First Calvary Cemetery

I've mentioned that I've been going a little stir crazy already this winter, and even after walking to work on Friday, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to all of our "bomb cyclone" snow just yet. On Sunday I bundled up (it was a four shirts, three pairs of socks and two pairs of pants kind of day) and headed to Queens. Our regular UWS diner is still closed (hopefully only temporarily) after a fire, so my mom and I had lunch at the Court Square Diner in Long Island City. After lunch, we parted ways and I headed further into Queens to the First Calvary Cemetery.

Calvary, a Roman Catholic cemetery, is one of the oldest cemeteries in the United States. It's divided into four sections and the oldest section, First Calvary, is bordered by the Long Island Expressway and the BQE. The first burial occurred on July 31, 1848—Esther Ennis, reportedly dead of a broken heart—and First Calvary was full by 1867.

I had been to First Calvary once before, back in 2014 when I first got my camera. I always had it on my mental list of places to revisit, but we watched The Godfather on Saturday—Vito Corleone is "buried" in Calvary—and whenever it snows my first instinct is to head to a cemetery. Google lists the cemetery as closed on Sundays and I've had unfortunate luck getting into snowy cemeteries before, but luckily the gates were open.

Calvary was the first major cemetery to be established in an outer borough by the Trustees of St. Patrick's Cathedral, after a cholera epidemic created a burial shortage in Manhattan. Today, more than three million people are buried in Calvary cemetery—the largest number of interments of any cemetery in the US—and the first thing you notice upon entering is just how full it seems. In many ways, the cemetery resembles a small city of its own, with row after row of tall headstones tightly packed together, a mirror image of the Manhattan skyline in the distance.

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First Calvary Cemetery
34-02 Greenpoint Avenue,
Maspeth (Queens), NY 11378
Office Hours (note that the office is closed on Sunday, but the cemetery gates were open):
Monday-Friday: 9:00 a.m. until 4:30 p.m.
Saturday: 9:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m.

New York State Pavilion

I've been obsessed with all things related to the two New York World's Fairs ever since I first laid eyes on the Unisphere four years ago. At first glance it may seem as if there is very little left from either fair—most buildings were designed to be temporary—but there are still quite a few remnants if you know where to look. Of course you don't have to look to hard to find the Unisphere—you may have even seen it as you flew into or out of LaGuardia—or its neighbor, the New York State Pavilion.

Designed by Philip Johnson in 1962, the NY State Pavilion comprises three separate parts: the Tent of Tomorrow, Theaterama and three observation towers. The Tent of Tomorrow and observation towers are technically in ruin (the Theaterama is home to the Queens Theatre) , but their fate isn't too dire (yet). Thanks to the New York State Pavilion Paint Project, it has received a new coat of paint, and I recently took an Untapped Cities tour of the usually-off-limits inside, led by Mitch Silverstein, co-founder of the Project. I'd been inside once before, during a World's Fair anniversary festival, but this tour was much more comprehensive.

When it was built, the elliptical Tent of Tomorrow had the largest cable suspension roof in the world, a ceiling made of colorful tiles, and the floor was covered in a terrazzo map of New York State. The tiles are long gone and the terrazzo map is in bad shape —it's been covered for some time to prevent further damage, but they have a few sections on display.

The Pavilion had another life in the 70s as a roller rink, but it closed when the structure started deteriorating. They filmed scenes for The Wiz inside of the Pavilion, and fairgoers were wowed by new technologies such as the microwave. I would give ANYthing to have been able to see the pavilion in all of its fair glory but it's pretty dreamy as a ruin—a state of being that apparently even Philip Johnson appreciated. He once wrote, "The New York State Pavilion at the 1964-65 World's Fair is now a ruin. In a way, the ruin is even more haunting than the original structure. There ought to be a university course in the pleasure of ruins."

Unisphere Fountains

Seeing the Unisphere for the first time was love at first sight. It was bitterly cold and had recently snowed, but after getting over the initial honeymoon phase, I dreamed of seeing it with its fountains turned on. The first time I caught a glimpse of the fountains was indeed magic, but it was woefully brief—they turned them off because it was windy and people complained of the over spray. The second time I saw them, I really got to experience them in all of their World's Fair glory and it was just as impressive as I had imagined. Seeing the Unisphere lit up like a shiny Christmas ornament at night was next on my list, and after I crossed off that iteration there was only one left—the Unisphere, with fountains, at night.

The fountains—part of the original, 1964 design to create the illusion that the globe is floating—are not on a regular schedule. They have been on a few times when I've visited Flushing Meadows in the summer, but I've seen them off more times than on. Getting to Flushing Meadows is a bit of time commitment, but I knew that US Open time was a (mostly) sure bet. I went two days before the finals and lucked out with perfect weather and a nearly-deserted park. 

I have almost no experience with night photography or long exposures (except these photos), so this was a great opportunity to play with my camera settings and really try to figure it out. There was a lot of trial and error, but somewhere in the process I accidentally discovered how to take "ghost" photographs. Someone wandered into my frame (my lifelong struggle), lingered for a minute and then walked out. I did a test with myself, and soon I was running in and out of the frame like a lunatic trying to get just the right shot. I couldn't resist taking my tripod around the park, trying to capture the New York State Pavilion, Queens theater and of course the Mister Softee Truck amidst the twinkling lights.

I was having so much fun that I completely lost track of time, and stayed long enough that the tennis match let out. I had to ride the 7 train back to Manhattan with the contents of an entire tennis stadium, but I was full of Mister Softee and high on that Unisphere magic, so I couldn't be too grumpy. 

Bayside Cemetery: Fall

Ever since I went to Bayside Cemetery earlier this year, I've been thinking about going back. Bayside has fallen into disrepair throughout the years, and around Halloween someone actually broke into one of the mausoleums and stole remains—I promise it wasn't me. I first went in May of this year, and it was overgrown with grass and weeds. I remarked that I would love to see it in the fall, so I went on Sunday to fulfill that need.

I didn't realize just how different the cemetery looked in the fall vs. in the spring, until I looked back at my photos from my first visit. Everything is covered in piles of yellow, orange and brown leaves—sometimes I found myself hopping from one fallen tombstone to another like they were paving stones. Bayside isn't totally abandoned (we saw grounds workers in May) and new security measures seem to be in place since the Halloween incident (new barbed wire along the fence and "No Trespassing" signs) but it's the closest I've seen to an "abandoned" cemetery within city limits.

Most cemeteries I visit have noticeable decay and even the most well-kept places can't avoid crumbling stones or the effects of weather, time and vandals. The most interesting thing about the condition of Bayside is the amount of stones that have been knocked clear off their bases. Most of these stones are enormous—I can't imagine the noise they must make when they take their final fall.

I was surprised to see at least two fresh burials from September of this year, so maybe Bayside is finally getting the attention it hasn't had in the recent past. As thrilled as I was to be traipsing through rows of tightly packed tombstones and piles of leaves, I couldn't help but already start to look forward to revisiting Bayside in the snow.

Marine Air Terminal

As part of the Open House New York weekend back in October (before I visited the Treasures in the Trash collection), I finally got to see inside of the Marine Air Terminal at LaGuardia Airport. Originally built for seaplanes, the Marine Air Terminal is the only remaining active airport terminal in the US from the Golden Age of Flight. LaGuardia (a WPA project) opened in 1939, and the Marine Air Terminal opened the next year. It has been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1982, and since 1985 it has been used for shuttle flights between New York and Boston and Washington DC (currently through Delta).

The terminal is very small—especially compared with the current-day airport experience—but it's dripping with flight-themed Art Deco details. While certainly not as grand or unique as Eero Saarinen's TWA Flight Center masterpiece at JFK, the Marine Air Terminal still feels fancy in a way modern airports will never be able to replicate. Illusions to the miracle of flight are everywhere—in the outside tile work, on the entry doors and on nearly every surface of the lobby.

The lobby contains the largest mural curated under the Works Progress Administration—a 12-feet-tall, 237-feet-long painting depicting flight in various forms. It was painted over in the '50s by the Port Authority, but was thankfully restored in the '80s. The Art Deco lettering over the doorways indicating Departures, Restaurant and Telephones proves that lettering doesn't have to be overly complicated to be striking and that utilitarian signage can be beautiful as well as functional. I'm so grateful for Open House New York weekend, and the chance to be able to peek inside such a gem—if only I could go back to 1940 and hitch a ride on the Pan American Clipper.

St. Michael's Cemetery

I really didn't think that I would still be thinking about St. Michaels Cemetery months after my visit. It's not a particularly old, historic or unique cemetery, and my only reason for visiting was because I'd passed it many times on my way to the airport. But in addition to the huge headless statue population and the large amount of ceramic portraiture, I found some really lovely (and creepy) things at St. Michael's.

Fall is obviously prime cemetery exploring weather, but when I went to St. Michael's in September it was 90+ degrees. I always have weather amnesia when a new season starts, and find it hard to even comprehend that I was sweating or freezing so recently. It was so hot, actually that I didn't even stay as long as I would have normally, so it's especially fortunate that I found so much so quickly.

There were a few ivy-covered tombstones and statues, which will forever be my favorite. I love the crumbling and decay present in cemeteries, and I can usually spot a few things even in the most well-cared for of places. I'm still perplexed about the headless epidemic, but I also saw a few boarded-up mausoleums and even a grave that was basically wide open (yes, I peeked inside but couldn't see anything).

I loved the "Our Dear Debby, Daddy Dear and Darling Mama" family, and knowing nothing else about them can be pretty certain that they were wonderful people—at least whoever bought the headstone thought so. I also love that no matter which cemetery I explore, I always find something to pique my interest, whether it's a sweet epitaph, eye-catching name, interesting stone shape or beautiful typography.

St. Michael's Cemetery: Portraits

I've seen ceramic portraits on headstones before, but—in addition to its plethora of headless statues—St. Michael's Cemetery in Queens has some really wonderful ones. In 1854, two French photographers figured out a way to transfer a photograph onto porcelain or enamel and the process quickly caught on to include memorial portraiture affixed on tombstones. By the beginning of 1900, these portraits were becoming so popular that you could even buy them from the Montgomery Wards & Company Monuments catalog.

Ceramic portraits pop up in most of the cemeteries I've visited, and it's still a popular tradition on modern-day headstones. They seemed especially popular in Hartsdale, America's first pet cemetery, which makes sense and proves that long before Instagram, people were obsessed with photos of their pets. Of course it's the old, black-and-white ones that I love, and almost all of the ones I found had beautiful gold-painted detailing or a frame of some sort—the copper wreath and bow is one of my favorites.

Unfortunately a lot of the early ceramic portraits that you come across are damaged—chipped, broken or faded away completely. Today's portraits are made utilizing a more fade-resistant process, and it's sad that so many of them are already lost. Sure the portraits are a bit creepy—eyes staring at you from beyond the grave for all of eternity—but I happen to think that they're also sweet. They're infinitely preferable to the modern day scourge that is laser-etched-portraiture, and they humanize what are often cold and impersonal stones. They're proof that these people once existed and lived lives as we all do, for better or worse—albeit in much fancier clothes.

Lent-Riker-Smith Cemetery

 On Monday I wrote about our recent visit to the Lent-Riker-Smith house in Queens, and I mentioned that the property came with its very own cemetery. Marion Duckworth Smith told us that she was on her second date with her future husband when he asked her if she'd "like to see his cemetery." While everyone else on the tour chuckled, I thought to myself "how romantic."

The cemetery contains 131 original residents (one of which died at Valley Forge), plus Marion's mother, brother, husband and eventually Marion herself. The oldest interments date back to 1744, and include Rikers, Lents and their descendants and spouses. Marion gave us a packet containing a 1919 survey of the plots, including most of the inscriptions that were visible at the time. Currently, there aren't many readable inscriptions, but a few of my favorites (thanks to the survey) are:

Weep not my friends all dear,
I am not dead but sleeping here;
The debt is paid, the grave you see,
Prepare for death and follow me.

- and -

An affectionate father and husband and faithful friend, beloved, honoured, and venerated! He closed an eventful and useful life in piety and peace. 

- and -

This perishable marble cannot record his virtues—they are engraved in the hearts of all who knew him.

It is unfortunate that a lot of the oldest inscriptions have worn away, but that's pretty common is a cemetery this old. Marble was very expensive, granite was too hard to cut and the brownstone and limestone wears quickly and easily. It's lucky that someone had the foresight to survey the cemetery while names were still visible. Otherwise, it's remarkable that a small, family cemetery could have survived at all in New York City, and I'm grateful that it's in such loving hands.

Lent-Riker-Smith House

Recently we took a tour of the Lent-Riker-Smith house, located in East Elmhurst, Queens. Built by Abraham Riker in 1656, when New York was still New Amsterdam, the house was one of many farmhouses owned by the Rikers (Rikers island was part of their farmland). In 1729, Abraham Lent (a Riker descendant) made additions to the house, and it was one of the first structures to be given landmark status after the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission was formed in the '60s.

Marion Duckworth Smith moved into the house when she married Michael Smith in the 80s, and she's lived there ever since, making the property the oldest privately owned residence in the borough of Queens and maybe even the entire city. Marion opens her home occasionally for tours to offset maintenance costs, and we signed up a few months ago for a Saturday at the end of September.

In addition to a very old, important and historical home, the tour features Marion's collections of antiques and oddities, and — most importantly — a backyard cemetery (deserving of its own post)! This was the holy trinity of things I look for in a tour, and the LRS house and Marion did NOT disappoint. Because of its location and relative obscurity, we thought we might be the only ones on the tour, but there were ten of us total, including five actual Rikers, who drove in from New Jersey.

Marion is as much of a draw as the house itself—she's a true New York character, and her collections and stories made the tour one of the best I've ever taken. It wasn't long after we entered the house that I realized that we shared a similar taste for the eccentric and macabre. She said she wasn't precious about portions of the house (the original two rooms are period-specific), and has filled them with collections of chalkware Snow Whites (given out as prizes at Coney Island), ventriloquist dummies and funeral items. I also noticed at least one glass eye, a skull from her mother's artist studio, nuns, priests, bulldogs and a mannequin hand from B. Altman's on Fifth Avenue.

Not only did the house come with a cemetery, but the property comprises more than an acre of land which certainly is a novelty in New York. The yard is slightly overgrown but in a secret-garden, whimsical way, and is filled with garden ornaments from all over—she even has two cows from Cow Parade and multiple set pieces from the original production of Cats. She also has real cats that roam the property—I counted at least six different ones while we were there.

I can't encourage you enough to make the trek out to Queens for a tour—come for the history, stay for the stories and buy a postcard or two to help Marion stay in the house she loves until it's time for her to move into the cemetery, where her mother, brother and husband (and 131 Rikers) are waiting.

St. Michael's Cemetery: Headless

I have passed St. Michael's cemetery many times on the way to LaGuardia airport (and eaten at a diner across the street), but I finally made it inside of the grounds recently. It was established in 1852, is open to all faiths and is one of the oldest religious, nonprofit cemeteries in the city. The cemetery is boxed in by the Grand Central Parkway and the Brookln-Queens expressway, in an area of Queens that seems pretty car-centric. Walking there via Astoria Blvd was not the most relaxing of walks, but once you're inside, the grounds are surprisingly peaceful.

It's not the oldest, or largest, or smallest or most interesting cemetery that I've visited and at first glance I was underwhelmed. It's large, but the majority of the graves are fairly new and I saw several people tending to graves and at least one funeral-in-progress. No offense to the recently deceased, but new graves and headstones just don't interest me much. In fact, I try to avoid them because I cherish my alone time when I'm exploring cemeteries, and running into grieving families is just not my scene.

I'm always wary of appearing disrepectful—especially as I snap a million photos—so the older the gravesite, the better. Cemeteries interest me for their history, typography, tombstone design and symbolism, all of which I find to be lackluster with newer (1960s-now) burials. 

Somewhere in between being underwhelmed and trying not to get heatstroke, I started to realize that St. Michael's has a lot of statues—more than I usually see—and I got even more interested when I noticed that a large portion of them had lost their heads. I love anything out of the ordinary and macabre, and a headless statue will always pique my interest. St. Michael's appeared to be in very good condition and well-tended otherwise, so I'm not sure what's to blame for the headless epidemic, but I kept finding new ones wherever I looked.

Some statues also had their wings or hands broken and some were laying on the ground, whole or in pieces. What was even more surprising to me was that multiple headless statues still had their heads—resting on top of the stone or on the ground, presumably undisturbed since they first left their bodies. I"m not proud to admit that I was overcome with the urge to pocket a cemetery souvenir, but ultimately decided that stealing from anyone's eternal resting place was too horrible to justify—no matter how at home one of those heads would be in my new curiosity cabinet.

Unisphere: Fountains

I've been captivated by all things World's Fair-related since I first visited Flushing Meadows-Corona park three years ago. There isn't much left from the fair, but the main sites—the NY State Pavilion, Queens Museum, Panorama of the City of New York and the Unisphere—are some of my favorite things in the city. I've visited them all many times since I moved here, and I've taken many friends on mini tours (very often their first time in the park or even in Queens).

For a few years my Worlds Fair "white whale" was seeing the Unisphere fountains. The fountains were a part of the original design—to create the illusion that the globe was floating—but are no longer turned on consistently. We briefly saw them on during a 50th anniversary World's Fair celebration, but were disappointed when they were switched off 20 minutes after we arrived. I vowed to catch them on again, and during the recent US Open, I knew I'd have a good chance.

The US Open takes place in a stadium right next door to the Queens Museum and the Unisphere. After confirming via Instagram that the fountains were indeed turned on, I headed there on Saturday hoping to spend some quality time partying like it was 1964 in the mist of the fountains. In the summer it's frustratingly difficult to get a preview of the fountains from the 7 train and with the trees in full bloom, you can barely see them at all until you emerge from the pathway into the open plaza. 

The suspense was intense, but luckily they were on, and stayed on for my entire visit. I don't know how effectively they obscure the base, but they sure are impressive to see in person. Even the Unisphere still manages to amaze me no matter how many times I see it (night and day, winter, spring or summer). The presence of the fountains does manage to somehow make me wish even more than I normally do that I could travel back in time to see the Fair in all of its glory. 

I slowly keep visiting pieces of both Queens World Fairs —now scattered in parking lots and parks across the country—but I can't help but wish I could know what it was like when it was whole, risen from the ashes of the former Corona Ash Dumps; a magical place that gave us the Mustang, It's a Small World and the Belgian Waffle; a place that couldn't exist in the Internet Age; a place with a 12-story steel globe at its center, whose fountains still manage to inspire awe in this still-relatively-new New Yorker, more than 50 years later.

Bonus World's Fair delights! The NY State Pavilion // Rocket Thrower Statue // Port Authority Heliport (now a wedding venue)

Kane's Diner

Before creeping on abandoned buildings in Fort Totten, I knew I wanted to get breakfast at a new (to me) diner. It doesn't really matter what is on my agenda for any given day—diner breakfast is always the preferred starting point. Usually I'll pick an adventure destination and work backward to a diner from there, but sometimes I do the opposite. Since I knew I needed to catch a bus to Fort Totten from Flushing, I concentrated my diner search there.

Kane's had been on my radar for a while, ever since my dude and I walked by it on our first date more than a year-and-a-half ago. It was cold and snowy, but we took a walk through Flushing Meadows Corona Park on our way to eat dumplings in Flushing, and passed by Kane's. I was immediately enamored with their "High Class Steak & Shrimp" sign, and intrigued by their claim on having "Queens' Best 24-hr Breakfast" and "World Famous Steak & 3 Eggs".

When I finally made it inside a few weeks ago, it more than exceeded all of my diner expectations. I was actually bummed that I was dining alone (not a usual feeling for me) simply because the place was so wonderful that I felt the need to share its beauty and my excitement with someone else. I settled for surreptitiously taking tons of photos with my new (and very conspicuous) camera lens, and being extra nice to the waitstaff, all of whom were equally nice back to me.

Kane's opened in 1970 and has been owned by the same family ever since. Their menu is an absolute masterpiece, and I barely got time to take in the glorious scrapbook/tabloid nature of the entire (enormous) thing before they took my order. I had a ham and swiss omelette with an industrial-size English muffin and a Coke, which was all very good. They also have Cholula hot sauce as part of their classic diner-table-condiment grouping, which is definitely the best hot sauce and just GTFO right now if you prefer Tabasco.

The décor certainly looks as if nothing has changed since they opened in 1970, and by that I mean it's absolutely perfect. The Floridian Diner is stuck in the 80s and the Goodfellas in the 60s, so I'm thrilled to be able to add a bonafide 70s diner to my repertoire. Everything is covered in curving, dark wood paneling and I may never have seen so many shades of brown and tan in one space before. The tiled backsplash, decorative glass lampshades and even the hanging plants all look like they haven't been updated in their 40+ years in business, and I don't think they ever should be. The Presidential placemats, however, were up-to-date but soon won't be—I couldn't help but think how cool it would (will) be to see a woman added to that list when I return.

Fort Totten: Abandoned

Recently I had a personal day that I had to either use or lose, so I took a weekday off for a little solo adventure. I started my day at a great new (to me) diner in Queens—a spot wonderful enough for its own post—and then headed out to Fort Totten. Fort Totten was built by the US Army in 1862 to defend the East River approach to the New York Harbor. Most of the fort is now a public park, owned by the city of New York and other parts are used by the NYPD and FDNY for training purposes.

I had heard that Fort Totten was lousy with abandoned buildings so I was eager to go check it out, and it seemed perfect for a solo adventure since it's far enough away that I knew I'd have a hard time convincing anyone to come with me. It took about an hour to get to there on a bus from the end of the 7 train line in Flushing, Queens. I was immediately surprised by how busy and not abandoned everything seemed—I was disappointed only because I had been expecting the park to be much more desolate and overgrown. I think I actually made a mistake going on a weekday (when the park was teeming with NYPD, FDNY and Army reservists). I imagine it's much quieter on weekends, but with most places in the city, the opposite is true. 

Once I adjusted my expectations and began to explore, I did end up finding a bit of the abandoned element I had been seeking. A lot of the buildings are crumbling and barely visible through the ivy and other thick vegetation, but others are in various states of restoration. The Willet Farmhouse was built in 1829 and has a sign out front that proclaims "Please Pardon My Appearance, I am a Candidate for Historical Preservation,' but the entire house looks as if it's been swallowed by vines. 

The YMCA building was built in 1929, and now stands abandoned. It appears to be a dumping ground for filing cabinets, office supplies, industrial sewing machines, boxes of papers and boots. I didn't go further than the first room I came to, but I'm fascinated by abandoned spaces especially concerning what gets left behind. I would love to go back and explore the building further, and the more I think about it, the more I feel like Fort Totten is definitely worth a return trip.

Fort Tilden: Abandoned

On Memorial Day weekend, my dude and I decided to (mostly) stay in the city, which ended up being a wonderful decision. I hate the word "staycation" so I won't call it that, but I love that I can usually satisfy even the severest case of wanderlust without ever leaving the five boroughs. We chose to go to Fort Tilden because it satisfied our holiday weekend beach requirement, in addition to providing some wonderful history and an excellent crop of abandoned structures.

Fort Tilden is a former US Army post, located on the Rockaway Peninsula in Queens. We biked there once before, but this time we took a bus, which took about an hour from Brooklyn. Like Floyd Bennett, Fort Tilden is now a part of the Gateway National Recreation Area, controlled by the National Park Service.

Before we even got to the beach I declared it my "favorite beach excursion ever" because we spent the first half of our day exploring the various abandoned military structures that line the pathway to the beach. We couldn't quite figure out what the structures were originally used for, but we guess that they might have been storage facilities for ammunition and supplies. We saw several of the same type of building, each with garage doors at either end, raised sides and wooden rails that probably held racks of some sort.

The buildings are in such a lovely state of decay, with trees growing up through cracks in the cement, creeping vines creeping every which way, and rusty beams that look as if they're going to snap at any moment. There was some evidence that these structures might be popular places to hang out—chairs, beer cans, a package of honey buns—but we barely saw anyone the entire time we were exploring.

The structures basically function now as open-air graffiti galleries, and it seemed the closer we got to the beach, the better the art became. There were some really wonderful pieces and the contrast between the colorful murals, rusty metals, crumbling ceilings and lush greenery was everything my nascent, urban-explorer heart desired. I knew there were ruins at Fort Tilden, but the few buildings that we explored really exceeded all of my expectations—and quickly made Fort Tilden one of my very favorite places.

Queens Walk

About a month ago, my friends and I took a long, rambling walk through Queens to eventually eat lunch at the Goodfellas Diner. We stumbled upon a delightfully vintage Carvel ice cream shop and so many wonderful storefronts, signage and neighborhoods that we would have never known about had we taken the bus or train.

We made a slight detour to stop at Rudy's Pastry shop, a German-American bakery which has been in Ridgewood since 1934. It had been on my radar for a while, but it was a great place to stop halfway along our journey. We got some treats and admired their wooden display cases, beautiful handpainted signage and large spools of baker's twine hanging from the ceiling.

Ridgewood has been hailed as an "affordable alternative" to more trendy places like Williamsburg and Greenpoint, and I can definitely see why. We walked past some wonderful shops, cute single-family houses and a lot of Polish, German and other eastern-European restaurants. I love finding places in New York that really feel authentic, in a way that can only be created over time and with the right mix of people and ethnicities.

The Goodfellas Diner is located in Maspeth, which is more industrial than Ridgewood, and after lunch we continued north into Woodside where we eventually caught a train. Queens is home to so many excellent cemeteries (and World's Fair history!) that I was already destined to spend a great deal of time there, but this walk only strengthened my love for New York's largest—but often-underrated— borough.

Bayside Cemetery

I came across Bayside Cemetery recently in some corner of the Internet, where it was mentioned that the Queens cemetery had fallen into disrepair to the point where people were complaining about exposed human remains. This information was somewhat outdated, and the cemetery has since been cleaned up a bit, but I still thought it was worth visiting so my friend Tag and I went to check it out recently on a partly gloomy Sunday morning.

Abandoned (or abandoned-ish) cemeteries are touchy things—on the one hand, I love anything creepy, crumbling and overgrown, but on the other hand I can understand why family members would be upset to see the final resting places of their loved ones fall into disrepair. I think everyone deserves a dignified end (and eternal resting place, if that's your thing), but I haven't come across many cemeteries that aren't very well tended to, so the minute we stepped into Bayside it felt special.

Bayside—along with neighboring Acacia and Mokom Sholom cemeteries—was founded in Queens in 1865, and is one of the oldest still-active Jewish cemeteries in the city. Cemetery residents include multiple Civil War veterans and one victim from the Titanic. Most of the graves are quite old, but we did eventually find some from the 90s and 2000s.

Some areas of the cemetery were more tended to than others, and I can see how it probably used to be a lot worse. A lot of the mausoleums were boarded, bricked or cemented shut, while some had doors that swung open freely. We didn't come across any graffiti or noticeable vandalism, but a lot of stones had fallen off their pedestals or had been broken by trees and covered with leaves, fallen branches and ivy. The main office was boarded up and obviously hadn't been in use for a while, but we did see two men tending to the grounds as we were leaving, and the gate was open for visitors.

I lost count of how many times I exclaimed how much I loved Bayside during our time walking through the overgrown weeds, and I wouldn't hesitate to declare it one of my very favorite places in the city. I bet it's incredible in the snow or in the fall and I already started dreaming about my return before we had even left.

The GoodFellas Diner

On Saturday my friends and I walked to what is now my very favorite diner in the city, the GoodFellas Diner. I don't make that distinction lightly, and there are still a lot of diners on my to-do list, but it was nearly perfect. The diner wasn't named GoodFellas when the movie filmed scenes there (it's also called the Clinton Diner), but now it's pretty obvious they've decided to align themselves fully with their namesake film. Despite none of us having seen the movie, we graciously accepted when we were greeted upon entry and asked if we wanted to sit at the "Robert DeNiro table."

The outside of the diner looks like it came from the same makers of the wonderful Market Diner—which is now (quite depressingly) completely demolished. The zig-zag shaped roof is nearly identical to the Market's, although the GoodFellas Diner is quite large with a front room, main diner area, counter and a back bar room.

We arrived at the diner at about 1pm, and it was nearly empty. By the time we had finished our meals we were the only people in the diner, in addition to our waitress and two cooks. I was both thrilled and saddened to have the entire place to ourselves. We had free reign to take photos and explore, which I love, but also I worry about the longevity of places like this—diners are dropping like flies and I want them to not only survive, but to thrive.

Not everything in the diner feels 100% authentic, but the overall effect is still dazzling. The red and silver glitter vinyl booths, stools, chairs and amber-colored lamps are beautiful, but my favorite is the counter with its scalloped edge and basket weave printed top. It's also one of the longest diner counters I've seen, sitting at least 15 people.

The signs inside of the diner are really exquisite, advertising wonderful-sounding menu items such as Beefburger Steak, Fried Filet of Sole, Romanian Steak, London Broil, Beef Goulash, American Fries and Liver with Onions. I love the proclamations "Our Pies Are So Good," "The Best 1/2 Lb Burger in Town" and even the simple and to-the-point "We Serve Grits."

Our hostess/waitress/(probably) owner was so incredible—and straight out of Central Casting. She was generous with the coffee refills, let us linger as long as we liked and was eager to show us around. We didn't have the heart to tell her that none of us had seen the movie, and it seemed easier to pretend rather than to explain that we all just really love diners.

The recent loss of the Market Diner (and seeing a huge hole in the ground where it used to be) really hit me hard. I've lived in New York long enough to begin to see places I love and frequent disappear—and be replaced by luxury condos or something equally soulless. It's sad and unfair but also just a reality of life, especially here where change is a constant and money talks. I can only hope that for every diner I lose, I find another special gem like the GoodFellas Diner to help soften the blow.

Carvel Ice Cream Shop

On Saturday my friends and I wanted to check out a diner in Maspeth, Queens. It was located in a bit of a transit desert—at least subway-wise—so we decided to walk. Our 3.5 mile walk took us through a few neighborhoods that I had never really been to, starting in Brooklyn and then into Queens.

Some people might think it's pointless to take an already long journey and make it even longer, but I'm a huge fan of taking the long way, especially here in the city. So often I stumble upon places or see wonderful things that I would never have known about if I hadn't allowed myself the time and luxury of simply wandering. As we turned the corner from Forest Ave onto Metropolitan Ave, we hit the found-place jackpot when the most wonderful, old timey Carvel ice cream shop appeared before us.

The stand-alone shop (with ample parking) is not something I'm used to seeing much in New York, although they do stand a slightly better chance of surviving in the outer boroughs. The lettering on the front and sides of the building is perfect in every way, and I'm eternally grateful that they didn't just cover it up with a printed banner bearing the newer Carvel logo (I can forgive them for putting those on top). The two huge ice cream cones have sadly seen better days—most of their ice cream was damaged in Hurricane Sandy (according to Forgotten NY)— but props to the owner for not trashing them completely.

I got a Fudgie the Whale cake for my dude's birthday this year, which was my first (very positive) Carvel experience, so I was extra-thrilled to see their Fudgie neon "Open" sign. When paired with the purple ice cream cone neon, the hand-painted signs, the faded pink everything—this Carvel is everything my vintage-kitsch-loving heart needs.