Do you know what happens every four years? Besides the Olympics? I have a New York City beach day. This time, thanks to Evan, I hitched a ride to Rockaway Beach.
Rockaway Beach has had a lot of buzz lately. I guess word is out about its abandoned cat houses (not "cat houses" but houses apparently owned by cats)
We staked a claim on the sand and set down the beach's most stylish towels.
And then I grabbed a little lunch from the Rockaway Tacos beachside satellite outpost (believe me the genuine Rockaway Tacos will be talked about before the end of the post)
Got some flautas and a watermelon water to take back to the sand.
We were supposed to be celebrating Evan's birthday but somehow the group conversation couldn't move far from a certain recently announced engagement.
As the Rockaways are JFK's back porch there's a lot of low flying aircraft on its way out of town. This is one of those new beluga whale double decker jets. Headed to Dubai or something.
After a solid four or five hours, we depart.
But the day is not through! We have dinner to eat!
At Rockaway beach's famous Rockaway Tacos.
It is a hopping joint with music blasting through the kitchen. Somehow we showed up in a lull where we could just walk up and order. A lull like that is shortlived at Rockaway Taco.
Everyone's favorite taco? Fish.
Nice and homey salsa bar.
Easy to understand seating arrangement in back.
A tradition of only a few years, but an excellent one indeed.
When we finished the place was packed.
Heading for transportation. Some to trains, others to the car.
Don't worry, Chris. We won't leave you!
Leaving we saw terrible automobile/bus misfortune.
Aspirational inspiration. Go to Harvard and all this could be yours, too.
The mysteries of the Rockaways.
Packing in High School style. I mean, I've heard that sometimes in High School a whole bunch of kids will cram in a car, sometimes even exceeding the number of seat belts in the automobile. That's what I heard.
We received a call that Sylvia had left her bag on the subway platform. And do you know what I find on the platform when I go looking for her bag? Her bag! New York miscreants, your game is getting weak.
Riding back to civilization as I know it, see New York sights I've never seen before. Ever ever.
And in downtown Brooklyn, the house that Jay is building.
Epilogue: Just look at the line for Big Gay Ice Cream. It's like no one realizes there's about a half dozen (or quarter dozen?) other ice creameries on 7th street.