We packed up and said goodbye to camp, and the lovely Bishop Creek, then headed to the nearby town of Bishop in search of coffee and breakfast.

We found Erick Schat’s dutch-themed (?) bakery

I recall eating at an Erick Schatt‘s about 6 or 7 years ago while snowboarding in nearby Mammoth. For some reason, the thing that stood out most about that experience was not the bread/baked goods, but that they had a fresh-squeezed orange juice machine. They had one here too.

We loaded up on sheepherder’s bread (b/c they are famous for it), and mule bread (another multi-grained combination), and purchased sandwiches from the deli for a planned picnic later on in the day.

This place was crazy-busy with all sorts of tourists, many of whom were foreign. I find this kind of funny, given the fact that this place tries to evoke a European old-world, yet Americana-kitsch quality. Of all the people at Schatt’s, I would guess that 90% were foreign. And many were loading up on a minimum of 5 loaves of bread each, most with at least 10 loaves in their overflowing baskets. Very strange, yet somewhat theme park-like. Good place to people watch while enjoying a cup of joe.

Back on the road. Original “plans” included lunch at Devil’s Postpile national monument, however, snowy conditions (even in May) meant it was closed.

Instead, we detoured to June Lake.

Until this point, June Lake remained a mystical place that we learned of from a group of retired ladies we met a year ago in Bearpaw High Sierra Camp. They raved about the June Lake loop hike. Now I know why.

It was beautiful here. And while the water was a bit chilly, people were swimming in it. Beach was a bit rocky, but still a real sandy beach.

We ate our sandwiches, played with ducks, and goofed around a bit in the water/on the rocks.

After sitting in the afternoon sun, at a higher elevation, with little protection, it felt a bit like our retinas were going to burn out of our skulls. So back in the car we went. We explored the ‘town’ of June Lake — tiny, quaint, one of every type shop or restuarant you could ever need. In the winter, I imagine there to be a Norman Rockwell quality about it. In the summer, or the beginning of summer/end of a holiday weekend, the town remained quiet and still, and borderline deserted.

Our last “real” stop on our roadtrip was Mono Lake — a place I had dreamed of visiting ever since first seeing photos of the moonscape-like terrain.

The water is so salty, that you practically float. We didn’t get the chance to try it, but next time, we plan on taking an inflatable boat out there during sunset, taking some pictures, and watching the sun set.

One thing I didn’t realize is the decades-long battle over the water from Mono Lake. The short of it is — people from LA needed water, and some enterprising people built a pipe from Mono to LA, draining the lake of its resources. There are markers all along the trail to the lake indicating how high the water once was, and how quickly it took to drain the lake of hundreds of feet of water. I’m not sure where things stand now. I know people died over this fight for water. But I don’t know if the issue has been totally resolved. You can read more about it here.

We continued along 395, stopping for gas (and a few pictures) in Bridgeport.

If you had showed me these photos prior to visiting, I would have never guessed they were taken in California. It felt so remote on the other side of the Sierras.

Not long after, we crossed through the Sierras via Rte 88, one of the most stunning drives I have ever made in California.

If the world ever came to an end, this seems like one of those places where you’d still be able to find people. It’s still remote, and still pristine, untouched by too many people–a rarity in California.

We drove by so many historical markers, camp sites, remote historic cabins for rent (we have to come back), hot springs, and ski resorts. We didn’t get a chance to stop anywhere else, but we made mental notes for future trips.

Not long after this trip, the governor of California announced the closing of many of the state parks. The news of that rattled me somewhat, and I uncharacteristically signed many a petition and actually became a reasonably aware voter for once. I mention this because I couldn’t, and can’t, imagine California without access to its parks. It’s unthinkable to me. Maybe it’s because I’m selfish — I have still so much I have left to see — but the other part of me kept thinking — what if I never get the chance to swim in Mono Lake at sunset?

SEE

Mono Lake: 13 miles east of Yosemite National Park and east of the Sierras, just off US 395 between Lee Vining and Bridgeport.

SLEEP

June Lake Campground: ($17/night. Flush toilets. Off 395, follow signs to June Lake on 158. There are several campgrounds around the lake, and if you are making the June Lake Loop hike. When you first spot the lake, there are several campgrounds nearby the beach — these are not recommended due to the fact that there are no trees, and a blazing hot sun. If you keep driving, you’ll pass several campgrounds and RV parks. June Lake Campground has several somewhat closely spaced sites, many of which have individual private boat ramps.)

EAT

Erick Schat’s: (763 N. Main Street, Bishop California. $5-$10. The pastries were ok, but the deli was amazing. Do as the Europeans you will encounter do: buy several loaves of their zillions of types of bread, and make a picnic of it.)

www.brownbagtravel.wordpress.com

With Lake Isabella still lingering in our minds, we figured we had nothing to lose–a benefit of having no plans/agendas/or reservations.

But first, we had to drive through desert terrain on Highway 395

I guess you could say we drove through towns, although, at times the definition of “town” became questionable. In the desert, it’s hard to tell sometimes if items/towns/rubbage in the middle of nowhere are still in use, or if they have been sitting perfectly preserved for decades.

At the visitor’s center, located at the intersection of where 395 meets the road into Death Valley, you can purchase backcountry passes to climb Mt. Whitney. Or, if you are like us, you can enjoy the view of Mt. Whitney from the shady picnic grounds.

Continuing north on HWY 395: Every gas station served several functions: gas, convenience store, housing, chicken coop, small farm, and potential pony rides.

Several hours later, we reached the turn-off for Rte 168 in Bishop.

I didn’t realize we would be heading into the mountains…

About 45 minutes and 15 miles of winding roads later, we reached Bishop Park Campground. Luck was on our side, as we snagged the last available campsite, camp #13

We set up camp on the soft sands right along Bishop Creek. The sound of the rushing water was what we woke up to and fell asleep to every night. Pretty amazing for $23 a night.

Once the tent had been pitched, and our gear had been stowed in bear lockers, we decided to try our hand at fishing. Bishop Creek supposedly is teeming with brown trout.

We tried our best to find the fish — went upstream, went downstream, gauged the current, crossed fallen trees, tried to find the calm, dark, spots of water where we were sure the trout lay lurking.

Several hours later, we had given up and moved on to another location: the nearby North Lake

(We were equally unlucky, but we sure did enjoy the magnificent view)

Near the turnoff for North lake is a calmer part of Bishop Creek. We could SEE the trout here with our own two eyes, taunting us, daring us to toss in our line only so they could swim towards it, then swim away.

Needless to say, we didn’t eat fish for dinner.

Instead, we cooked (fishless) campfire (ok, gas grill) chili while we watched the sun slip behind the clouds, and turn the sky pink and orange.

When night fell, the nearby camp of frat boys on a retreat of some sort started to sing in harmony with one another – a strange, yet haunting, melody accompanied by the crackling of the fire, and the sound of water rushing over the rocks in the nearby creek. Miles away from civilization, nestled in the mountains of a place I never imagined existed, that was our entertainment for the evening.

SLEEP

Bishop Park Campground – ($23/night. There are upper and lower sites–the upper sites are close to where they sell wood, and many RVs tend to be here. The lower sites are closer to the highway, and are right along the river. Flush toilets cleaned regularly. Firewood available on site for $8. Bear lockers. Vehicles must be parked in separate lot, so in some ways the lower sites are walk-in. As far as I know, reservations are only accepted for group campsites).

EAT

Best bet is to bring your own food, but if you’re stuck, Bishop is about a 15 mile drive from camp. Even closer is the Bishop Creek Resort, near Lake Sabrina, several miles from camp.

With our grand plans thwarted due to weather reports indicating rain (conspiracy), we had to improvise. The car had long-since been packed, all we needed was an inspiring destination. After consulting several maps, and exchanging several terse words with one another, we decided to head towards Lake Isabella in the Southern Sequoia area. According to my camping guidebook (which I am now starting to distrust), camping was plentiful and fish were jumping. Seemed like an ideal place to spend Memorial Day weekend, and a just reward for two spontaneous adventurers (cough) such as ourselves.

From SF to Lake Isabella is about a 5-6 hour drive? I can hardly remember. It felt like an extremely long, uneventful, and painful drive.

About 3am, or some time in those whereabouts, we pulled into Lake Isabella…and drove around and around and around trying to find a camping spot, many of which were no reservation sites. All looked as if they were spilling out at the seams. Around and round we went, trying to remain positive, scoping out cute chalet-style restaurants to visit during the trip. We tried unsuccessfully to pump ourselves up, “yeah, this place looks, um…really…yeah…it probably is beautiful in the daytime…yeah…big lake…” It didn’t work. The more loops we made around the lake, the more I disliked the place.

Needing a bathroom break, we finally settled on Camp 9, where the guidebook said we would find flush toilets and lake views. Instead…how can I describe this…Camp 9 reminded me of a post-apocalyptic refugee camp on par with Mad Max or Waterworld. No trees, just barren, grassy fields set up in marshy land next to the water. The campsites were literally right next to one another — a strip of asphalt with “lakeside view,” housing maybe 25-30 RVs, touching nose to nose, sprinkled intermittently with a few tents who were illegally camped there. At least it was quiet in this part of camp.

Not so much at the other circle/loop of campsites nearby, where we discovered 3 available spots, all right next to each other, but at least on a plot of (dead) grass. There were maybe 50+ campsites clustered in a loop here, with maybe 2 or 3 feet separation from one another. At 3 am, approximately 90% of the people (who apparently all arrived in an SUV or 4WD truck) were still awake, with bright lights shining from their truck headlights focused on the camp/party sites, and plentiful bud lite being passed among bros.

Sliding precariously halfway down a hill was a singular, wobbly port-a-potty. (ONE flush toilet for entire campground existed high on the hill away from the water. Bring a flashlight if you use it at night–there were no lights). One port-a-potty for 50+ drunk dudes. That was a deal breaker. It didn’t take long for us to weigh our options of staying the night, waking up next day, and moving to a better camp, or driving all night until we found a suitable camp.

And so we drove. And we never looked back.

Out of sheer proximity, randomness, and a little bit of luck, we stumbled upon Kennedy Meadows ($17/night, pit toilets, water pump)  in the Dome Land wilderness of Sequoia National Forest/Inyo National Forest. By the time we arrived, we were able to catch the sun rising through the trees–just enough light to set up camp, and not enough light to be daunted by the horrible fly-laden pit toilets.

We slept through the morning and into the early afternoon under some very lovely trees.

Camp Kennedy

You can hike and swim and fish here (the kern river flows right by camp). It is also the starting or ending point for PCT hikers, of which we saw a few. We, however, chose to do absolutely nothing. Instead, we spent the day cooking on a portable grill

Grilled Chicken Offal

reading under this awesome tree (welcome shade in 80-90 degree daytime heat)

afternoon at Kennedy Meadows

and generally just relaxing, eating good food, drinking lime bud lites, talking, and enjoying the view

view from camp

We stayed at site #10, btw. — in my opinion site 10, and the sites surrounding it were the best in the loop. They are close, but not too close, to the horrible pit toilets with the dead fly carpet. It’s also close to one of the camp’s water pumps, none of which were working at the end of May (you can find water at the General Store up the road).

While we could still hear and see neighbors, each camp had quite a bit of land and trees between sites, so there was some sense of privacy, and of “getting away from it all.”

In a million years, I would have never thought to camp this deep into no-man’s land. Yet, somehow a community of people have discovered this place, and have chosen to settle here. Apparently, this place has long-since been a site for camping, fishing and hunting. To get here, you travel from desert scrub, up over and beside a canyon, through what we called “barren wasteland” (a bunch of burned trees), to the meadow. How did people ever think to find this place, so perfectly hidden from the rest of the world?

Not only that, but build a monument to ice cream

ice cream!

Ice cream seems like a popular treat in these parts, as every one of the 3 stores in this 10-15 mile area have signs advertising ice cold ice cream. The shop near this ice cream memorial scared me — was it open, was it closed? All I know is that there was an “ice cream” sign outside of what looked to be  someone’s house. An old bearded guy with busted baseball cap sat picking his teeth near the door. We drove on. But if you want gas, they also seem to sell that. Ice cream and gas. Nice combo.

you can get a couple gallons with your ice cream

Furthest up the road from the camp is Grumpy Bear’s Restaurant and Tavern (2C-10 Kennedy Meadows Rd.  Inyokern, CA), where we decided to stop for firewood.

In the driveway, while taking pictures of this

someone's home

I noticed off in the distance, a 10 or 11-yr old African American boy, dressed in a tshirt 3x too big, walking through the fields with a 3 or 4 yr old white kid on his back. I don’t know what about the sight of those 2 struck me as being so odd, except that the memory of those kids, so out of place, has stuck with me.

We went inside Grumpy’s, obviously out of place ourselves. This place must have been built in the late 1960s, and never ever changed since (looks like the events calendar at Grumpy Bears was updated last in 2005–probably has not changed since either). On the left side, is the worlds smallest gift shop/supply store, where I’m pretty sure you can buy an assortment of products from 1970s that have yet to see the light of day. On the right was a more lively atmosphere — the tavern with a bar, pool tables, and quite a few locals. We were eventually greeted by a hostess, who asked if we were interested in trying their bbq (‘It’s real good”), and told us that their closing time was “whenever everyone decided to leave.” She was really friendly. A good vibe. We considered eating there, hanging with the locals and all that, but instead we returned to camp.

on the road

watched the sunset by the river–apparently a decent fishing hole,

watching the sun set

And ate some chili-lime marinated chicken by the nice fire, which we fed for hours and hours, not wanting it to ever die.

sitting by the campfire

No idea what we talked about for so long, but really, being outdoors, sitting by the campfire with bellies full of grilled chicken, there is a certain satisfaction that exceeds words. And so we sat together, enjoying the fire, and that feeling,  as long as we could.

SLEEP

Camp 9, Lake Isabella — ($17, night, 100 campsites at first come, first serve basis. 3 flush toilets and multiple porta-potties service the campsites, many of which are RV-only. Not recommended, even the ones with lake view. There’s no shade, and campsites are extremely close together)

Kennedy Meadows ($17/night, west of Hwy 395, in the Southern Sierra range. There are several nearby camps, including Fish Creek. Click for more info.)

EAT

Grumpy Bear’s Restaurant and Tavern (2c-10 Kennedy Meadows Road, $10 BBQ/American pub food, beer, pool table, ice cream–pretty much the only place besides the General Store to get a hot meal)

SHOP

General Store (up the road from Kennedy Meadow Campground–this is kind of the hub of the meadows — you can get a bite to eat, fishing gear, books, water, beer, pick up mail, tshirts, etc. a little bit of everything)

SEE

Lake Isabella (340miles/5hrs south of San Francisco–the website says its California’s best-kept secret. There is nothing secret about this place. Keep driving, not recommended)

After an extended weekend/week in NYC, I hopped on an evening plane to Boston, arriving at Logan airport around 8pm — just in time to catch the pink and purple sunset, which I was told, I was lucky to see. The weather in early June had thus far been cold, windy, and drizzly.

Sunset in Boston

Something that surprised me about Logan airport is that it stretches out over what I would imagine to be prime real estate right along the water. When landing, the entire city and harbor stretches out before you as if you had paid $20 for the view. I don’t understand the logic of having an airport here, except that, when time is of the essence, it’s an extremely convenient and short taxicab ride into what I guess is downtown Boston.

As tempting as it was to call it a night, order in, and spend the remainder of the evening watching hotel cable (something that ranks in my top 10 list of favorite things to do), I forced myself to venture out. First to dinner at Legal Seafoods (255 State Street), as recommended by Sherwin:

Boston Clam Chowder

I could have stopped at the 5,000 calorie bowl of chowder. Of course I didn’t.

spicy fish n chips

After gorging on so much food, I decided that I HAD to take a walk. Returning to the room in my overly-bloated-gluttonous state was not an option.

And so began my tour of downtown Boston, crumpled map swiped from hotel room in hand. I never really followed it, I just walked around from landmark to landmark, reading plaques and billboards, and slowly navigating my way through and around a city I essentially knew nothing about.

I begin my journey here:

important looking building

Then made my way through some winding streets, pushed back several drunk frat boys laughing in street, and tossed aside a heavily-accented, “smile, sweetheard” comment from random meathead passerby.

Old State House

On my way to Boston Common (what I decided was my end destination for the night), I walked past several cemeteries — strange to see in the center of a town, but cool nonetheless.

old cemetery

Strange to think of Boston as a little more provincial–skyscrapers replaced with horse-drawn carriages, throngs of people stumbling around filthy streets. Strange to think of all the things that took place in this particular spot in the U.S. — physically and historically. I guess I always knew as much from reading history books, but never really thought about it until seeing it face-to-face.

A lot of really famous people are buried here too.

Granary Burial Ground

While peering through the slatted fence, I was ambushed by a group of tourists taking a night tour of the cemeteries (maybe other stuff too) — I hesitated, wondering if I should sneak into their group. Then the tour guide, dressed in late 1700s ragamuffin attire, opened her mouth, and out came the most annoying, fake cockney I ever did hear. Mission aborted.

The tour seemed cool though, or at least roaming a cemetery at night did. I think they had some weird seance thing at one of the more prominent tombstones–I didn’t stick around to watch.

Instead, I walked to Boston Common

Church near Boston Common

Not sure what I was expecting — maybe something that resembled a college quad? The park or common or whatever it is, is not as big as like a golden gate or central park, however, surprisingly enough, so much has happened in this plot of grass — skirmishes, cow grazing, Revolutionary War campsite, riots, concerts, speeches, hangings.

At night, it’s rather quiet, save for the rattling coughs of several of the park’s more colorful inhabitants.

Boston Common at Night

Btw, I’m assuming that my little night tour of the city, and the park was a rather safe outing to do solo. Even the smaller, more mysterious darker alleys seemed somewhat well-lit. Regardless, on a Tuesday evening, there were plenty of people enjoying a brewskie or five in one of the many pubs in the city. The only time I felt a little weird was when I took a picture of a monument and heard some rustling in the foliage. Closer examination (tried not to stare) revealed some guy, standing in the shadows, leaning against a tree either drinking a can of beer or playing a recorder-type instrument. It was too dark to tell. Something about the setup seemed awkward, and I left promptly after spotting him.

I retraced my steps back to the hotel, stopping at Emack and Bolio’s (255 State Street)– supposedly one of the best ice cream places in the US. I had a coffee bean/vanilla concoction served in a rice krispie studded cone:

ice cream for the connoisseur (that's trademarked, btw)

I spent the remainder of the evening lingering about the wharf/pier next to my hotel (long wharf?) and trying to save my ice cream cone from melting while I snapped my final photos.

the city lights

Because of  all the trash-talking I’ve heard towards/about Boston (namely, the Red Sox) from my NY-born and bred friend, I was expecting more of a slummy, industrial/port, dbag vibe. Not so. At least from what I saw (at night), Boston was actually quite a nice town.

SLEEP:

Boston Marriott Long Wharf (296 State Street, on Boston Harbor), $210/night for double.  Great location. Rooms are modern, but the interior of the hotel has a strange, 1970s layout/look and feel. I’d stay here again.

EAT:

Legal Seafoods (255 State Street – various locations throughout Boston), $10-$30.  Bowl of soup with bread is $6.50 and extremely filling, even for dinner.

Emack and Bolio’s (255 State Street – various locations throughout Boston),$5-$10. A single scoop of ice-cream in fancy cone cost about $6-7 bucks. Almost as much as a bowl of soup at nearby Legal Seafood. Worth a try, unconvinced if worth the premium price.

SEE:

Boston Ghost Tour, if you can get past the phony accents of the overly enthusiastic tour guides, the tour seemed like a fun one to take.

It was only in discussing evening plans with my friend, a recent NY transplant, that we jokingly talked about visiting the Empire State Building as a way to spend the evening. At first we both laughed heartily at the suggestion, being that we are so above such things (ha!), but as the night wore on, the idea sounded more and more appealing.

In fact, “being tourists” became our theme for the night. Walks like a duck, talks like a duck, okay dammit, maybe I’m a tourist.

But first, a 1hr+ subway ride from the Bronx to the East Village to  mission headquarters, aka Ippudo NY (65 4th Ave,between 2nd Ave & 8th St), to satisfy my day-old Ramen craving and discuss the evening plans.

classic ramen

This Ramen house — which is all the rage on the Yelping scene — required a 1 hr wait at 9:30/10 pm on a Monday. If the food justifies the wait, then I’m all for it. The food, however, has to be amazing for that long of a wait.

The verdict: It was good. $15 for a bowl of noodles, combined with a $1hr wait, combined with the overly affectionate couple sitting across the bench table from us = I’d consider other options before frequenting here again. As far as I could tell, there’s not much of a reason for the hype. It’s good, but then NY is flooded with so many good restaurants.

Late night etertainment came in the form of moving the cube in Astor Place, which my partner in crime told me was popular with the tourists.

Astor Place cube

Getting that thing to move was a bit like trying to swim in mud. It didn’t help that I had 3 liters of ramen sloshing around in my stomach.

Most amusing were the people who stopped to watch me and my friend push this cube around (while chuckling hysterically inbetween huffs and puffs), as if we were street buskers. Once we left, like a chain reaction, they tried their hands at the cube-pushing, and were watched by a new batch of onlookers, who took their place once they left, and so on and so forth. As the cube turns.

Meanwhile, we were well on our way towards a well-traveled part of town

Flatiron building

A building I have passed many times, yet never stopped to actually look.

We goofed around here on an island in the middle of the street, taking stupid pictures of each other, and smiling/posing as cheesy as humanly possible, before moving onto the main event.

View from the top

We managed to catch the last elevator up, which was about 10:30 (the website indicates the ESB closes at 2am, however, when we were there, it closed at 11:30).  One of my hesitations about visiting the Empire State Building was that I had heard to buy tickets in advance because it was always sold out or the lines were always impossibly long. I don’t know how reliable my sources were, or even if this is just something I assumed, but at 10:30 on a Monday, we essentially had the place to ourselves.

Viewfinders

Something to note for people who have more regular schedules — from the escalator in the lobby to the first ticket booth, to the second ticket booth, to the first elevator to the second elevator were those velvet line separators. I have no idea if, on a typical day, there are enough people to wind around the velvet ropes that many times, but I don’t think I ever want to know. All I know is that on a Monday, the last elevator up held just me and my friend, who joined maybe 10 other people to a view that seemed to belong only to us.  I guess there could be romance to that type of setting, but if you had to share the view with whatever maximum capacity is, I don’t think it would be remotely enjoyable. Another thing to note is that if you have plans of going to the 102nd floor — we only went as far as the 86th — it will cost you an extra $15, for a grand total whopping $35 view  (Grouse Mountain, anyone?).  If you add audio tours, express pass, all that other stuff, you’re looking at upwards of $50 or more. For a frickin’ view, people.  I cannot see any reason to want to go all the way to the top — you’d just be further away from taking the standard Chrysler building photos, and you wouldn’t get the “looking up to see the lit part of the building” shot.

Alternately, if you are in the military, and wear your uniform, you get in free. That’s pretty cool.

looking up

After trying to get our money’s worth (i.e. taking as many silly pictures as possible until we were kicked out), we took several elevators down until we were dumped into the glorious gift shop. The Bronx Zoo should take a lesson from these retail geniuses — pretty much anything and everything you could ever want stamped with the Empire State Building logo/building/king kong could be found in an assortment of products. If you’ve been to M&M world in Vegas — well, this was like that.

I walked away with this, my only souvenir:

Flattened penny souvenir

I think my friend wanted me to have a memory of that night, which I told him in my typical abrasive/sarcastic/charming manner was lame, especially given how for one buck, they could at least stamp a date onto the penny. Moments later, I found my friend fiddling with a random sharp object (keys? pocket knife?) carving the date helter skelter style into the backside of the penny. I still have that penny, thank you very much, and I actually will probably tuck it away someplace safe, to be reminded of our shenanigans atop the Empire State Building every time I come across it.

As beautiful as it was up on the top, $20 to say you’ve been at the top of the Empire State Building still seems like a steep price to pay. I’m 50/50 on whether or not it was worth it–on the one hand, my box has now been sufficiently checked. On the other, $20 for a nice view that I could have probably had a some high rise bar…not 100% sold. Whether you decide to go up, the lobby itself is well worth a visit, and is an example of an exquisite art deco interior. It kind of sets the mood, and makes me wonder what old New York must have been like.

at least 2 guards yelled at me while taking this picture. he was trying to get all the tourists to go home.

Tourist trap, well-loved landmark, memory of a time since past, must-see New York — whatever you want to call it — the point is we had a fun time, being stupid, and acting like the ridiculous tourists that we were, or at least that I was.

There, I said it.

leaving the building

EAT

Ippudo NY (65 4th Ave,between 2nd Ave & 8th St)

SEE

Empire State Building (Fifth Avenue at 34th Street)

Some things to note about visiting the Bronx Zoo

• Mostly locals frequent here, as it’s not the easiest place to get to from Manhattan. I have no idea what would be involved public transportation-wise, but I think it would entail an hour long subway ride if you’re coming from Manhattan.  If it were me, and I didn’t have a car like I did this time, I’d take a cab
• The operating hours are surprisingly short, especially considering that dusk in the summertime isn’t until around 8pm. Closing at 5pm in the summer seems stupid to me. If this place closes at 5pm in the summer, I wonder what time it closes in the winter.
• We went on a Monday and, while crowded, it wasn’t unbearably so. I shudder to think what the weekend crowd must be like.
• There are several parking areas that fill up quickly and cost $10 to park. Another option is to park nearby and walk in. Consider it a $10 convenience fee. The people walking into the park from destination unknown looked miserable–especially when it started raining later that afternoon.

Admission is $15, or a stiff $27 if you get there early and want to do the whole shebang (gorilla forest, butterfly garden, monorail, etc–all the extras). A much better deal is the $75 membership option or the $120 family membership good for a year for use in a variety of parks/zoos/gardens. Obviously, this doesn’t make sense if you are visiting for just one day, as we were. We opted for the general admission rate, figuring we could add on the extras ($2-$3 per attraction) if needed. For ultimate cheapies, Wednesdays are pay what you wish, but given that this zoo, like many others, is/has faced financial issues, it seems wrong to pay less than asking price.

The Zoo itself is not massive, and is easily walkable. In my opinion, no need to spend money on the tram, unless you are old/injured/lazy.

Astor Court

A brief history on the zoo: It opened to the public in 1899 and was the first zoo to phase out cages and exhibit animals in naturalistic habitats. Many of the original buildings and exhibits (although, I’m guessing, not animals) still exist in their original locations. The zoo was chartered by what is now known as the Wildlife Conservation Society (or vice versa) which has been a major force in habitat conservation and wildlife preservation for endanagered and nearly extinct species. Seems like kind of a radical idea back in the turn-of-the century when the zoo and the WCF was established.

Species such as the Pere David Deer exist only in captivity after being wiped out in their native China during the Boxer Revolution.

Pere David Deer

I think that it’s the goal of the WCF and the Zoo to eventually return captivity-only species to their natural habitat. For this reason, I think places like the Bronx Zoo are important. I’ve been to under-funded exhibition only zoos before, and seeing the sad state of the animals there (namely a caged wolf pacing back and forth to the point where he created ruts in the grass) has been stuck in my mind as a vividly heartbreaking memory that I’ve carried with me since I was 8 years old.

The Bronx Zoo is not like this.

Although this photo of a semi-caged camel does little to support my claims.

lazy camel

For the most part, the recreated animal habitats, like the Sea Bird Aviary, where birds flew freely around a netted, open-air habitat, were great.

Penguins

In the Asia Plaza area, there were multiple animals housed in recreated tropical setting, including an aquarium area with fish and turtles, and a rainforest-like area with bats and birds flying about.

Fish and Turtles

My favorite animals were the monkeys, of which the zoo had many.

bad monkeys

My favorite part of the zoo was the historic Astor Court area, which despite some upgrades, retained a special turn-of-the-century charm — like looking at an old Barnum & Bailey’s Circus poster. In a world of theme park zoo combos, there was something simple and nice about Astor Court. Nothing fancy here — just a bunch of beautiful old buildings housing smaller animals (Monkey house was a favorite), surrounding the original Sea Lion Pool.

Old Architecture

In 5 hours time, we still did not get to see the entire zoo, or ride the monorail African Safari thing. We did, however, purchase lunch at The Dancing Crane Cafe

cafeteria-style food from Dancing Crane Cafe

Food ranges from healthy salads, wraps, and organic cookies, to typical elementary school cafeteria food — steamed burgers w/out cheese, personal pizzas, chicken tenders with fries — to Kosher vending machine food.

Hot Nosh--Anytime, Anywhere

They also serve several kinds of beer, which, given the lovely indoor/outdoor facilities, is kind of a tasty treat on a warm afternoon at the zoo. Personally, if I had thought to plan ahead, I would have preferred to have brought my lunch, and spent the majority of the day picnicking on the lovely grounds.

Following lunch we took the mandatory trip to the main gift shop, which was a flurry of activity and ear-splitting shrieking of hyper rug rats. I’m a gift shop type of person (love them) — this gift shop, while it had many zoo-branded items, did not have a decent t-shirt. And by decent, I mean, something simple, for an adult, that didn’t involve a herd of elephants/lions/wolves kicking up dust on the front of an acid-washed shirt.

Having wanted to visit the Bronx Zoo for as long as I can remember, and then finally being here while on a trip to NYC, it was a little disappointing to leave empty-handed (seriously, how can such a popular zoo have such crappy merchandising?) But, given everything else experienced that day, I suppose the trade-off was in my favor.

SEE

Bronx Zoo. (2300 Southern Boulevard, Bronx, NY)

After being picked up at LaGuardia Airport, we headed straight to the Bagel Corner (581 W 235th St) for coffee and bagels. $14 later, we had 2 coffees and 2 bagels — one with lox and cream cheese, one plain and buttered. The ladies running the place were no-nonsense in a typical New-Yorker-with-an-accent way. When one of the surly ladies asked if I wanted sugar and milk, in went two heaping lumps of plain sugar, and a quarter cup of cream.  I didn’t dare explain that I was hoping for 1 packet of splenda and a bit of soy milk. Gulp. Here’s your damn coffee, and you better like it!

From the Bronx to Little Italy took about 35-45 minutes by car, given traffic and rain. We lunched at Red Egg (202 Centre St), which supposedly featured a menu of fusion Chinese-Peruvian food.  We only tried the dim sum, which was, for the most part, Chinese without the Peruvian.

Some items were delicious:

Red Egg Special Puff

Other’s were not so delicious:

Black Bean Squid

The best part was the strange disco Asian decor, complete with Johnny Chang the doorman with a slicked back hair, a sinister smile, and who looked like an Asian Johnny Cash. We half expected him to say, “we have been expecting you,” when we arrived.

Red Egg

Bathroom at Red Egg

From Battery Park, we took a free ferry to Governer’s Island.Chances are, you’ve never heard of Governor’s Island, and neither had I. Ellis Island, Staten Island, Long Island, I know all those. Governor’s Island? What’s that?The short story is that this island was a military outpost since Revolutionary days. As most places of this sort go, there was a brief revitalization effort that included important opera singers, followed by transitioning buildings to use for prisoners. Ultimately, the US military operated on this base until 1996, when the Coast Guard closed shop, and handed over everything to the state of New York, who is in the process of determining what to do with this island.

View from Governor's Island

For now, it hosts numerous bike trails and events and art festivals, such as Figment, a burner-esque display of artwork from the amateur and art-school crowd. Part rave, part burning man practice installations, part senior year art school thesis, part hula-hooping subculture, Figment, to put it lightly, was weird, somewhat disorganized, and run by people who like to think of themselves as ‘the artistic type’. One exhibit included a girl, wearing a foam naked suit decorated in tube lights, singing while playing an electric guitar. To the right of her, partially hidden in a closet, was her sound guy. The point of this “installation” was for viewers (us) to come into the room, talk into her mic, and then the sound guy would record these voices so that the Foam Naked Lady could use them in her songs. She said it was living art.

Not all the exhibits were as horrific or in-your-face. Most were interactive, and great for kids. Many were confusing and overdeveloped in thought and underdeveloped in execution. We had fun in one exhibit where the artist lined the walls and floors  in butcher paper, and supplied viewers paints, markers, glue, pictures, cotton, and crayons. We went to work immediately defacing all the previous “art.”

I’ll admit it. We had fun with this exhibit. Maybe not the kind of fun the artist intended, but fun nonetheless.

We roamed the rather deserted island, through empty streets lined with once-grand buildings. There was a melancholy feeling to the place; a place stuck in a time capsule, forever remembering a time that once was, and the people that once lived there.

There’s not much else to do besides walk around the island, peering through windows of the old officers’ houses, and imagining the dinner parties they must have had in the lovely dining rooms with french doors that opened out to a wraparound porch. Several (much better) permanent sculpture installations could be found in several of these faded houses.

Most spectacular were the views from the island.

Manhattan from Governor's Island

A simple view through a lopsided window.

View of Castle Williams

A glimpse into a now-abandoned prison

View inside Castle Williams

And the view from Desolation Point

Statue of Liberty from Governor's Island

It’s as if you are seeing New York for the first time, through the hazy eyes of a time since passed. It’s New York, and then it’s not.

After taking the Ferry back, we ventured back to Soho and shopped at the various street vendors, jewelry booths, sidewalk sales, and artisan stands. One stand in particular caught my attention (Northwest corner of Prince and Wooster Sts.), as it stood out from the booths of imported laser cut Chinese jewelry that is a dime a dozen on the streets of New York.  Edgar is a dancer-turned-jewelry maker from LA who has quite the following it seemed for his line of jewelry. Most of his pieces,  in the $25-$40 range, had a vintage-meets-modern quality about them that is perfectly Soho without the Soho prices. Hopefully, he remains somewhat “undiscovered” as I hope to visit his stand whenever I come to New York.

After shopping, we picked a random bar–of which Soho has many–to have early evening drinks. I don’t recall the name, I just know it was empty, and, after dealing with crowds in Soho, empty beats trendy any day of the week. Booze is booze, after all.

bar in Soho

It’s nice to take a break in NYC to people watch, and our bar, whatever the name of it was, had a great view of street life.

Soho at Night

For dinner, we decided to try Village Yokocho (8 Stuyvesant St, between 11th St & 12th St) in the East Village.

Village Yokocho

Village Yokocho did not disappoint. I found the menu to be more varied and “authentic” (what do I really know about authenticity, having only eaten at izakayas in N. America), with food that ranged from traditional yakitori:

Yakitori

to fresh “Sea Clams”

These actually looked more like snails to me

to strange concoctions like chicken with egg topped with cheese, mayo, and ketchup. It tasted like a Big Mac.

Fake Big Mac

We arrived around 10pm on a Saturday without reservations, and were easily able to find a seat at the bar. I would say that this place was comfortably crowded and reasonably quiet. Not quite as rowdy as an Oh! Taisho, and with, in my opinion, better food.

To cap off the evening, we had drinks at Botanica Bar (47 E. Houston Street, Basement, between Greene St & Mott St) – a no-cover, dj-playing “dive bar” complete with mismatched vintage couches, well-worn chairs and $6 ginger drinks (!!!).

Several $6 ginger drinks later, we were joining the oddly assembled mix of people on the make-shift dance floor (any open space was fair game for dancing), making friends with the dj, and cheering on some guy we had never met, as he danced retro 90s dance moves (was he serious?)

Botanica Bar

Drinking and dancing with people you don’t know, followed by being idiots in the street as onlookers stare and taxi cab drivers honk, is the perfect way to end a day in NYC.

Breakfast. Brunch. Lunch. Pre-dinner at a local cafe, watching guidos blast cheesy music from an 80s sports car while double-parked, while eating a delicious reuben sandwich is the perfect way to “start” the day.

Reuben

What was left of the following Sunday was spent drinking gatorade and snacking on local brand cheetos bought from a tiny, poorly stocked grocery store down the street from the Riverdale digs. Around 11pm or so, we mustered the courage to venture out once more, in the search of Ramen.

Don’t believe what they say about NYC being the city that never sleeps. On Sunday nights, it, and all the restaurants that serve ramen, close around 10pm.

Which led us to Hagi (152 W 49th St. between 7th Ave & Avenue Of The Americas, Theatre District) – yet another late-night izakaya. We spent several minutes trying to figure out where this place was — the sign is over a residential apartment doorway (which we rang the doorbell of, confused, and tried to sneak into/enter when some residents opened the door to leave), but the actual restaurant is several doors down, in the basement.

Hagi Izakaya

Unfortunately for us, they had one Ramen dish…and that was sold out. We made do with fried chicken gizzards, roe-stuff mackeral, and a pork and cabbage soup in an amazing bubbling broth. The pork and cabbage dish was by far the favorite of the night.

The crowd consisted of Japanese business men sharing a huge bottle of booze, restarant workers just getting off work, and the occasional bleary-eyed tourist. And then there was us–3 people recovering from hangovers, lining the stomach for another night of drinking.

EAT

Bagel Corner (581 W 235th St, Bronx)

Red Egg (202 Centre St, Little Italy)

Village Yokocho (8 Stuyvesant St, between 11th St & 12th St, East Village)

Hagi (152 W 49th St. between 7th Ave & Avenue Of The Americas, Theatre District)

DRINK

Botanica Bar (47 E. Houston Street, Basement, between Greene St & Mott St)

SHOP

Ovando Salvi (Northwest corner of Prince and Wooster Sts, Soho)

DO

Governer’s Island (Free shuttle daily to the island from Battery Park. Check website for times)

LINKS

Figment