There's No Beach in Harlem

Charlie and I were feeling adventurous so we chose hit up the much talked about Rockaway Beach instead of heading to our go-to, Coney Island. The Rockaways are in Queens. To get there, one must take the A train heading towards Brooklyn and get off at 116th Street. I knew this, yet I disregarded this because I had trouble arguing with Charlie's logic: We need to take the A uptown. Queens is up. Well, I'm am an idiot for keeping my mouth shut, this much is true. It was when we hit 125th Street in Harlem that we realized that we were headed in the wrong direction. THERE IS NO BEACH IN HARLEM. 


Two hours later (mind you, we were already almost an hour in), we FINALLY made it. The beach was worth the three hour trek. For one, there was a most glorious male lifeguard, a Jesus-esque type of dude. We were very excited about seeing him walk on water and thought about fake drowning but decided it may not be the best idea. There was also a guy who must have been a male model, hey now, sporting a speedo, who just STOOD in front of us and posed for the entire time we were there. It was quite hilarious to say the least. Then there was the topless chick. Hey, more power to you for having the guts to show the chest. But, it seemed especially strange because her friend was wearing a super modest one piece suit. My roommate told me she was at a bbq on the 4th of July and there were two people there were just completely naked but everyone else was fully clothed. Ummm....Anyway. Also at the beach, were two ladies who were walking around trying to find the six year-old they lost. This lasted the entire time we were there as well. We kept seeing the ladies walk back and forth sans child. Not good ladies, not good. The beach was also delightful because I realized I really am digging on the pigeon, yes, the bird. People compare them to flying rats but I think they are pretty swell. I can be sitting on the beach, just maxing out, when a pigeon will swoop in out of nowhere and just start kicking it. I really like the way their necks move, very funky town, and I think they mate for life. That may not be true, but we can pretend.


Charlie and I found the beach to be so spectacular that we tried to go again two days later. It still took us around an hour and a half even though we figured out the proper route. The A train was being quite disagreeable. "Get off here and wait for the next A train". This type of thing would happen. Three trains and a shuttle. By the time we got there, we only had time to sit/observe/wave it up for around an hour and a half because we both had to head to work. I ran into my landlord's son there too. Kind of weird. As much as I like the beach, I'm starting to dread the beach. Which is too bad because I definitely made plans to go there this coming weekend. Ah, c'est la vie. Life's a beach?