic Atlantic. After living in the Northwest, I found the Pacific to be a cold angry sea, at least up by Oregon. You couldn’t even swim in it without 22 layers of wetsuit protection and a helmet for when you crashed into the massive rocks. In the Atlantic we dipped marvelously in the surf beneath the fattest seagulls you ever did see.
On the Brooklyn Bridge: Plan to have your camera’s battery run out just when you hit the middle of the bridge where you have the best photo ops with the NYC skyline. No one was walking a dog on the bridge, either, and I wondered if it were not allowed or dog owners were just smart enough to figure out walking a dog 119 feet above the East River with zooming cars, rambling tourists and massive noise on either side of you is just not the best idea. Regardless of the massive heat that hit New York while I was there, you get a damn good breeze perched on the ultimate bridge in the world.
On the R Train: Subways still suck (although they’ve made some hearty improvements in the past two years). Some of the lines have the high-tech mapping and computer voice system once only found beneath the streets of Paris. Unfortunately, the computer voice went in the wrong direction on two separate occasions. The first faux pas happened at Coney Island when it told passengers we were in Harlem. The second was a Brooklyn-bound N train it said was next stopping in Queens.
In Manhattan: It’s still grimy, crazy, crowded, zany and hopelessly romantic.
