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NYBG: ORCHID SHOW 2026
The most fantastic thing about the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show is the orchids themselves
From 2013-2018, I went to the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show six years in a row. Only a few of the shows were loosely themed: 2017’s Thailand; Dale Chihuly’s curving glass sculptures dotted the garden’s grounds in 2018, but only one of them appears in my photos from the conservatory; I didn’t go in 2019, but the theme was similarly inconspicuous (Singapore).
Have you ever seen thousands of orchids thriving up close? They’re magical. They’re improbable. They’re downright spiritual. Some of them look like slippers and others give off a sweet scent like living chocolate bars. They are the ultimate anecdote to AI: designed by actual intelligence, animated by a mysterious lifeforce, and cultivated by human hands. I love a good theme, but I have never once left the show wanting for a singular thread to tie it all together or wishing for extraneous set pieces to distract from the orchids’ other-worldly beauty.
This year, however, the garden put the show’s pollen-covered reins into the gloved hands of Mr. Flower Fantastic, described in official press interviews as “one of the most in-demand floral artists in the world.” MFF is a pseudonym for a Queens-born graffiti artist who transitioned into making “bold, sculptural works that blend art, fashion, and pop culture,” entirely out of flowers; his resume is undeniably impressive, including clients such as Serena Williams, Nike, and Netflix.
In photos, MFF is shown among the garden’s orchids, wearing a black hat, jacket, and goggles. He dons latex gloves and a respirator due to a severe flower allergy and to allow “the focus to stay on the art rather than the artist.” I would argue that his steampunk, Banksy-like aesthetic feels tired and actually does the exact opposite. Which might be a good thing: I had high expectations for this year’s show—billed as “a vibrant celebration of New York City and the extraordinary beauty that can bloom in even the most unexpected places”—but I was disappointed.
Even if the show’s ungainly official title, The Orchid Show: Mr. Flower Fantastic’s Concrete Jungle, still technically gives orchids top billing, it also makes clear that this year’s installation has been curated by a Famous Artist. Jockeying for the spotlight within MFF’s concrete-less jungle, the delicate, diminutive orchids put up a good fight—but everything that was built around them feels fantastically flat.
The first piece you see upon entering the always-dazzling Enid Haupt Conservatory, is a brownstone covered in orchids. Or maybe it’s the second, or tenth thing you notice; I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed this show-opener entirely. Set in the middle of a small pond, the monochromatic brownstone (which here is rendered pitch black, as are most of the other set pieces in the show) disappears almost completely behind a cascade of colorful orchids. And maybe that’s the point! I understand how contrast works. If you want to let the flowers shine, slathering everything in matte black paint is a good way to do so.
But smoothing out any ounce of originality or grit from objects and places that appear in infinite variations across the five boroughs—including trash cans, a Dumpster, fire escape, car wash, pizza parlor, and laundromat—is a weird way to celebrate a city as artistically fruitful city as New York. I was prepared to look for “beauty in unexpected places,” I just didn’t think the places themselves would be so devoid of character.
As you work your way around the conservatory, the set pieces and accompanying signage feel increasingly cheap, like 3D-printed, Temu-knock-off versions of their real life counterparts better suited for a Hollywood backlot version of “The Big Apple” than in a flower show set in the actual city of New York. I can almost guarantee that there are high school productions of West Side Story being staged in the Midwest right now with more authentic sets.
At best, the installations recede into the background and cede attention back on the orchids: My uncle went with me, said he ignored the New York theme completely, and enjoyed himself. At their most unforgivable, MFF’s creations were too complex to interplay with orchids at all—or lazily designed that way: Oversize pizza slices, an orange-and-white striped steam tube, and the back half of a lifesize cab (bearing the license plate ORCH1D) are covered in (fake!) carnations.
Forgive me for being literal, but I come to the orchid show to see orchids, and I came to this show specifically to see orchids set amongst “a dazzling reimagining of the Big Apple, from stoops and slice shops to the subway itself.” I suppose the “reimagining” part is technically correct, but I wish MFF had more imagination, particularly with the signage. His newsstand, slice shop, laundromat, and car wash are saddled with uninspired names and signs to match (particularly unforgivable in a city that includes generations of free graphic inspiration and a newly-opened museum dedicated to preserving it).
They’re not only visually boring, but he also could have used a better copywriter. Some of the floral puns are better than others: a soda case contains Sprout (aka Sprite, cute) but also a headscratching variation of Diet Coke called “Natural Orchid” (what?). Inflation has yet to hit Fantastic’s Pizzeria, where slices are 99 cents and come with appetizing toppings such as Dendrobium Stems and Cymbidium Tubers. (A disclaimer warns that not all orchids are edible, but doesn’t specify further).
Conversely, the machines in Fantastic Laundromat “cost” $5 and direct visitors to scan a QR code to learn more about the orchids peaking out from behind round windows. This isn’t a criticism unique to the garden unfortunately, but the last thing I want to do—especially when I’m in a conservatory full of extraordinary live plants—is be tethered to my phone. (I’d take a visually dull explanatory placard over none at all).
I promise I am not a pearl-clutching white person aghast that a Black graffiti artist was let loose on one of New York’s sacred spaces. I wanted more graffiti. More proof of life. Something messy and imprecise as an anecdote to the perfection of the orchids. The Dumpster and trash cans felt too pristine. The familiar-but-faux scaffolding devoid of any stickers, sharpie tags, or layers of old wheatpasted posters. There is just one nod to MFF’s previous life as a graffiti artist: the tag MFF spelled out in (more fake) flowers affixed to a subway “tile” wall in the “Orchid Avenue” stop.
MFF says that his show is an homage to two Jamaicas: the one in Queens, where he grew up, and the island where his ancestors were from. With respect to residents of both, I don’t think the show does a good job of transporting visitors to either. And I wanted it to do so, badly!
I can’t blame the garden—I understand why they fell for MFF’s pitch. But in a city full of so many underemployed artists, I’m annoyed that garden officials chose this particular capital A Arteest, who has the nerve to call himself “Mr. Flower Fantastic,” (too literal, even for me) while delivering a show where the only fantastic moments are delivered by the thing he seems to had little to do with: the (real) flowers themselves.
Beginnings and endings
I love celebrating beginnings, endings, and everything in between. I relentlessly documented my move to New York, posting exhaustive monthly wrap-ups for the first year, and yearly recaps after that. For the first five years, I hosted a gathering to commemorate my July 1st “New Yorkiversary;” the attendees and venue were never the same but the sentiment was consistent: nothing is too big or small to celebrate.
I didn’t intend to make much of my exit from New York, but I couldn’t leave the city—even temporarily—without acknowledging and celebrating the people that made my nearly seven years as a New Yorker so special. Most of my friends had already left themselves, each in search of different things in different places, but I still planned a night of “goodbye for now” drinks. I kept the event on my calendar for much longer than was realistic, reluctant to delete it even when bars (and most of New York City) officially shut their doors in March.
We’re all experiencing a unique brand of collective and personal grief. For me, it comes in waves: there are moments when I’m able to conjure up hope for our future and clearly see the opportunities we have to improve society and right many of the wrongs that got us to where we are now; but there are also plenty of low points. I knew leaving New York would be hard, but I didn’t expect so much of what I loved about it to essentially vanish overnight.
It’s human nature to hold onto people, places, and things past their natural endings. We invent fantasies and false hopes, latching onto seemingly impossible situations to cope—even death, the most permanent and universal ending, has been rendered more palatable with the notion of a blissful afterlife, or in the fruitless quest to preserve our physical form.
Sometimes, we’re given the luxury of planning our beginnings and endings. But more often than not, we only recognize the significance of such moments with the benefit of hindsight. Sudden deaths—of people, ideas, or routines—rob us of our ability to properly prepare ourselves, but they also remind us that very little is in our control. We have no choice but to go on living our lives, hoping for more, while simultaneously knowing that nothing is guaranteed.
On March 5th, I met a friend at a bar in Brooklyn, and we ordered the mac n’ cheese—one of my top five favorite meals in all of New York. The next morning, I met my uncle for breakfast—baked eggs at Cafe Luxembourg, inexplicably only available on weekdays—and in the evening another friend and I went to see Portrait of a Lady on Fire at the Angelika. We took the subway to Broadway Lafayette and then back to my apartment in Harlem.
The next morning we picked up a ZipCar and drove upstate; the threat of COVID-19 was looming, but we laughed at the notion of a lockdown. We stopped for lunch at the Historic Village Diner in Red Hook; it was packed but we scored the last vinyl booth, staying until the chrome-and-neon dining car emptied out. I drank several cups of coffee, left the friendly waitress a generous tip, and washed my hands twice.
On our way to the diner, we passed a literal fork in the road; after lunch we backtracked to get a closer look. The 31-foot-tall “punny sculpture” was erected by local artist Stephen B. Schreiber in 2000, who told Hudson Valley Magazine, “I think sculpture should do something other than just sit there.”
We stayed at the Rivertown Lodge, ate dinner at a local pizzeria, and had drinks in a crowded bookshop bar. The next morning we browsed antique shops, had brunch, and I pulled over to snap a few photos of a ramshackle mansion straight out of Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World.
There was nothing extraordinary about these four days, at least not when viewed within the larger context of the life I’ve intentionally created for myself. But since March 9th I’ve been in some semblance of quarantine, with nothing but time to consider the rearview. I’ve wondered what it would be like to live through periods of great historical significance—the 1918 flu pandemic, WWII, New York in the late 70s—and I’ve often immersed myself in the past, trying in vain to glean lessons that I can apply to the present. The greater the distance we have from something, the easier it should be to analyze, digest, and learn from.
It may not feel as if we’re in control of much—especially now—but that’s not exactly true. We are in control of our own celebrations and only we get to say what matters most in our own lives. I don’t regret celebrating the beginnings or honoring the endings because we almost never know when a seemingly ordinary moment will be made extraordinary by factors that will always remain outside of our control. I’m optimistic that I will ride the subway, drink countless cups of diner coffee, and carve out a space for myself in a crowded bar again; nothing lasts forever and life will resume eventually, even if it will never look or feel exactly as it once did.
On our way back to the city—and due to my reluctancy to rely on a GPS—I took a wrong turn. We had intended to go to Kingston but ended up in Woodstock instead, a town that had been on my travel wish-list for years. We had lunch and bought books from a witchy bookstore. The clocks had been turned ahead early in the morning; we lost an hour, but gained something too. We sat outside, enjoying the sun until the last possible second, trying in vain to slow the relentless march of time.
Hello, to everything else
The thing I’ll remember most about my last few weeks in New York is the near-constant sound of ambulance sirens. When I picked March 30th as my date to leave the city, I couldn’t have imagined that I would be fleeing what had quickly become the epicenter of a global pandemic. When the numbers of COVID-19 cases started accelerating, I wasn’t sure what to do about my plans. For weeks I’ve wrestled with the question: should I stay, or should I go?
The city has been on virtual lockdown for weeks and the daily news briefings have become increasingly grim. I have stayed in my apartment more or less for 21 days now; my mom (and current roommate) is a medical assistant at an OBGYN office and considered an essential worker. I have a job I can do remotely and enough food to last me weeks. I could stay, but what happens if I get sick, or worse, if my mom gets sick? I’m immune-compromised and as I write this the city is rapidly running out of supplies and hospital beds; field hospitals are currently being constructed in the Javits Center and in the middle of Central Park.
So I decided to go; tomorrow I will walk 3.3 miles from Harlem to Columbus Circle to pick up a rental car. I will drive straight to Ohio, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. I have a few face masks, latex gloves, and disinfectant. When I get to my dad’s house I’ll begin another 14-day quarantine, but I suspect it will last much longer than that. The virus is in all 50 states; but life is a constant game of risk versus reward. I’m trying to be smart and safe, while resisting the paralyzing effects of fear.
I wrote the following about my decision to leave before the pandemic hit—this is not how I imagined my time in New York coming to an end, but life rarely works out exactly how we imagine. The best we can do is move forward; adjust the sails but never stop the ship.
I know that the world does not need another Goodbye to All That-style essay about loving and leaving New York. The city barely batted an eye when my plane touched down at LaGuardia nearly seven years ago on a one-way flight from Ohio—and it won’t lose any sleep when I drive away from it in a one-way rental car, back to Ohio and then beyond. The city famous for never sleeping historically has very little sleep to lose.
There’s a reason the city’s bridges charge steep tolls to cars entering the city but let you leave for free. A real New Yorker—whether you’re a lifer or you opt in until it's time to opt out—knows that a $16 bridge toll is the least of it; the expenses of New York are well-documented and oft-complained about, but it costs much more than money to carve out a life here.
As a kid growing up in Ohio, I dreamed about living in New York so long it became an obsession of mine. I visited countless times, but I tried very hard to view the city realistically—even going as far as living and working here for two, cold and grey winter months in the beginning of 2013 just to make sure I truly understood what I was getting myself into. Those two “trial period” months were hard for many reasons, but as my March departure date loomed I knew I would be back. A complicated medical diagnosis coupled with the slow dismantling of my personal life set me back a few months, but when I saw the “Welcome to New York” sign from my plane’s window seat on July 1st, I felt like I was coming home.
Within the first six months of 2013, it had felt as if my whole world was falling apart. It had been slowly unraveling for some time, but I’m only realizing now how good I was at putting on blinders and ignoring the obvious signs (and there are always signs). My four-and-a-half-year relationship, which was far from perfect even in the beginning, ended for good when I discovered that my boyfriend—with whom I shared a house, a cat, credit cards, and several car leases—had been involved with my closest confidant and best friend for an indeterminate amount of time (with enough time and perspective, the details cease to matter as much as the general outline).
Less than 48 hours after I confronted them at her house in the wee hours of the morning—sometimes life really is like a Lifetime movie—my personal medical drama reached its inevitable conclusion: at 27 years old, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. MS is a scary and unpredictable disease and maybe I should’ve taken my diagnosis more seriously. But when it rains it pours and I could only focus on one traumatic event at a time; I boxed up my fears of losing my independence and got to work changing nearly everything about my life.
It’s incredibly difficult to change any one thing; when it became apparent that I would have to change almost everything, it’s no wonder why I shut down, dug in and held onto my Ohio life far past its natural expiration date. Or maybe I’m being too judgmental; maybe things end exactly when they should and we simply do the best we can with the information we have at the time. Sometimes that means we’re not ready to face the truth because there’s still more to learn, even if the hardest lessons usually come with painful endings.
But before I could start over in New York, I needed to dismantle my former life. I remember writing out a seemingly-insurmountable checklist that included tasks both big and small: change my bank, sell my books, find a job, find an apartment, settle up health insurance debts, etc. Taken altogether it seemed daunting—impossible, even—but one by one I put check marks next to the vestiges of a life that no longer fit me. I was a hermit crab—exposed and vulnerable—who had somewhat violently shed her old shell but hadn’t yet found a new one.
I had initially planned to move to New York as soon as I graduated college, but life really is what happens while you’re busy making other plans. I got a job intending to save money (I had $8k in savings but thought I needed a mythical $10k) and started dating my boss instead. Around the time I thought I would be moving east, I instead moved in with him, an hour south of where I grew up and a world away from where I had imagined I’d spend the bulk of my 20s.
Months turned into years. I learned a lot from both my relationship and my job, but I lost a lot of myself in the process. I stopped reading. I went years without taking a single vacation day. I made personal and professional sacrifices I’m not proud of and never imagined I would make. I kept a journal, but the entries were increasingly bleak and infrequent. In one entry, I simply wrote “I don’t matter,” over and over again until my handwriting became unintelligible. I was a frog in a pot on the stove. I may not have had full control over the knob, but I could see the flame getting higher and higher. I logically realized that the temperature of my life was slowly increasing to dangerously inhospitable levels but I was too tired—physically, emotionally and spiritually—to jump out.
I never did find the strength on my own to jump out, not really, if I’m being honest. I would love to say I woke up one day and magically had the bravery to demand more of my life and the confidence to think I deserved it. But life is not actually a movie. In my experience, people don’t fundamentally change that quickly or drastically. And when we do, we almost never do it without help—whether we know it or not, we change not in spite of others but because of them. No one does anything entirely on their own.
Yes, I had one foot out the door when I returned to our shared home in March of 2013 and told my boyfriend that I had to move to New York—whatever that meant for our already-tenuous relationship. He offered to marry me. I knew enough about him at this point to know that was an empty promise. But as sure as I was that I had to leave, it still took the discovery of his infidelity —not the first time he had cheated on me, but only I had the power to make it the last—to push me fully out the door.
Nearly seven years later, my feelings about this tumultuous time in my life are ever-evolving: I still get angry when I think of all the times he lied to me, I’m still hurt by my former friend’s betrayal, and I’m annoyed when I hear they are still together. But I mostly just feel gratitude. I’d like to think I would’ve left eventually, spurred by the ticking time bomb of my recent diagnosis, or some other nudge from the universe, but I’ll never know.
What I do know is that their betrayal—so obvious, so simple—was in many ways my golden ticket. I was no longer a woman leaving a man for the selfish dream of making it in the big city. I had been wronged. I was a victim. No one would question my motives: I now needed a change of scenery if only for my health—my MS doctor had urged me to avoid emotional stress, as if that’s ever possible. But if it was possible, it meant changing my job (never date your boss), my friends and my living situation; five years after taking the job to ‘save money’ I now had even less in savings than I had started with—but if I was going to have to start over, it might as well finally be in New York.
As hard as I tried to be realistic about New York’s ability to heal my wounds, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I relished the possibility of leaving my old life behind and moving onto something bigger, brighter and objectively better. I didn’t realize it at the time—and it’s embarrassing for me to admit now—but in some ways I crafted a new identity for myself from the outside in. I used to sit in Central Park and watch people walk to work—coffee cup in hand, impossibly stylish and aloof —and imagine myself in their place.
Then, one day it happened: I caught my reflection in a store window and it was exactly how I’d imagined it could be; I got a job in publishing, and then at a historic cultural center, and then at an even bigger publishing house. As much as I loved the subway, I loved walking the city even more.
Right before I moved, I changed my blog title and all my social media handles to “The Only Living Girl in New York” a feminist spin on the Simon and Garfunkel song “The Only Living Boy in New York.” The lyric “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile” couldn’t have been further from how I felt as I tried to begin my life in New York essentially from scratch—“I’ve got nothing to do today but build an entire apartment’s worth of IKEA furniture by myself” would have been a more accurate description—but moments of delirious happiness begun to sneak in between the sadness and homesickness for a place that had never even felt like home.
Slowly, I begin to heal, to grow and to change. The “old” me—the me that went into hiding every time I got into a relationship—started to poke her head out of hibernation. I began to read again. I planned road trips. I made new friends—ones who were shocked when details from my old life inevitably leaked out. They didn’t recognize that version of me and for that I was thankful; I had done what everyone says is almost impossible. I had run nearly 500 miles away from my pain and landed on my feet. I had made it in New York.
Two years, two jobs, and two apartments later, I found myself in another relationship. This one was different in many of the obvious ways from my first one—he was gentle, kind and quiet. But after a few years, I felt my inner light dimming again. I began to make concessions in the name of compromise—some barely noticeable and some actually life-threatening, like when I agreed to hike the Inca Trail and woke up halfway through the four-day hike sicker than I’ve ever been. I had been on immune-suppressant medication for my MS for a while, but I’m a reckless patient. I thought I had taken the necessary precautions but I also want so badly to appear as if I’m FINE that I often ignore the obvious—that I am sick, at least according to some very good physicians and yearly MRIs.
I don’t fault my then-boyfriend for wanting to hike the Inca Trail—and I survived, obviously, with more than a few priceless memories, both very good and very bad. I spent a great deal of our relationship lying to myself; I don’t fault him for not noticing. Once again I had tried to deny what I always secretly felt: that I was no longer being true to myself.
That relationship lasted nearly four years, and I don’t regret a minute of it. He was a safe harbor, a place to shelter from the storm that had been raging in some way or another in my head as long as I can remember. There were lulls of course, stretches of calm when it seemed as if I could coast on this easy life forever; I was traveling more frequently, my job was secure, my relationship was easy. I loved exploring odd, dusty corners of New York and the passion I lacked for my day job was made up for with the work I did on this blog, where I tried to document it all.
But then for completely unremarkable reasons, the storm became impossible to ignore. I ended the relationship but it would take another six months before I was ready to admit to the world what I had always known to be true (and at various times had actually been brave enough to admit, though never fully): that I was attracted to women.
Once that keystone clicked into place, I felt far from secure; to my surprise, the floodgates opened. They had been quietly unlocked at the beginning of 2019, when I got my “dream job” with Roadtrippers, but they flew open violently when I began the painful process of sifting through the deep shame that had shrouded everything I did for as long as I could remember. It seemed like such a simple thing—declaring to yourself and the world, “this is who I am”—but it broke me open in ways I’ve only just begun to discover.
And then, one day New York just didn’t make sense to me anymore. My job didn’t necessarily require me to leave New York, but the nature of the work I am doing encouraged it. I’m no longer tied to a desk, a specific office building or even a certain region of the country. One by one those friends I had made—the ones who helped me heal and grow—left New York for various reasons, each in search of something that even the greatest city in the world couldn’t provide. I had my first significant relationship with a woman, but that too reached a natural end.
Who would I be if I left New York? Where would “The Only Living Girl in New York” go after she crossed the George Washington Bridge headed west? I realized that as much as I had used New York to rebuild my life, my life no longer depended on the city. I had grown stronger here, I had healed a lot of wounds and opened up new ones; I was confident and independent and open in a way I never could have been if I had stayed in Ohio. But as much as New York has shaped me, I knew that I could now survive—and even thrive—outside of it. Leaving didn’t mean I failed, quite the contrary; it means I succeeded in doing the very thing I came here to do: fan the flame of my own inner pilot light and make it burn brighter than I ever imagined it could.
New York was a passive participant in all of this, but it used me just as much as I used it. It took my money, yes, and probably a good deal of my hearing. Two years of sleepless nights spent in a bedroom overlooking a noisy stretch of Flatbush Avenue inevitably took years off my lifespan. But the city gave me much more than it took; it gave me perspective and autonomy; garlic bagels and falafel wraps; a deep appreciation for classic diner coffee, fanciful architecture, and public transportation. I could write 10,000 words on everything I learned and loved in my seven wonderful years here, and it would barely scratch the surface. But in some ways I did just that. This blog’s name and focus may change, but I relentlessly documented my time here and I’m thankful that I have a place to go whenever I feel nostalgic or forget what it felt like to see the Unisphere fountains, the city blanketed in snow, or eat my first knish.
The best cocktail I ever had was at the Waldorf Astoria before it closed for renovations: a perfect Manhattan that cost a ridiculous $36 (perhaps even crazier: I had two). But that’s the thing about New York. You can get the best of everything, but it will cost you—in one way or another. Eventually, we’re all faced with a choice: keep upping the ante—make more money, buy more things, keep going round and round on the carousel grabbing for that elusive brass ring—or decide that the cost-to-reward ratio is just too great. Life has a way of propelling us forward with or without our permission and I realize it’s an immense privilege to be able to stop the moving car on our own terms and look around. But when I did just that, I realized that what I saw ahead of me was no longer in New York.
To stay would have been, in some ways, the easy choice; after all it’s what I’ve been doing for the last seven years. Sure, finding an apartment is a pain and dismantling and reassembling my IKEA furniture for the seventh time might actually be dangerous, but I did it all before and I know I could do it again (and maybe, one day, I will, although that furniture is definitely not coming with me).
What I’ve never done before in New York is feel out of place; I know it’s time for me to leave simply because I feel as if New York is no longer for me. I know now that I am not defined by my relationship to a man (or woman), to a job or to a city. I am me no matter where I go. My pilot light might fluctuate and even dim dangerously low again in the future, but I know I’m capable of getting it back. I am a work in progress for sure—and likely always will be—but for the first time in my life I feel as if I have grown strong roots that aren’t tied to anything external. I carry them with me no matter what the future holds.
Like the gingko trees around the city that shed all of their leaves at once, I am not defined by what I have, who I love, what I do or where I live. I am strong enough to shed my leaves and confident enough to know that I can grow new ones, even better ones. The ancient trees don’t thrive because they live in New York but in spite of it. So I’m not saying “goodbye to all that,” but rather, “hello to everything else”—whatever, and wherever that may be.
Abandoned Psychiatric Hospital
I definitely feel as if I’ve missed the glory days of exploring abandoned psychiatric hospitals. While psychiatric hospitals still exist to some extent today, the widespread use of medication to treat mental health issues was the final blow to many hospitals that had already seen a steady decline in their populations and resources over the years. This particular hospital, located in upstate New York, opened in 1924 and closed in 1994.
The site was originally planned as a penitentiary, but nearby residents complained, so the buildings were repurposed as a psychiatric hospital. I’m not exactly sure how that swap pacified concerned neighbors, but the hospital operated for 70 years before closing due to budget cuts. The property was sold and several plans for redevelopment have been made throughout the years, but most of the buildings still sit abandoned.
The unique thing about exploring abandoned psych hospitals is that—like prisons—they were built specifically to keep their residents inside. The windows are barred, the heavy metal doors often lack windows and if you do manage to get inside, good luck keeping track of where you are or finding your way back to where you started. I joked that we needed to leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it really is a small miracle that we found our way out without them (or accurate GPS readings).
The 900-acre campus once contained nearly 80 buildings, and included a golf course, baseball field and dairy farm. In the facility’s heyday, a staff of 5,000 cared for 5,000 residents. Experimental treatments practiced in this hospital included insulin- and electro-shock therapies and this was the place to get a frontal lobotomy in New York state, most likely administered by the infamous ice pick lobotomist—and owner of the Lobotomobile—Walter Freeman.
The hospital was built in the Kirkbride style, a plan devised to allow the patients fresh air and sunlight. Buildings are separated by courtyards and connected by partially underground tunnels, so once you’re in one building you can access several others from a central spoke. The central building contained a large kitchen (which was coated in a thick layer of ice, including the operating instructions for … the ice machine) and several dining areas.
Common areas are always my favorite to explore because they always seem to have more stuff—and hints of life—left in them. By far the best part of this hospital is its bowling alley, a common feature in psychiatric hospitals, but a surprise find nonetheless. In addition to being relatively graffiti-free, this two-lane alley had adequate light, which is rare—usually recreation areas are relegated to dark basements. The whimsical murals and ball left mid-roll makes the space feel as if it was just a few moments—instead of a quarter century—away from having been enjoyed by patients.
Abandoned Hotel
This hotel was one of the oldest resort hotels located in Sullivan County, New York. What began as a boarding house in the early 1900s, eventually became one of the most successful hotels in an area—known as the Borscht Belt—that was once a hugely popular summer destination for (mostly Jewish) families from all over the East Coast. In 1992, the hotel became part of the Best Western Hotel chain and it closed for good in 2000 after a fire gutted the main building.
Despite the smoke and water damage to many of the guest rooms, a corporation agreed to pay $4.25 million for hotel in 2004. The new owner had plans to build a 70,000-square-foot hotel on the site, investing an additional $3 million into rebuilding a 250-room hotel employing as many as 100 people. But those plans obviously never materialized, and when we visited last year the hotel still sat nearly empty and crumbling, much of it structurally unsafe.
Amenities included indoor and outdoor pools, outdoor tennis courts, ice skating on a 20-acre lake and snowmobiling. The outdoor pool now sits in a wonderful state of rust and decay, chair cushions, life preservers and buoys still floating in the murky water. The hotel also offered bocci courts, shuffle board and ping pong tables affirming my belief that these all-inclusive Catskills resorts (featured heavily in the second season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) were basically cruises without the ship.
Most of the famous resorts of the area have been torn down or are in the process of being redeveloped, but there are still hints of the region’s heyday if you look hard enough. It’s a life goal of mine to spend a night at the Cove Haven, a couples-only resort in the nearby Poconos. The Pocono Palace Champagne Tower suite comes with a seven-foot-tall Champagne Tower whirlpool bathtub (which is, as you may have already guessed, quite literally shaped like a champagne glass) and a heart-shaped swimming pool.
Monticello Manor
In 2008, the New York State Department of Health ordered the closure of Monticello Manor, an adult home located upstate in Sullivan County. Health inspectors found several violations in the for-profit home, housed in a former hospital building, and ordered that all of the residents be evacuated within 24 hours.
Safety violations included roof leaks that caused ceilings to partially collapse, peeling plaster walls, rusting steel supports, mold and bed bugs. The operator of Monticello Manor, Charles Benson, owned an additional nursing home located about 30 miles away in Roscoe, New York. The DOH order barred Benson from moving any Monticello patients to Roscoe Manor, which he closed voluntarily in 2009. But Roscoe Manor wasn’t much better than Monticello—that home was cited for 149 violations of its own since 2001, and left unsupervised, two patients wandered away and died.
Considering the shape it was in when it closed, I’m surprised that anything remained of Monticello Manor when we visited last year (despite my paralyzing fear of bed bugs). It was definitely one of the more structurally unstable buildings that I’ve ever explored, and the area appears to be frequently patrolled by the police.
Without knowing it at the time, we also visited Roscoe Manor (after exploring the Dundas Castle nearby) but that building was in even worse condition—the floor was partially collapsed so we just peeked in a window and left. The horrible conditions discovered in both homes are probably far too common—especially in for-profit care institutions—and I can only hope that the remaining residents eventually found the peace and safety they deserved.
Governors Island: Off-Season
Sometimes, the Internet is a magical place that connects like-minded strangers who wouldn’t have otherwise met, like me and my new friend Hollis. Through a friend of a friend, we were connected via Instagram a few years ago, but we recently met up in person for the first time. Hollis volunteers a few times a week with the Earth Matter NYC organization and goes to Governors Island to tend to the chickens that live there year-round. The island is not open to the public in the winter, but there is a ferry that takes workers back and forth, and Hollis generously offered to take me along with her on a recent Sunday afternoon.
Earth Matter was started in 2009 to promote local composting of organic waste, and they educate the community on composting as well as water conservation practices. The site on Governors island is home to several huge compost piles, along with chickens and (seasonally) baby goats, rabbits, worms and beehives. The chickens need to be fed daily by volunteers, so I helped Hollis spread out fresh food scraps and even fed them some chicken feed out of my hand (a first for me, despite growing up in Ohio).
The chickens are all hens and they lay eggs year-round, although they do produce less in the winter months. We went around and collected the day’s haul (some were still warm), which totaled nearly a dozen eggs in all shapes, sizes and colors. The chickens are all different breeds—some have elaborate headdresses, some look like they’re wearing feathered pantaloons and some have iridescent feathers and feet—and produce a wide variety of eggs. I had never eaten a farm fresh egg before, but I’m happy to report that they tasted just as good as they looked.
The Coast Guard left Governors Island in 1996, and they left behind a huge amount of infrastructure that currently sits mostly empty and abandoned. The island has undergone a drastic transformation in the last few years, and more buildings are slated for demolition or development in the near future. There are manicured hills, a grove of hammocks, a lavender field, art installations and even a glamping site on the island, with possible plans to add a hotel or spa (sigh). I’ve been to Governors Island several times in the summer, but getting to explore the island when it was essentially empty is an experience I won’t soon forget (thank you again, Hollis!).
Want to help out with Earth Matter? Check out their volunteer and apprenticeship opportunities here.
Merchant Marine Cemetery
Down a gravel path in the woods behind Ocean View Cemetery in Staten Island, is a hidden cemetery sometimes referred to as the ‘forgotten acre.’ Nearly 1,000 men who served in the Merchant Marine were buried here after they died in quarantine at the U.S. Public Health Service Hospital in the Clifton neighborhood of SI (now Bayley Seton Hospital, part of which is also abandoned).
The Marine Hospital, dedicated to the care of sick and disabled seamen, was established in the 1880s. In the early 1900s, it became the U.S. Public Service Hospital and they would take in and quarantine sailors who fell ill as their ships passed Staten Island’s shores. A section of Ocean View Cemetery was purchased in 1901, after burial space became limited on the hospital grounds, and burials continued here until 1937.
There are people from all over the world buried here, some who died in their teens or well into old age. The small cemetery is surrounded by houses and several other cemeteries, but judging by the “no trespassing” signs posted around the site isn’t technically open to the public. There is a gravel access road at the northwest corner of Ocean View, and on the path through the woods I passed several rusted cars, small ponds and a herd of white tail deer.
There has been some dispute over the years as to who exactly is responsible for this overgrown plot of land, and on Veterans Day in 2011, volunteers cleaned up the site and placed a flag on each of the graves. Today you can see remnants of the tattered flags beneath the brush and leaves, and it once again seems to be living up to its name as the ‘forgotten acre.’
Dundas Castle
The Dundas Castle, sometimes called the Craig-E Clair Castle, is an abandoned, medieval stone castle-style mansion located in Roscoe, New York. Originally home to a summer lodge built by Bradford Lee Gilbert in the early 1880s, the land was sold in 1911 after Gilbert passed away. In 1915, Ralph Wurts-Dundas acquired the property and began to construct his castle, but he died in 1921 before it was completed. In 1922, Dundas’s wife was committed to a sanatarium and following a series of misfortunes the couple’s only daughter, Muriel Harmer Wurts-Dundas, was committed as well. No Dundas ever got the chance to live in their eponymous castle.
The property cycled through a variety of uses, including serving as host for a children’s summer camp, before it was purchased by a group of Masons to use as a retreat. Although the Masons still own the castle, it currently sits empty, with open windows and peeling paint, vulnerable to the destructive nature of the elements and local vandals.
The Dundas Castle was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2001. There is a main access road to the castle but there is a private house near the entrance and its inhabitants are not amenable to visitors. The property is also accessible by parking on a side road and hiking up a steep hill, but I’d caution against actually trying to get inside of the house (I’ve never tried so hard to get inside a structure with so little payoff).
The draw of a grand, fairytale-like castle rotting away in the woods is obvious, and despite the abundant ‘no trespassing’ signs this is definitely the most popular of all the abandoned buildings I’ve visited. There were several other couples and groups of people exploring in and out of the house while we were there, silently acknowledging each other as we explored various points of entry. Despite—or perhaps because of—its popularity, the castle appeared to be newly secured, complete with security cameras, several satellite dishes and what appeared to be a working internet router in one of the empty rooms.
Because I was sure that we were being monitored, we didn’t spend too much time inside of the castle. The bones of the house have some interesting architectural details (I love those arched doorways), but because it was never properly inhabited the interior isn’t as interesting as I had hoped. Picking through the stuff left behind is my favorite part of exploring abandoned spaces, but there isn’t much here besides fixtures such as radiators, bathtubs and a cast iron stove.
Barkaloo Cemetery
When I started my new Instagram account to track my progress as I attempt to visit every cemetery in the five boroughs (follow along here!), I received a tip from a fellow explorer, pointing me toward the Barkaloo Cemetery. The tiny family cemetery, located in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn is smaller than Manhattan’s smallest graveyard and contains just two tombstones and two commemorative markers. Not everyone interred here still has a marker—21 people were buried at the corner of Narrows Avenue and Mackay Place from the 1720s until the last burial, an unnamed infant, in 1848.
The current cemetery is what remains of the Barkaloos’ private family burial plot, once a part of their larger property. In 1984, the Bay Ridge Historical Society erected a granite marker which lists the names of the cemetery’s permanent residents along with their birth and death dates. There are Barkaloos, of course—I’ve seen it spelled several different ways—and others with notable New York names like Cortelyou, Cropsey and Van Wyck.
The boundaries of the cemetery have been redrawn many times and ownership of the cemetery has transferred hands many times throughout the years. Although it has lost most of its markers in the process—the two still standing were erected by the D. A. R. in the 1920s for Revolutionary War veterans Harms Barkulo and Simon Cortelyou—it’s still remarkable that the tiny Barkaloo Cemetery has survived at all when many similar family plots have been lost in the name of progress or property disputes.
Barkaloo Cemetery
34 MacKay Place
Brooklyn, NY
Pearl Street Diner
In 2014, I decided to visit all five of the last standalone diners in Manhattan. I later found out there was a sixth—Hector’s under the Highline—but the Market Diner has since been demolished, bringing the total back down to five. A standalone diner is one that isn’t in a traditional storefront, but is a one-story structure that could, presumably, stand on its own. These are rare in the city for obvious reasons and the ones that remain are seriously endangered.
The Pearl Street Diner, located in the Financial District, is the latest diner to be living on borrowed time. Permits were recently filed to build a 21-story hotel at 212 Pearl Street, which presumably means the end of yet another classic diner. No closing date has been set—so I’m hoping for a miracle—but after seeing the Market Diner reduced to rubble for similar reasons, I’m having a hard time believing that the Pearl will live on.
The Pearl Street Diner is an anomaly for several reasons—it’s positively dwarfed by the high rise buildings towering around it, and it’s one of the only reliable places to get a reasonably-priced breakfast on the weekend in an area that still mostly serves office workers on the weekdays. The Pearl has been serving classic diner food since 1962 and it was flooded during Superstorm Sandy but managed to reopen.
The Pearl Street Diner has all the hallmarks of a classic diner: large menus, cheap prices, overworked waitresses, vinyl booths and one of the best neon signs I’ve ever seen. In what I can only see now as a bad omen, the letters in the sign have slowly been going dim since I first visited in 2014, and one side is now completely burnt out. The Pearl also has the distinction of having the tiniest bathroom I’ve ever seen—how cute is that miniature pink sink?
I try to eat at a diner at least once a week, but I’ve been the Pearl more times than I can count. It was the place my mom and I would eat before catching the ferry to IKEA; Francesca and I had breakfast there before we explored an abandoned Staten Island hospital; it’s where I invited my mom to accompany me to the abandoned Farm Colony; Jim and I ate there before our muddy Staten Island adventure, and I ate breakfast at the Pearl before I climbing into the crown of the Statue of Liberty.
There’s a reason that most TV shows and movies feature at least one scene of characters having a heart-to-heart in a classic diner booth. Diners are living spaces, where the coffee invites conversation and the counter stools breed camaraderie. They are comforting but unique, democratizing spaces open to everyone from Jennifer Lawrence (who I recently saw at the Square Diner in TriBeCa) to someone who can barely scrape enough change together for a cup of coffee. When you demolish a diner, you’re demolishing 50 years of stories told through the coffee stains and worn booths—and no luxury condo or boutique hotel is worth that loss.
Pearl Street Diner
212 Pearl Street
New York, NY
Holiday Windows 2018: Bergdorf Goodman
Bergdorf Goodman remains the undefeated champion of the New York Holiday Window scene for the sixth year in a row, according to me (and my mom). Although not as good as some previous years’ windows, BG’s displays are always leaps and bounds above their competitors’.
This year’s theme is “Bergdorf Goodies,” and I always appreciate a good name pun. Their Fifth Avenue windows all feature sweet holiday treats: neon cakes, chocolates, macarons, licorice, and gingerbread. Because Bergdorf is still a store trying to sell its designer fashions, each window features a mannequin wearing a coordinating fashion confection. As always, the craftsmanship and attention to detail is out of this world and I wish you could walk around inside of, and view the windows from all angles to take in every little piece.
I made the mistake of only viewing these windows once, during the day on a weekend. Although the sidewalk in front of BG is unusually wide, it still gets clogged with tourists all jockeying to get a photo of the windows. In past years I’ve tried to see the windows at night as well, but the best time to go is before Thanksgiving—the windows are usually unveiled a week before Black Friday, but aren’t as popular on the weeknights prior.
Last year I actually went inside of Bergdorf Goodman for the first time and it was definitely an experience. It’s a large store but somehow feels claustrophobic and their prices are insanely high—I’m obviously not the target customer, but it was fun to pretend I could have been while I scrambled to find the half-priced Christmas ornaments.
Bergdorf Goodman
Fifth Avenue btwn 57th and 59th Streets
New York, NY
Gift Guide: I ♥ New York
It’s no secret that I love New York. I first visited the city when I was 14, and I sent my sister a postcard proclaiming that I was going “move here as soon as possible!” ASAP turned out to be 13 years later, but with more than five years under my belt as a New Yorker, I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. Sure the city is crowded and smelly and loud. But it’s also exciting and diverse and sometimes downright magical. So grab a street pretzel and a dirty water dog and browse this gift guide for the New Yorker (physically or mentally) in your life.
1 / I spend far too much on paper goods from Rifle Paper Co. every year, but I just can’t resist their cards, calendars and prints.
2 / Hang Zoltar on your tree and then go visit him at Coney Island— he’s located right next to Grandmother’s Predictions, underneath the Wonder Wheel.
3 / Hang this subway car ornament on your tree twenty minutes after the rest of your ornaments for a true MTA experience.
4 / Toast to the New Year with this Brooklyn Brewery glass, featuring the classic Milton Glaser logo (and take a free tour of their Williamsburg factory).
5 / The Strand is famous for their totes (and mouth-watering dollar book section) but these little zippered pouches are just as cute and versatile.
6 / I have pretty much every single item ever made featuring the classic “We Are Happy To Serve You” Greek coffee cup, but this plush cup is the most ridiculous (and cute).
7 / My love of Mister Softee runs deep enough to want this pillow for my couch.
8 / Proclaim your allegiance for a certain subway line with these glass ball ornaments (the D is my favorite train, but the A/C ornaments would also be appropriate for me).
1 / I love these city storefront watercolor prints from Lindsey. There are four different ones available in my shop, but the Cafe Reggio one is my favorite. She’s also available for commissions if there’s a specific scene/store/city you’d like her to paint.
2 / There’s a vintage key tag for every neighborhood, show and interest you can think of, but You’ve Got Mail is the perfect movie and “thank your” will always me laugh.
3 / Before I ever moved to New York, I took a subway token to a jeweler to have a custom necklace made, but now you can buy them directly from the Transit Museum.
4 / Broadway: A History of New York City in Thirteen Miles will make you want to walk the entire length of Broadway (and also, wish you could go back in time).
5 / Keep some of New York City’s famous “champagne of tap waters” with you at all times with this portable water bottle.
6 / Read all about Roosevelt Island’s sordid history, and then go see what it’s like today.
7 / Massimo Vignelli’s 1972 subway map was more beautiful than it was functional, so maybe it’s more useful as a pair of socks than as an actual directional aide.
8 / I’ve yet to see The Nutcracker ballet, preformed every year at Lincoln Center, but I do have one of these ornaments.
9 / Dr. Couney exhibited infants in incubators at Coney Island and in the process saved thousands of lives. This is the fascinating account of a true story that is truly stranger than fiction.
1 / I told you I can’t resist coffee cup-themed items, and this print is still one of my favorites. Get free domestic shipping with the code HOLIDAYFREESHIP or save 20% off of your entire order with the code TREATYOSELF20 at checkout.
2 / I know Sex & the City put Magnolia Bakery on the map—and the resulting hordes of tourists made visiting its West Village location insufferable—but I still think they have the best cupcakes in the city. It’s a bit pricey to ship their treats directly, but I would pay anything for a tub of their divine banana pudding.
3 / This Sputnik Chandelier Ornament is modeled after the Met Opera’s famous chandeliers, but even if you’re not an opera fan it still looks festive.
4 / Display this sanitary grade magnet in your kitchen to put your dinner guests at ease.
5 / Mother Pigeon is my favorite New York City installation artist, and you can “adopt” one of her cute creations.
6 / I’m not sure why, but I’m fascinated by New York City’s trash and I’ve always loved the sanitation department’s medical-inspired logo.
7 / It’s hard to choose any one thing from Fishs Eddy when I literally want everything they sell, but this dish towel from their Boardwalk Collection would look great in any kitchen.
1 / I’m obsessed with the designs on New York City manhole covers and I wish I had space in my apartment for this mat (although, I do always manage to be able to find the space, should anyone be interested in buying this for me 😉).
2 / Bellevue: Three Centuries of Medicine and Mayhem at America's Most Storied Hospital is one of the best books I’ve ever read and it’s a must-read if you’re at all interested in medical or city history.
3 / Greenwich Letterpress has the best selection of cards, and “Season’s Eatings” highlights all of the great foods that you can find in New York.
4 / The Collage City Collection is another great pattern from Fishs Eddy (I told you I couldn’t pick just one).
5 / When I first visited New York, I was obsessed with the iconic “brown bags” from Bloomingdale’s so I love this ornament version.
6 / Show your love for the classic Brooklyn accent with this tray from Fishs Eddy’s Brooklynese Collection.
7 / These mini pillows would be great gift for a baby or an adult with a bookshelf (I have several—thanks Katherine!).
8 / Try as I might, I just don’t like eating black-and-white cookies, but I still appreciate their position as a classic New York treat and wouldn’t hesitate to wear this pin.
New York might have a reputation for being pricey, but some of the best things in the city are absolutely free. The Met Museum is still free (or rather, “suggested donation”) to New York residents, The America Museum of Natural History is always pay-what-you-wish (in-person, at the ticket counter) and of course all books are always free at the library (I want, but don’t need, this black card).
Just walking around is the best way to experience New York, or for just $2.75 you could ride the subway all the way from the northern tip of Manhattan to the Rockaways in Queens. I’ve met so many wonderful people in this city, but I’ve lost just as many—to LA (ugh), Portland and even Florida—so all this New Yorker really wants for Christmas is more New York friends willing to explore far-flung corners of the city with her.
My favorite New York places: City Island / Roosevelt Island / Manhattan Cemeteries / Conservatory Garden / Snug Harbor / Flushing Meadows / Coney Island / Dead Horse Bay
Woodland Cemetery
I love exploring abandoned or forgotten places, but they’re hard to come by in New York City. Land is such a premium that nothing sits empty for too long and almost nothing about the city feels like a secret. As I was watching the (excellent) documentary, The World Before Your Feet, I was surprised to see Matt Green—who is in the process of walking every single street, park, bridge and cemetery in the five boroughs—walking through what appeared to be an abandoned cemetery. Luckily, it was identified in the film and I made a note in my phone, knowing that I had to see it for myself as soon as I could.
Woodland Cemetery is located just off of Victory Blvd in the Silver Lake neighborhood of Staten Island. It’s only a 20-minute bus ride from the St. George ferry terminal, but inspired by Green, I decided to walk. This turned out to be a mistake because—as I always seem to forget until it’s too late—Staten Island is very hilly. I’m not exaggerating when I say that almost all of the hour-long walk to the cemetery was uphill. I did take the bus back to the ferry terminal, but in the future I’ll do the opposite (bus there, walk back).
Woodland was established in 1854 by John King Vanderbilt, first cousin of Cornelius Vanderbilt. John King is buried at Woodland, while Cornelius is buried four miles away in the Vanderbilt Family Cemetery and Mausoleum, a private cemetery located within Moravian Cemetery and not regularly open to the public.
The ten-acre cemetery is still technically active, and there have been more than 22,000 recorded burials. While not considered abandoned, the grounds are definitely overgrown and in desperate need of attention. A group of volunteers is currently working to help preserve the historic cemetery but it’s a big, never-ending job.
Bayside Cemetery is a more notorious abandoned cemetery within city limits but I think Woodland is even better than Bayside. You also get three cemeteries for the price of one—adjacent to Woodland is the similarly shabby Jewish burial ground, Silver Lake Cemetery (1893), and next to Silver Lake is the well-maintained Silver Mount Cemetery (1866).
Woodland Cemetery
24-32 Highland Avenue
Staten Island, NY
Join me as I attempt to visit every cemetery located within the five boroughs.
Holiday Windows 2018: Bloomingdale's
This was my sixth year viewing (and photographing) the holiday windows at several of the major department stores in midtown. It’s become an after-Thanksgiving tradition for my mom and I to grab breakfast at Neil’s Coffee Shop (Gene’s Coffee Shop was closer, but unfortunately it has closed) and go see the windows at Bloomingdale’s, Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany & Co. and Saks.
This year, we both agreed that the windows at all four stores weren’t as good as they have been in past years. Bloomingdale’s has never had my favorite windows, but this year their Grinch-themed displays were a bit better than some of their previous installations. I’m not intrinsically against corporate partnerships, and I think that while sometimes they can feel forced, they can also be done thoughtfully and artfully. The Grinch is an appropriate muse not only for its holiday themes, but for its well-established, rich visual language.
The grand New York City department store unfortunately feels endangered—Henri Bendel will close in January after 123 years in business, and Lord and Taylor will also be leaving its flagship Fifth Avenue store after spending just under 105 years in that location. Fewer department stores means fewer window displays, so I’m trying to cherish this holiday tradition while it still exists.
What I don’t love so much about this year’s Bloomingdale’s windows (and as a trend in general), is their interactive element. I always feel like a total grandma complaining about new-fangled technologies and complicated whiz-bang, but I don’t need selfie stations or karaoke machines to get me into the holiday spirit.
Bloomingdale’s
59th Street and Lexington Avenue
New York, NY
Holidays in New York
New York is crowded year round, but it feels especially packed during the holidays. I can’t be too mad about the hordes of tourists though, because I get it—New York during late November and the month of December is downright magical. So much so that in the five years that I’ve lived here, I’ve only traveled back home to my family in Ohio once over Christmas, and it was such a travel nightmare that I vowed to never do it again. Luckily, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of all of the holiday delights available in the city—here are some of my favorites:
I try to avoid this area of the city as much as I can during the holidays because it’s just so packed with tourists, but for good reason: it’s the epicenter of Christmas in New York. In addition to the famous tree (always slightly smaller than I imagine it to be), the entire complex is decked out with nutcrackers, toy soldiers, angels and thousands of lights. If you don’t want to wait to skate on the famous ice rink, you can make a reservation to watch other people exercise while you eat lunch or dinner in the Rock Center Café.
Christmas Trees
Pretty much every New York cultural institution and park puts up a decorated tree during the holidays. The American Museum of Natural History has an origami tree every year with a different theme (this year’s is “Oceans of Origami”) and the World’s Largest Menorah is lit in Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza during Hanukkah.
My mom and I finally saw the Christmas Spectacular last year on Christmas Eve, and it was every bit as magical as I wanted it to be. I could have done without the modern digital elements and the outdated gender roles, but the famous Rockettes kick line (and the Toy Soldier scene) is something everyone should see in person at least once in their life. Bonus: the Art Deco bathrooms at Radio City Music Hall are worth the price of admission on their own.
You can find discount Broadway tickets, including for the Christmas Spectacular, with TodayTix, a great place to find deals and an easy way to enter ticket lotteries.
Radio City Music Hall, between W. 51st and W. 50th Streets at 6th Avenue.
I’ve never seen the New York City’s production of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker, but it’s a Christmas classic. Preformed at the David H. Koch Theater at Lincoln Center, The Nutcracker premiered on February 2, 1954 at the New York City Ballet, and is on stage now through December 30th.
Ice Skating
There are several ice skating rinks outside of Rockefeller Center, including two in Central Park, one in Bryant Park and one in Prospect Park. There are smaller rinks located at Brookfield Place downtown, at the Standard Hotel and indoors at Chelsea Piers.
Every year for a few hours, peasants without keys are allowed into Gramercy Park for caroling on Christmas Eve. It’s dark by 6pm, so you can’t see much of the park, but it’s still a thrill to step inside of the usually off-limits space. My mom and I have plans to go this year with reservations nearby at the festive (and historic) Pete’s Tavern afterward.
Save yourself some grief and skip Rolf’s, a German restaurant nearby known for its Christmas decorations. It’s notoriously crowded around the holidays, the food is overpriced and reservations aren’t easy to come by.
December 24th, 6pm, between E. 20th and E. 21st Streets, Park and 3rd Avenues.
Holiday Windows
It’s become an annual tradition that my mom and I—after breakfast at Neil’s Coffee Shop—see the holiday windows at Bloomingdale’s, Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany’s and Saks Fifth Avenue. There are additional window displays around the city (the Macy’s windows are usually a little childish for me), but these are the big ones and they’re all pretty close to one another. Bergdorf Goodman is always the clear winner, but it’s fun to see what each store comes up with from year to year.
Bloomingdale’s: E 59th Street and Lexington Avenue
Bergdorf Goodman: E 58th Street and Fifth Avenue
Tiffany & Co.: E. 57th and Fifth Avenue
Saks Fifth Avenue: E. 548th and Fifth Avenue
Dyker Heights Lights
Dyker Heights, a neighborhood in south Brooklyn, first became famous for its elaborate Christmas lights displays about 30 years ago and has only grown since then—the displays now attract 100,000 people a year. If you go on a weekend night close to Christmas, it can feel like all 100,000 people are there in one night, but some of the streets are closed to car traffic, which helps a little with the crowding. I’ve been all five years that I’ve lived in New York and the displays don’t change much from year to year but that’s part of the fun of traditions.
Most of the biggest displays are between 11th and 13th Avenues from 83rd to 86th streets.
Sure, Home Alone is one of the greatest Christmas movies ever made, but I’ll argue that its sequel, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is even better. Why? It’s the exact same plot as the first movie (sometimes they just changed one letter of line of dialogue) but it takes place in New York. One of the most popular posts I ever did was this list of the movie’s filming locations, most of which are still around so you too can get Lost in New York.
Every Sunday between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, the New York Transit Museum puts one of their vintage trains back into service. This year the Nostalgia Train, a vintage 1930s R1-9, will depart from the Second Avenue F train station at 10 am, 12 pm, 2 pm and 4 pm and from the 125th Street A/C/D station at 11 am, 1 pm, 3 pm and 5 pm. This seems to get more and more popular each year, so expect rush hour-level crowds (and watch out for those overhead fans).
The Holiday Train Show at the New York Botanical Garden contains more than 175 New York landmarks made entirely with bark, leaves and other natural materials. Trains zip around the Conservatory and everything is cuter in miniature. If crowds of screaming children aren’t your thing, they have special bar car nights on select Fridays and Saturdays exclusively for adults 21 and over.
Now through January 21st, Tuesday-Sunday 10am-6pm.
There is also a free holiday train show in the New York Transit Museum Gallery and Store located in the Shuttle Passage of Grand Central Terminal, on display until February 24, 2019.
A special thanks to TodayTix for sponsoring this post—the app is super easy to use and it’s how I win Shakespeare in the Park tickets while sitting at my desk nearly every summer. Of course all opinions and commentary on holiday delights is my own.
RIP Magic Forest
I recently found out that the Magic Forest—my heaven on Earth, a fairytale/Christmas/safari park, mecca for fiberglass statues and home of the last diving horse attraction in the country—has closed.
I went to the Magic Forest, located in Lake George, New York, twice, but only once when it was actually open. On our visit in September of 2015, we spent the entire day walking the grounds, watching the shows and riding the five rides that were accessible to adults. The front desk employee actually tried to dissuade us from even entering the park when she saw that we didn’t have any children with us, but she relented once she realized that we actually knew what we were getting ourselves into.
The ladies at the snack bar were putting together a puzzle in between filling orders; I put a quarter in a prize machine in the arcade, and received no prize; we tried to play ski ball but the machines were too jammed with quarters to accept ours; the gift shop closed before the park did, but they let us come back the next day to pick up some souvenirs; the magician doubled as the emcee for the diving horse, and made balloon animals in between shows to give to the children—for $2 a piece.
In one of my many recap posts about our visit, I wrote that the Magic Forest was “a theme park that has remained untouched by time, become abandoned while it's still in business and is completely unaware of how cool and marketable it actually is—and I hope it continues to forget that it should have closed years ago and remains in Lake George forever.” But, of course, nothing lasts forever and the Magic Forest was recently sold to someone who plans to “take the park in a different direction.”
American Giants, champions of Muffler Men and other large fiberglass statues, are facilitating the sale of the Magic Forest’s impressive collection—a lot of the more famous pieces have already sold, but you can check out the online auction here. I don’t have the money or the storage space to purchase anything—for just $12,000 my dream of becoming the old lady who lives in a shoe could become a reality—but I do have photos of pretty much everything since I was obsessive about documenting our visit (this is just 81 of the 521 photos I took).
I also, like countless people who have visited the park since it opened in 1963, have the memories. Nothing stays the same forever, and this fact of life is equal parts comforting and terrifying. But no matter how much we may try to, we can’t actually stop things from changing. People die, businesses close, relationships end. But still, we dive again and again—like Lightning the diving horse—hoping somehow this time it will be different. Secretly knowing all along that when we cease to change, we cease to live.
The morning before we went to the Magic Forest, we ate breakfast at a diner nearby. David took a photo of me, sipping my coffee and I remember saying “I don't think I can be any happier than I am right now.” I was being dramatic, of course, and if I’m really keeping score I can think of several other moments where I felt just as happy—if not happier—than I did right then. But would I have been so happy if I didn’t feel as if we were about to cheat time by finally exploring the Magic Forest, a park that by all logic should have closed decades ago?
I’m not exactly sure how or why most of my interests are endangered in some way—diners and outdated roadside attractions and abandoned buildings on the verge of being destroyed completely—but perhaps it is their precarious nature that draws me to them. The urgent need to experience, to document, to be able to say I was there, I am here.
“Relaxing with the present moment, relaxing with hopelessness, relaxing with death, not resisting the fact that things end, that things pass, that things have no lasting substance, that everything is changing all the time—that is the basic message.” ― When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times
Want more? See all of my Magic Forest posts here.
Travel Guide: Roosevelt Island
To say that I love Roosevelt Island would be an understatement. Whenever I’m feeling down, a walk around the sometimes strange, mostly peaceful island with a sordid history always sets me right. If you don’t know much about the island’s history, I recommend that you read this book before you go, and keep your eye open for hidden bits of the island’s various lives.
GETTING THERE:
The best part of visiting Roosevelt Island might just be getting there—the fastest and most whimsical way is to ride the Roosevelt Island tram. For the cost of a Metrocard swipe (currently $2.75), you can ride the first commuter aerial tramway in North America. Open in 1976, the tram isn’t operated by the MTA, and it runs every 7-15 minutes from 6am-3:30am on the weekends and until 2am on weekdays from Tramway Plaza at 59th Street and Second Avenue.
On the east side of the island, right beneath the parking garage, you can see a few of the old tram cars. They were upgraded during renovations in 2010, and may one day be preserved in a museum, but they’re currently sitting partially covered by a tarp (and recently, some uninspired graffiti).
Subway / Bridge / Ferry / Bus
Roosevelt Island is also accessible by the F train via one of the deepest stations (100 feet below ground) in the subway system. Additionally, you can walk or drive to RI from Astoria via the Roosevelt Island bridge (and park in the huge Motorgate garage), or take the new Astoria Ferry.
Once you’re on the island, I recommend walking, but the Red Bus, operated by the RIOC, is free and makes frequent stops. The Q102 bus also circles the island, and connects RI to Queens.
WHAT TO DO:
Located in a retired street car kiosk right near the tram stop and operated by the Roosevelt Island Historical Society, the Visitor Center is a good place to start your journey. Stop here for quirky RI and New York City-themed souvenirs and books or for a map of the island.
Open Wednesday-Monday, 12-5pm.
Take a walk
Roosevelt island is two miles long and .15 miles wide, and I recommend walking from one end to the other. With views of the Manhattan skyline on one side and Long Island City on the other, the walkways are every bit as scenic as the Brooklyn Heights Promenade but much more peaceful. The west side is lined with cherry trees that are beautiful all year round, and the east side has a good view of the Queensboro and Roosevelt Island bridges.
Roosevelt Island is part of New York City with about 14,000 permanent residents but it still feels like a completely different world. They have a post office, library, public school, two churches and a few stores on Main Street. There is also a rehab hospital, a brand new Cornell Tech campus and a tiny cat sanctuary.
But the most fascinating thing about Roosevelt Island that you might not notice is how they dispose of their trash—by an underground pneumatic tube system. Installed in 1975, when the only other pneumatic garbage system in the US was at Disney World, the system allows residents to throw their trash down chutes where it piles up until it's whisked away—by an AVAC system that sucks up about six tons of trash a day.
Smallpox Hospital
Designed by James Renwick Jr. and opened in 1856, the Smallpox Hospital is currently the only ruin within city limits to have been designated a New York City Landmark (it's also on the National Register of Historic Places). There have been plans to further stabilize the Smallpox Hospital and open it to the public, but for now it just sits in ruin, a reminder of Roosevelt Island’s history as a receptacle for all of the city's undesirables. In the fall, the climbing ivy turns brilliant shades of red, and at night the dramatic lighting manages to make the site seem even more sinister.
Four Freedoms is a four-acre park located on the southern tip of the island, dedicated to the 32nd President (and the island’s namesake). Franklin D. Roosevelt delivered his eighth State of the Union address, known as the Four Freedoms speech on January 6, 1941, and a portion of the that famous speech is etched on a granite block in the park. The memorial is a procession of open-air spaces, culminating in a 3,600-square-foot plaza surrounded by 28 blocks of North Carolina granite, and a bust of Roosevelt, sculpted in 1933 by Jo Davidson.
Open October 1 - March 31, 9am-5pm; April 1 - September 30, 9am-7pm; closed Tuesdays, free.
The Strecker Laboratory
Built in 1892, the Strecker Laboratory was the first laboratory in the country devoted exclusively to pathological and bacteriological research for the nearby City Hospital. In 1972, it was added to the National Register of Historic Places, and in 1976 it was designated a New York City landmark. The MTA refurbished the building's exterior and it has housed a power conversion substation powering the subway trains that run underneath Roosevelt Island since 2000.
The Blackwell House
Built for James Blackwell between 1796 and 1804, this house is the only building on Roosevelt Island from when the island was still privately owned. The Blackwell family owned the island from the late 17th century until 1828, when it was sold to the city. In 1829, with the building of the penitentiary, the Blackwell House became the residential quarters for administrators. Placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1972, and restored in 1973, the Blackwell House is currently undergoing renovations to be used as community space offering historical tours and a library with space to store the Roosevelt Historical Society's archives.
The Octagon, built in 1834, originally served as the main entrance to the notorious New York City Lunatic Asylum (the setting of Nellie Bly’s exposé, Ten Days in a Mad-House). In true New York City fashion, the Octagon was renovated and in 2006, the five-story rotunda made of blue-gray stone quarried on the island reopened as the lobby of a luxury housing complex containing 500 apartments.
Blackwell Island Lighthouse
Designed by the architect of the Smallpox Hospital, James Renwick Jr., this 50-foot-tall, gray gneiss, Gothic-style lighthouse was built in 1872. Built by inmates of the penitentiary with stone extracted from the island, the lighthouse was named to the National Register of Historic Places in 1972 and was designated a New York City Landmark in 1976. The light was operated until about 1940. Because of its vulnerable location at the northernmost tip of the island, the park has frequently been closed when I’ve visited due to weather-related damages from Hurricane Sandy and most recently an October nor’easter.
The Marriage of Real Estate and Money Sculptures
If you peek over the railing on the western bank of the island, into the East River between RI and Manhattan, you’ll see three sculptures by Tom Otterness. Installed in 1996 and titled The Marriage of Real Estate and Money, “the sculptures make a statement situated between the dueling residential developments on both Roosevelt Island and Midtown East.” If Otterness’s work looks familiar, you may have seen his little mischievous figures in the 14th Street subway station.
Stay for sunset
One advantage of the sun setting so early in the winter is that you don’t have to stay out too long to catch a beautiful sunset. Roosevelt Island is the perfect place to watch the sun set behind the Manhattan skyline, and I was lucky to catch one of the best sunsets I’ve ever seen while waiting to see the Smallpox ruin at night.
WHERE TO EAT:
For all of its charm, the one area where Roosevelt Island is lacking is in food options. There are a few chain outposts: Duane Reade, Gristedes, Subway and Starbucks, in addition to a bubble tea shop, sushi bar and classic Chinese takeout.
I did finally eat at the pizza joint right next door to Starbucks on my most recent visit, and despite the lackluster reviews, it was exactly what I wanted: hot, greasy, thin crust New York pizza. I ordered a personal pie to go and ate it by the river, but you can dine-in as well.
Want more? See all of my Roosevelt Island posts here.
The most fantastic thing about the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show is the orchids themselves