Castles Made Of Sand

Castles Made Of Sand – Jimi Hendrix

With the exception of Manhattan, all New York boroughs sport ocean beaches. Staten Island, Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx: you can go for a swim anywhere you like – within the specific hours and confined boundaries set by the New York Coast Parks Commission, that is, but still. And that’s exactly what New Yorkers do on a hot summer day. However, spending a day of leisure at the beach is not as straightforward as it may sound. Bathers in New York are pretty much left to their own devices. Rockaway Beach in Queens sets a sad example, even on weekends. There is no ice cream truck, no burger joint, not a single chaise lounge to rent. There’s one hot dog guy, squeezed in between the public bathroom and a vendor of cheap sunglasses. A cover band plays Pink Floyd and CCR on a desolate playground, later in the afternoon. But that just about sums it up. No beach hotels, no promenade lined with shops, no restaurants. Not a beach pavilion in sight.

On any Dutch beach, you can’t slipper ten feet without stumbling into a pavilion, right on the beach. Lazy bikinis lounging on easy chairs or bean bags, sipping rose or enjoying a late supper; toes curled in the sand; a dj playing music. Even with Dutch summers being notoriously drizzly, there are still a dazzling 34 beach pavilions, making the best of a mere two miles of sandy beach in Scheveningen alone. The contrast couldn’t be any bigger.
Except maybe in comparison to Orchard Beach, lovingly dubbed the Rivièra of the Bronx, where 90% of its visitors don’t even make it to the crescent shaped beach; the parking lot and meadow leading to the sand, on the other hand, are cram packed with families having extensive barbecues. Elaborately set tables, party tents, music, and laughter in Spanish. Fun and cozy as it looks, it’s hardly a day at the beach.

New York City makes for one of the most enthusiastically developed pieces of land in the world. How come its beaches are still left unscathed? (Alright, to be fair, things are stirring in the world of coastline development – but slowly, very slowly. The vacant lot behind the Rockaway boardwalk promises a beach resort, with a YMCA. And a Pizza hut. ‘In a future phase’, according to carefully placed signs along the empty road. For now, unkempt weeds and wildflowers are skyrocketing on site. No one has been constructing anything here lately.)

The one beach that offers some kind of entertainment is Brooklyn’s Coney Island. To get to the water one must pass through the wonderfully derelict Coney Island amusement park donning the scariest ride ever (signs along the line boast: This wooden ride hasn’t changed since 1928! Sufferers from heart disease enter at own risk!) and past two and a half viciously competitive hot dog sellers (signs along the boardwalk warn: These tables are only for Giro Corner customers. Not for Nathans!). The beach itself looks a little forlorn. More shards than shells. A handful of overweight, overly tan Russians sagging in little home-brought chairs dominate the scene. And again, not a beach pavilion in sight.