"Welcome to the Staten Island Ferry"

Finally, something to write about beyond navel-contemplation! My previous attempt on more Biblical matters may still be maintained... but the building of the Holy Tabernacle is hard to get through.

I have lived on Staten Island since the beginning of this month, and I am in the middle of a rosy honeymoon with "The Forgotten Borough," "The Other White Borough," "Staten Italy," "Lacosanostralia," ... "Shaolin," if you're a Wu-Tang fan. You got any more nicknames?

Personally, I prefer "Staaten Eylandt," the first European name given to the Island by Henry Hudson in 1609, in honor of the Dutch Republic's parliament. Take that, "sweet land of liberty" - Staten Island's got you beat by 150 years. Then along came the imperialist English, who renamed the county for the Duke of Richmond, bastard son of the King's and not of the Queen's, and nephew of the Duke of York (who as King was deposed by a constitutional Dutch monarch... so the Dutch got their revenge).

As for the Bronck's, that honors a Dutch plantation owner, and Breukelen is a Dutch town (which according Wikipedia's OGG pronunciation almost sounds Scottish - 'Brrrrrooklin"). And Manahatta - "Place of [Indigenous] Drunkenness?" C'mon...

Now, enough of nomenclature. 

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I love the Staten Island Ferry - the lumbering, even-keeled Janus who intakes and spews innumerable commuters and tourists through its dual cloacae. 

The best seat on the ferry is the upper balcony facing towards the departing shore (they won't let you sit on the balcony facing the approaching shore). Not all nine ferries have this feature - the late-night tiny ferry "John A. Noble" has no outdoor seating. By the time it's 2 a.m., 99% of the passengers are tired commuters in various levels of sobriety who could give a $#!† about the Statue of Liberty.

But, oh, when you have that seat on the upper balcony, like I did tonight... you have a 180˚ view of New York Harbor unfolding before you. The heated, jeweled diadem that is Manhattan, with lit pearl strands topping the bridges extending to Brooklyn, the sleeping, dull masses of Ellis Island and Governor's Island, the spotlighted, looming Statue of Liberty all recede behind wrinkled night waters.

So far, the ferry rides have been very gentle and steady, but seeing the bright orange railing slightly wobble before me at the jiggling butt end of the ferry while I ate plantain chips made me think of a cheap virtual ride, shaking you to simulate a space launch.

I love riding outdoors. I prefer the constant splatter of sideways rain, the common anxiety of fifty tourists taking pictures of the same green statue, and my jiggling leg and fingernail-gnawing hands steadied by the loud belch of the ferry siren and the dull vibrations of the engines' "magic fingers." Cheap hotel bed massages are here for free - no quarter necessary!

And then finally the engines shut off,  leaving that last smooth glide into the harbors, when the ferry sometimes crunches into the wooden sides of the ferry dock. It's like a pissed-off toddler parked the boat. Everyone anxiously gathers in front of the cloaca, just as they gather in front of the terminal doors, despite guaranteed seats for even the slowpokes. The vast steel ramps screech down to the ferry's lower balcony and release a rusty sigh as the riders burst forth.

This blog will contain my reactions to Staten Island. I intend to get to know most of it. Stay tuned.