Governors Island!

Governors Island is an historic place, so first a bit of history. It was purchased from the Manahata Indian tribe in 1637 for “Two axe heads, a string of beads and a handful of nails.” Native Americans - to whom property meant nothing because they were itinerant - probably thought, like their tribesmen who sold Manhattan, that the Dutch were idiots to pay anything for it. Time makes fools of all of us though, and should the waters rise as they are predicted, they may have made the wiser bet.

The place was originally used to protect Manhattan from potential threats from Europe. It remained a military outpost until May of this year when it was officially opened to the public as a park.

There are parks and there are parks. I’m not big on the parks that have been planned to a fare-thee-well, flattening all the adventure out of the experience. Some are wilder than others (Fort Tryon), some are over planned (Hoboken). And then there is Governors Island which turns out to be planned, but with many lovely surprises.

The first surprise as a cyclist, was in trying to find the ferry pier on the Manhattan side. It was a little like gate 9¾ for the Hogwarts Express (if you’ve read any of the Harry Potter books). After taking the usual Riverside Park route down the Hudson, I lugged Lucille up four concrete steps into the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, through the heavy doors, only to be told the entrance for bikes was around the corner. But when I got there (down those steps again), there was no there there – just hurricane fencing. Up the steps again. Nope, entrance still around the corner - only this time, we had an escort – and low and behold, metal gates opened and a ferry was indeed awaiting us, with a whole crowd of people who were already there.

If you notice the stripes on the child’s face to the right, she was Belgian and she – along with her parents and 150 rabid US soccer fans - were on their way to Governors Island to watch their two respective teams compete for the World Cup via a live feed being broadcast there.

Boarding the ferry, bikes went first – and are clearly welcome:

As we set sail, the cheering really began, with “USA! USA!” and “I Believe That We Will Win!” That has to be one of the sadder cheers. If belief of the fans were enough, the Mets would have won the Series for the last 10 years.

The Belgians have been to this party before and were more circumspect. Also outnumbered. They bided their time.

The ride itself is literally about 5 minutes (cost $2 round trip) 

Once we docked, the sportsters made a quick right in a clump, and into the tent for their hour and a half of ranting. Lucille and I went up a little hill turned around and saw this:

In fact, every single view of Manhattan – and the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges – is thrilling. It begs you to take photos. 

The roads were new and well paved (always a pleasure, none of those stupid hexagonal stones) and wound around the perimeter. Lots of new trees being planted:

Then, out of nowhere, this came into view:

Nowadays, the QE2 is probably considered kind of quaint, compared to the behemoths that currently troll the Caribbean. But there’s something truly majestic about it. It doesn’t look cheap; it set a new standard for luxury in its day. And I never heard of a single case of salmonella poisoning aboard either. Awesome.

I kept going, then realized I had a choice: continue on this well-paved (but somewhat dull) road, or follow this:

I looked at this beckoning lane with scars from weather damage, and history and thought: this island isn’t very big. This path can’t go very far. I’m bound to end up in a parking lot. But which would I rather have? A long life of dullness, or a shorter life of beauty? I took this path and shortly came upon this:

In fact, there’s art all over Governors Island. Turning into a side street, I ran smack into this huge Louise Nevelson sculpture! 

The lawns are filled with art for children to climb on, buoys that ring. And for the adults...

The international sign for Starbucks! 

And you don't even have to bring your own bike.

There are also idyllic scenes where you almost expect Donna Reed to walk across the quad.

Bikes must be walked here, but brick paths aren't that comfortable a ride anyway.

But the most touching by far of everything I saw at Governors Island, was this:

Built in 1939 by the Army Motion Picture Service, which was responsible for theatres on bases nationwide, this was originally a movie theatre. But in 1941, there were live shows produced here by draftees with civilian theatrical experience – and that’s one of the things I love about the military. For all that I hate its other (necessary) functions, for all the waste, for all the stupidity, for all the death - there is an admission, unlike in the rest of our society, that art is important, that it serves a function (even if it’s for propaganda); that it should be funded. And in fact – according to a plaque I saw – Irving Berlin was so inspired by a show he saw here, that he wrote his show, “This Is The Army” (19 songs) which played on Broadway in 1942, one of the darkest years of the WWII.

I am not a superstitious person, but I do believe that spirits linger – especially in theatres. Because theatre is nothing but spirit – both of the audiences and the performers. And this little theatre had witnessed plenty. Standing in front of this box office (what do you suppose they charged for tickets? Anything?), I could hear the laughter and applause from the past. And I thought of all those who went away and came back – and those who didn’t, and what they left behind.

You can’t go to Governors Island and not see the forts. I’m not big on military installations (could you guess?), but the forts were quite something. There was this one, Fort Jay, built in 1794 – with a moat (now grass) and portcullis,

And Castle Williams built in 1811, which is sensationally (and probably strategically) located.

I cycled back to the pier (and the cheering throngs in the nearby tent) to find out when the ferry was returning, took one more circle around the island and was ready to go home, pier not so hard to find this time.

The soccer was not yet over, but there were a few American passengers who had defected (women of course). I overheard them, and saw them checking their cells for World Cup news.

There are a couple of food trucks on Governors Island – a Mr. Softee and a Belgian Waffel truck. They were both on the ferry with us returning to Manhattan, and as I stood next to the Belgian Waffel truck, it occurred to me that its driver might actually be rooting for the Belgian Side. His truck had a patriotic sports theme (though it seemed more to do with bikes and waffles than soccer):

Did he have skin in the Belgian game?

There was a bit of a stir in the American crowd. Just then I happened to look over into the cab of the waffle truck, in time to see the driver, his head bowed onto the steering wheel, sobbing uncontrollably. Then he sat up and slammed the wheel with his hand. That told me all I needed to know: he was an American driver. We had just lost 1-0.

From what I understand, these soccer teams are all international anyway. Whoever has the money, can bid for any soccer player they want. Kind of like the Yankees.

I love soccer, but jingoistic behavior by any country always gives me the creeps. Lucille was content to nestle with her tribe. 

Bikes don’t have national allegiances.

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