Visiting the Middle East in Downtown Brooklyn

Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn - 10 kilometres walked

When I was a kid there were many movies and shows set in New York City. And the city was typically portrayed (probably not unfairly) as a bleak, dangerous, and hopeless place where gangs ruled the streets, riding the subway was a deathwish, graffiti plastered every surface, and unbroken windows were a rarity. I don't know how much of that was true, but with my worldview limited to the few square miles between the 7-11, the big hill, the government grain elevators, the railroad tracks behind the apartment buildings, and St. Mark's Elementary (my Dear Watson...) school, all located around our home in Fairhaven, Saskatoon, I just had to go with what I saw on TV.

Well, the New York City of today is nothing like that. It is safe, clean, progressive, fun, and full of tourists. It is also very big. NYC is composed of five separately governed boroughs: Manhattan, Statten Island, Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx, with a combined population of 8 million people, making it by the largest city in the US by far.

We had a light breakfast then got on the water and into the dock where we walked a few blocks to catch a bus headed north. For some reason we decided to get off the B44 bus we had correctly caught, thinking we needed the B44 SBS, which I think is actually the same bus. But it was all good - if you want to walk over 10 kilometres every day you can't be ass-surfing busses and subways all the time.

We walked until we found a bagel and coffee shop, and the stready stream of Jewish people coming and going confirmed it as a good bet. We enjoyed hot drinks and a snack then continued our walk to a subway station where we rode into downtown Brooklyn for Ana to hit the giant Marshall's store she had noticed the other day. While she was popping tags, Dad and I unsuccessfully attempted to break into the Barclay Center to see what we could find, but all we found were locked doors so we walked the surrounding Atlantic and Flatbush areas looking for food or beer or both.

At a corner Yemeni bodega we picked up a pudgy, sultry falafal wrap for pre-lunch and split it down the middle as we sat at their single outdoor customer table watching the world swirl around us. We then scoped out an Israeli restaurant called Miriam for proper lunch then wandered around aimlessly until Ana found us. We led her to Miriam, she approved of the menu, and we enjoyed a spectacular long lunch, nearly on our own as the packed lunch crowd had dispersed.

On the return trip Dad found a really nice seat on the subway and wondered why nobody had taken it. I snapped this photo as it contains a hidden clue to solve the mystery.

Back at the boat we were too full from lunch to eat a big meal, so instead we snacked-up in the cockpit, had several rounds of happy hour bevvies, and put our bets in for the results of tomorrow's Canadian election.

A New Crew Member Arrives

Brooklyn, New York – 12 kilometres walked

After exploring the local neighbourhood yesterday, it was time to go further afield. We were both up early and walked to the Sheepshead Bay Marketplace to start the day with a coffee. Along the way we passed a local Brooklyn swan who had made use of the harbour garbage to fashion a cozy nest on a partially submerged dock, and in the nest were four massive eggs, enough for at least fifteen omelettes. In the market Ana picked up a latte and I went for a super caffeinated, turbo-charged Turkish java, the small sludgy cup of which was sufficient to put me on a caffeine high for the entire day. It was delicious, as was the pistachio croissant we had for a post-breakfast snack.

We got onto the subway, going the wrong direction, so lost half an hour in the turnaround but finally got turned around. As the train sped northward we passed the enormous Green-Wood cemetery, at nearly 500 acres and containing more than 600,000 gravesites. Both Ana and I like visiting cemeteries, but this one would have to wait.

After 20 stops we arrived at the neighbourhood of Dumbo, which I learned is a Disneyish acronym for the clunky “Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass” and is one of the most popular neighbourhoods in Brooklyn for visitors. It is located directly south of Manhattan so offers phenomenal views over the city which you simply can’t see when you are on the island.

We lucked out with our timing as the Saturday Dumbo flea market, located beneath one of the massive bridge supports, was in full swing and packed with hipsters, funksters, and groovesters digging through tables and racks of custom jewelry, vinyl albums, vintage clothing, ethical coffee, and flashy handbags. I found a cool vintage jacket with Ernie and Bert macrame artfully sewn into the back, but after seeing a price tag of $250 pinned to a nearby plain, boring jacket on a rack, I directed my interest elsewhere, as the Sesame Street jacket would likely set me back a thousand.

From here we wandered, exploring the streets and popping into shops, crowd-watching, and enjoying the vistas provided by the bridges and Manhattan skyline. Ana eyeballed a Shake Shack so we stopped for burgers and fries and an unbeatable vanilla milkshake. We then started walking towards Brooklyn downtown and walked and walked and walked until we reached the Nostrand Avenue Station. After five minutes, SeaLight’s newest crew member appeared on the station steps – my dad!

I’d had a call from my brother Curtis earlier in the day regarding a potential Mars Volta concert in Toronto in November and he told me that our dad had collected him and his family at the Saskatoon airport at 1am the previous night. They’d just returned from a spectacular two week European vacation and Dad wanted to see the grandkids before leaving for his trip…which began a few hours later with his 4 am taxi back to the same airport. My dad’s always been the master at the all-nighter, and seems to do them as frequently in his 70’s as he did in his 20’s.

We took a long bus ride back to Sheepshead, welcomed him aboard SeaLight, had a lengthy happy hour visit in the cockpit followed up with a nice chicken stir fry, some more visiting, then called it a relatively early night.

Our First Taste of Brooklyn – A Double Grounding, Premium Russian Supermarkets, Lamborghinis, and Browsing Hamsters

Sandy Hook to Brooklyn, New York – 13 nautical miles sailed, 6 kilometres walked

Ana and I sat in the Sheepshead Bay Yacht Club bar, perched on wooden stools, drinking Corona beer. Several of the dozen or so club members hanging out there on a Friday night stopped by to say hello (using intriguing, thick Brooklyn accents) and provide recommendations on what to do in the area, focused exclusively around food: where to get the best steak, the best fish, the best bagels, the best sandwiches, and where not to get coffee. Three screens hung from the walls, one playing football, one basketball, one baseball. Children of the members kicked around a soccer ball in the large adjoining hall. The classic pool table behind us remained dark and unused. It had been a busy day and we were tired, but chatting with the locals, in this place, feel like we were in the opening scene of a fantastic movie.

The day began early, with a fill up of diesel and water at the Atlantic Highlands fuel dock then a quick spray down of the boat to rinse off the accumulated yellow pollen dust, which flowed like thinned mustard in a stream down the boat and into the water. The 13-mile trip north to Brooklyn was easy and there were few boats around, other than a massive container ship that crossed ahead of us in one of the two main channels leading into New York City.

We scanned the charts closely as we made the approach to the shallow channel leading into Sheepshead Bay, which sits at the south end of Brooklyn. At low tide the suggested route provided for six feet of water. We were an hour away from low tide, providing additional depth. I slowed the boat and entered the channel and almost immediately felt her grind to a halt as the keel imbedded itself into a shoal of sand, probably built up over the winter as the depths did not match what was shown on the chart. I slammed the boat in hard reverse, nothing. Ana took the helm while I pushed out the boom to the port side then hung off the end of it, trying to tip the boat and free the keel. No dice. We weren’t excited at the thought of remaining here for several hours for the tide change as a large wind was expected to develop, which would probably stick us in even further. So I dropped the dinghy and we attached the spinnaker line to the bow towing ring then I motored in reverse as hard as she would go, applying sideways pull to the top of the mast, leaning the boat and lifting the keel ever so slowly while Ana gunned the engine in reverse. Finally, she popped off and SeaLight was free. I hollered at Ana to take her to deeper water while I used our portable depth sounder to find the best route in through the channel. I was able to find just barely six feet of depth using a S-shaped path, winding through the shoals in the channel, but with the tide still falling it was simply too risky. I turned the dinghy to return to SeaLight and saw Ana waving her arms and yelling something. The boat had drifted in the building wind as Ana was adjusting the spinnaker line and was grounded again, this time in even shallower water.

We repeated the technique, but this time it did not work and the boat wouldn’t budge. I then used the dinghy as a battering ram and pushed into the side of the heavy boat, with no results…at first, but finally she started to move and I managed to get the bow pointed into deeper water, which stuck in the rudder even more as the stern was pushed into the sand. I quickly moved the dinghy to the stern and gave it full power as Ana did the same in forward gear on the boat. Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to move, but not before the dinghy reared up and the towing ring put a new smash mark into SeaLight’s stern. But alas, we were free! Ana took her further into deeper water while I reattached the dinghy in the davits then we tossed the anchor and had naps in the cockpit while we waited for the ever dependable tide to come in.

It was 3 pm when we finally made it into Sheepshead Bay and picked up a mooring at the yacht club where we’d made a reservation for four nights. Ana was down to her precious last few days of the trip so wanted to get into shore as soon as possible to take advantage of the remaining hours of the day. We took the dinghy into the club, tied up at their dock, then were immediately met by several of the members – Michael, Jordy, and Kevin who gave us a rundown of club protocols then Jordy took us on a tour of the clubhouse, along the way telling us his interesting back story as a lifelong local resident of the neighbourhood.

Then, we walked, as we love to do. We walked west along the length of Sheepshead Bay, passing a string of restaurants – Randazzo’s Clam Bar, Opera Café Lounge, Rocca Café and Lounge, Momo Hibachi Steakhouse and Bar and many others before finding the Cherry Hill Gourmet which we walked into and were instantly stunned. Everybody spoke Russian. Hundreds or maybe thousands of wicker baskets hung upside-down from the ceiling as decoration. Products we’d never seen before packed the shelves, from fancy cheeses, to imported beers, to exotic tea to jams and wrapped candies. The bakery section had a mouth-watering presentation of desserts and fresh bread. The fish counter had smoked sturgeon, thousand-dollar tins of caviar, and canned fish of every variety while the meat counter had all the standard cuts plus more interesting ones such as trays of marinated beef tongues, skewered chicken livers, and broiled Peking ducks. Some of the customers looked Asian, some European, some black, all spoke Russian. One glamorous Russian lady with expensive sunglasses and more expensive facial enhancements bought a basket of caviar, croissants, wine, and gorgonzola then stepped outside and into her fiery yellow Lamborghini Urus SUV with license plate “JUSTMILA” and peeled away. It was an extraordinary place, but I was too foodstruck to even buy anything.

From there we walked north on Ocean Avenue and found yet another grocery, this one called Sheepshead Bay Marketplace. After spending nearly an hour inside I now know what it feels like to be a heroin addict. We browsed, in increasing hunger pain, through the endless, artfully curated aisles and were mesmerized by the sheer abundance and quality of foods. A bread counter with baking from dozens of local bakeries. A deli with counter with smoked meats, every kind of sausage every made, bulging tubes of proteins. A coffee counter making lattes and Turkish coffee. Fruits and vegetables of every variety. Imported foods. Local foods. Flowers. A bank of dozens of drawers full of nuts and bulk cooking ingredients. Coolers with frozen dumplings, six varieties of. A prepared foods section with olives, salads, herbed vegetables, roasted meat, and soups, the smells of which brought painful cramping to my stomach as I swallowed back saliva. I moved from aisle to aisle, section to section, frantically, eyes darting from items to item, barely noticing the other customers jostling for space as I pushed through them. But I was paralyzed by choice, stunned by variety, incapacitated by abundance. In a haze I grabbed a jar and went to find Ana.

“Look at this!” I said, holding up my discovery to her, trying to pull her attention from her own hypnotic browsing. “Peas in brine, only a dollar-fifty!”

“Canned peas? Are you serious?”

“In brine. And in a jar. Really nice jar too, don’t you think?”

“We never eat peas. There’s two cans of peas in the boat that have been there since Haverstraw, six months ago.”

“But they’re a dollar-fifty! In brine…” I said wistfully with vacant eyes.

“I think I need to get you out of here,” she said as she pried the jar of peas from my hand then led me out of the store. I watched the beautiful food passing behind us, salty tears rolled down my cheeks and a stubborn lump in my throat.

Fortunately, Ana had bought one large crusty roll, a latte, and an apple Danish. We found a sizeable rock protruding from the ground on a boulevard, sat on it, and greedily devoured our purchases. They were delicious and brought instant relief to my ravenous body.

“Are you okay now?” Ana asked as she cupped my chin.

“I’m better,” I said with a dreamy look in my eye, drunk with my food fix. “I’ll remember this moment. Always.”

We continued our wandering, loving the grit and the busyness of the downtown area of Sheepshead Bay. It felt like a real neighbourhood, very much unlike Manhattan, which often comes across as staged and curated. And everybody was still speaking Russian.

Ana’s retail radar began pinging off a Marshall’s, so I was marshalled away down the street and deposited at a PetCo pet superstore to research hamsters while she dug for deals amongst the Russian value chasers. For a rodent hater, Ana has a curious love for hamsters. In fact, she has pledged to buy one as soon as she gets home, and this time there will be no illusions that it’s Stella’s hamster. It will be Ana’s. And she will love him. It does mean less attention for me, but that will be more than compensated for by the pleasure I receive from her enhanced level of joy, experienced every time she looks at the little fella running on his wheel, eating a freshly made salad, or lounging in his cushy cage furnishings.

After staking out the rodent section I left then sat myself outside the Marshall’s, on a flattened guardrail, and watched the Brooklynites passing by, spiritually lifted by the arrival of another glorious Friday.

Ana eventually returned (it took a looooong time) and we went to see the hamsters. She fell in love with a pack of four little Roborovskis, and had decide that would the sub-species of her next pet, but they started attacking each other and then three of them turned on the smallest one and beat the turd pebbles out of him. She decided to stick with the proven docility of the dwarf hamster variety.

On the way back to the yacht club we were drawn into the Roll-N-Roaster - a vintage fast food joint - and shared a Roast Beef ‘N Cheez sandwich, Disc Fries, actual real authentic pan drip Gravy, and a Lemonade. We considered a bottle of Moet champagne for sixty bucks to celebrate our first day in Brooklyn, but cheaped out and stuck with the lemonade, which was very good. The chicken breasts we’d left thawing and abandoned in SeaLight’s sink would have to wait until tomorrow.