Escape to the Beach (Part II)

The Coney Island crowd on a typical Friday night is quite a bit different than the crowd at the lone NYC summer music festival. The subway car was half empty when we rolled into the last stop on the D. Luna Park was vigorous as we walked by on our way to the beach. Flashing lights turned the area bright red and orange as screaming teenagers were flipped, dropped, and spun in delight on their chaotic rides. We walked passed the cacophony and amusement of the park and the horizon opened before us to the breadth of the beach. The sand was cold beneath my feet. We navigated our way among the beach towels lined up along the shore. Small families and groups of friends laughed, conversed, and soaked in the refreshing ocean breeze. It was divine.

The dinner of the finest heirloom tomatoes and cheese the Hudson Valley has to offer were washed down with a smooth pinot. Everything tasted more vibrant with the tang of the salt air. Every few moments the roar from the Cyclones game drifted across the summer sky. Manhattan became a distant memory as it felt as though we were all enjoying a leisurely summer night in a small town.

We brought a Frisbee, but never pulled it out of the bag. Instead, we opted for great food and even better conversation. The fireworks were surprisingly impressive, but not as impressive as the giant full moon that lit up after the last firework fizzled out. The great orb was so orange it looked like it was on fire.

At one point, cops came by and told us we couldn’t drink on the beach. They were cordial however, and we responded that we had already finished the bottle anyway. The chucked to themselves and simply said, “next time, hide it,” as they meandered off to patrol the rest of the beach. It was quite a different experience than run-ins with cops in the city.

The only dose of reality was when someone tried to make off with my bag. A group next to ours immediately let us know and one of my friend’s chased down the perpetrator. When he caught up to him, the man simply handed the bag back. Theft is a big problem in Coney Island, actually, and the following week was featured in a headline story in the Metro. It was a little reminder that though it might seem like we were enjoying ourselves in small town Americana, we were 20 miles from the largest metropolis in the world.

Making our way back to that metropolis later that night however, it seemed worth the trip. When you’re wilting in the summer heat, taking a trip back in time with a little ocean air is all it takes to make you bloom.