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

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.

Blazing Star Cemetery

The Blazing Star Cemetery is located in the Rossville neighborhood of Staten Island. It's adjacent to the ship graveyard and I'm always happy to add a new cemetery onto the itinerary when I have a specific destination in mind. The earliest grave markers date to 1750, and it was one of the first community burial grounds on Staten Island. There are only a handful of stones on the small piece of land but they are beautifully carved and in remarkably good condition for their age. 

Alternately called the Sleight Family Graveyard, or the Rossville Burial Ground, this cemetery contains the remains of several different prominent Staten Island families. I couldn't find much more information about the history of the cemetery or its residents, but Peter Winant was the son of one of the first permanent settlers to the island. A sign declares that it is currently maintained by the Friends of Abandoned Cemeteries, Inc. of Staten Island, which is a group that I would definitely consider joining. 

I found a document from the Landmarks Preservation Commission on January 17, 1968, proposing that the cemetery be designated a landmark. The Commission found that the graveyard "has a special character, special historical and aesthetic interest and value as part of the development, heritage, and cultural characteristics of New York City."

The cemetery sits near the former location of a mooring slip for the Blazing Star Ferry—which once ran between Staten Island and New Jersey—right on the side of Arthur Kill Road, where it intersects Rossville Avenue. We took the Staten Island Ferry and then the S74 bus, which if you're very lucky won't make all of the 72 stops between the ferry terminal and the graveyard. 

---

Blazing Star Cemetery
Arthur Kill Rd & Rossville Ave,
Staten Island, NY 10309

Sailors' Snug Harbor Cemetery

Sailors' Snug Harbor was established on Staten Island in 1831 as a retirement home for sailors. Noted sea captain Robert Richard Randall—in a will drafted by Alexander Hamilton—bequeathed his property for the creation of Snug Harbor, one of the first retirement homes in the country. The only requirement for the self-sustaining community was that residents have five years of maritime service for the US, or ten years for a foreign country. 

Peak population of the community was more than 1,000 in the early 1900s. By the '70s the population had dwindled significantly—the home was moved to North Carolina and the property was transferred to the City of New York as a cultural center. I have been to Snug Harbor a few times in the past few years, but on my most recent visit I finally found the cemetery. 

The cemetery appears on Google Maps, but on my last visits it had eluded me. The L-shaped graveyard is located beyond the south gate of Snug Harbor, off of Prospect Avenue, right next to Allison Pond Park. The cemetery itself is enclosed by a brick wall, and when you peek through the (locked) gate it just looks like a big open field. In fact, the six-acre site actually contains the graves of 7,000 mariners who died at the Snug Harbor between 1833 and 1975. 

Each grave was once marked with gravestones bearing four-digit numbers, and then metal plates were used when the cemetery began to get crowded. These plates eventually deteriorated and other marble stones were removed and put in storage for their protection. You can see examples of the four-digit marker stones on display in the Noble Maritime Collection (housed on the grounds of Snug Harbor).

What I didn't know when I first tried to find the cemetery is that there are a handful of tombstones left on the property—they're in the back of the cemetery, in an area that the Snug Harbor residents referred to as "Monkey Hill." I'm not sure if this cemetery is ever "open" to the public, but I walked back into the woods of Allison Pond Park and easily found a way over the brick wall. The grass and weeds were nearly knee-high and I was skeptical that I would even be able to find the remaining stones, but I eventually located a few (and emerged with neither ticks, nor a poison ivy rash). 

The Trustees' of Sailors' Snug Harbor retained ownership of the cemetery even after the retirement home was relocated, and as I was getting ready to hop back over the wall, I did see a man at the front gate beginning to mow the lawn. I hesitate to say that this cemetery is truly "abandoned" but it may as well have been for how hard it was to locate and how forgotten it feels.

Staten Island Boat Graveyard

The Staten Island Boat Graveyard—also called the Witte Marine Scrap Yard, the Arthur Kill Boat Yard or the Tugboat Graveyard—is located in the Arthur Kill waterway near the Rossville neighborhood in Staten Island. The scrapyard was founded in the 1930s by John J. Witte and today it is still managed by his son.

To really see the remains of nearly 100 cargo ships and tugboats, you technically have to do a little trespassing. There is no public access to the graveyard and probably for good reason—I've explored some rickety buildings, but nothing compares to the twisted, slippery piles of rusty metal and wood that you'll find here surrounded by quicksand-like muck and mud. I put my faith in the tetanus shot I had less than ten years ago (when I passed out on a pile of rusty antiques ... in my own bathroom) and luckily the only causalities were my sneakers, which will forever be caked in stinky mud.

Although it's still privately owned, the boat graveyard has accidentally evolved into an outdoor boat museum over the years. Notable ships include the first WWII US Navy ship to have a predominantly African-American crew and a New York fireboat present at the 1904 sinking of the General Slocum, the worst disaster in the city's history until 9/11.

You'll see the most at low tide—or if you're really brave, a kayak (or at the very least, rubber boots) would be the ideal accessory. We mostly scrambled along the shore and carefully ventured out onto slimy planks when they were available. In addition to climbing on rusty, unstable piles of scrap, you'll have to do a bit of bushwacking through the tall weeds and brush, but the views are definitely worth the effort (and risk). There was so much more in the scrapyard than I expected, and my only regret is that we couldn't get closer to, or even inside of the ships.

New York City Farm Colony

Sunday was unseasonably warm and sunny, and in the morning I met my mom for breakfast downtown at the Pearl Diner. She asked what I was up to, and I told her that I planned to go to Staten Island and creep on the ruins of the old farm colony. She asked if I'd like company, and I said "of course," which is how I found myself exploring creepy abandoned buildings with my mother on a 65-degree day in February. I already knew my mom was not like a regular mom—she's a cool mom!—but her willingness and enthusiasm for an urban exploration adventure of questionable legality just cemented that impression.

I had known about the New York City Farm Colony ever since I moved here, but for some reason it popped into my head recently that I had to go check it out immediately. I remembered reading about the city selling the property to a developer for $1, and I knew that I'd regret not seeing it while it existed as ruins.

It was actually sold over a year ago and according to a New York Times article from January, 2016: 

At a cost of about $91 million, Mr. Masucci would rehabilitate five remaining buildings on the site, tear down five others and preserve a 112-year-old men’s dormitory as a stabilized ruin. He would also construct three six-story apartment buildings and 14 multiple-unit townhouses, some with built-in garages, for a total of 344 condominiums. They would start opening next year. 

Obviously the timeline was a bit ambitious, because over a year later there is virtually no evidence of new development (or clean-up of any kind) on the property aside from a few new sections of fencing.

The Richmond County Poor Farm was established in 1829 and it was renamed the New York City Farm Colony when Staten Island officially became a borough in 1898. The (mostly elderly) residents were required to work, which included actual farming of fruits, vegetables, wheat and corn. Residency declined after the implementation of Social Security, and in 1975 the facility closed and has sat abandoned ever since.

There are multiple buildings on the overgrown property, each in varying stages of decay. Some have collapsed, either partially or almost entirely, and some are more structurally sound. We went in a few of them, but they're mostly empty and covered in graffiti. Although the colony is not exactly a public park, we saw several other people walking around while we were there—groups of fellow explorers, at least one fashion photography session, and what appeared to be a movie being filmed (which featured a woman in a wheelchair that my mom and I both looked at each other and asked "do you see her too?").

My mom lamented the barren nature of the buildings, and I agree—abandoned places feel much spookier (and make for better photo subjects) if they still have stuff in them. Objects like chairs, beds, desks, papers or other relics of human life make buildings feel abandoned as opposed to merely empty. We did see a few things—a bed frame, a few chairs, a rusted desk—but these buildings have obviously been frequented by people for decades. We still had an incredible time exploring and it couldn't have been a more perfect day—just a normal Sunday outing for a mother and daughter who share a love of all things creepy and a questionable regard for authority.

Historic Richmond Town

Historic Richmond Town was founded in 1856 and is alternatively known as the Staten Island Historical Society. The town of Richmond, located in central Staten Island, has been around since the 17th century. The historical society has preserved a number of buildings on the 100-acre site as a living history and museum complex. You can walk through the town for free, or pay to take a guided tour. We went on a recent Sunday and only saw a few people wandering about, but I imagine it's a popular school field trip destination during the weekdays.

I really didn't know what to expect from the town, but Staten Island is full of strange and wonderful things (including Snug Harbor, cemeteries and my first abandoned hospital) and I'm always excited to explore more of the oft-forgotten borough. Richmond Town is full of adorable, historical structures including homes of varying styles, a print shop, wood-working shop (complete with wood-worker), tin shop, service station and a Sanitary Luncheon dining car with the most wonderful hand-painted lettering. Unfortunately the diner was not operational, but I did suffer a minor heart attack when I peeked inside the windows and found a terrifying (even to me) mannequin staring back at me with huge, drawn-on eyes.

 We saw some cats roaming the property—including a black cat, which I have a knack for seeing in spooky places—and a few trees felled by beavers. The town feels a bit like Colonial Williamsburg, but without all of the annoying tourists and bizarre re-enactors. It's rustic and overgrown, but well-maintained, and was the perfect lazy Sunday anecdote to crowded, hectic city life. This is the farthest I've been into Staten Island (without a car), and it's definitely a trek—we took the S74 bus from the St. George ferry terminal, a journey that Google informed me could include up to 52 stops.

Historic Richmond Town even has a cemetery, a rare 18th-century private graveyard used by the Rezeau, Van Pelt and Wheatley families. The earliest grave in the cemetery dates from 1789, and the wrought iron fence was added in 1850. The winged hourglass is one of my favorite cemetery symbols, and I've seen it on tombstones and mausoleums but the detail on the fence really is extraordinary.

It was The Parsonage, however that really stole my heart—a gothic-revival style house, built in 1855 for the pastor of the Dutch Reformed Church. It was sold to the city in 1953 to become part of the town, and has alternatively served as a residence, administrative offices and even a restaurant. I can't stop thinking about its perfect color-palette, wonderful porch and bat-like gingerbread—I'd even consider moving to Staten Island if I could somehow take up residence in this definitely-haunted house of my dreams.

Staten Island Hospital: Abandoned

As soon as I found out about an abandoned hospital on Staten Island, I knew that it was perfect for my first abandoned building adventure. I've creeped on plenty of abandoned things from afar, but I've never really had the courage to go inside of any—until recently. Luckily I had the very best creepin' companion to help me make the leap, and it ended up being one of my favorite adventures to date.

I definitely do not endorse breaking the law, and trespassing/breaking into anywhere is bad—let's just get that out of the way. I also try to live by the "take nothing but photographs" rule, which we strictly adhered to, although we did find some wonderful things. I don't know much about the history of this particular hospital, but it opened in 1837 and basically became abandoned from the top-down—lower floors were occupied by dental clinics and children's programs into the early 2000s (the last date we saw on anything was 2005).

The artifacts definitely got older and more plentiful the further we went upstairs. In one room we found a filing cabinet overflowing with records, most of which were from the 1960s. Various checks, doctor's slips, accounting records and patient index cards poured out onto a table. My favorite document from 1970 showed an expense of $46.05 paid to "Staten Island Pickle Works." One of the attic rooms contained what might actually be the world's creepiest dental chair and the most wonderful pink cabinets filled with medical tubing and other debris. We also found two separate rolling IV stands—one of which had a bag attached whose contents expired in 1984.

On one far end of the top floor, we came across a room piled high with boxes of patient records. We found admissions papers for people who struggled with addictions, a birth certificate from Puerto Rico and binders full of the personal information of people who were vulnerable and needed help. To see the most intimate details of so many people's lives reduced to a soggy, decaying pile was really sad.

The layers upon layers of peeling paint (so much institutional green and pink!) reminded me of Eastern State Penitentiary or the abandoned hospital complex on Ellis Island. It's fascinating to me how places become abandoned, and what gets left behind when they do. A lot of the windows were open or broken, and a few of the doors were left wide open, so I'm sure nature helps things along, but the decay process is so interesting to see. A lot of the building had been raided, presumably by scrappers, but it overall felt very structurally intact and in pretty good shape, considering the neglect.

We spent about 3.5 hours exploring every single room, and it ended up being the absolute perfect abandoned place for novices like us. We did briefly see a cat, which was slightly unnerving, but otherwise we had the place to ourselves. I love trying to figure out the history and imagining the different lives that the building has lived. We were very glad to find that most of the interior hadn't been ruined by graffiti, although we did see some on the first floor. I'm not sure what the future holds for this place, but I'll never forget how kind it was to us on our first abandoned adventure.

Staten Island: Moravian Cemetery

One of JMP's requirements when she was in town was that we explore a cemetery. OH OK, IF WE MUST I said, and got to work trying to find a suitable cemetery that I hadn't been to before. She also wanted to ride the Staten Island Ferry, so I started my search in New York's most overlooked borough. I'd been to Staten Island a few times to explore Sailor's Snug Harbor, but never to a cemetery (unless you count Snug Harbor's tombstone-less potter's field).

Moravian Cemetery, the largest on Staten Island, was the ultimate winner. It's 274 years old, "often heralded as New York's most beautiful memorial site," and fairly close to the Grant City stop on the SIR. Moravian ended up completely exceeding all of my expectations and definitely shot straight to the top of my favorites list.

We spent about four hours walking through almost the entire cemetery and more than once I found myself saying "this cemetery has everything!" They had clean, convenient bathrooms when we needed them most, some of the oldest tombstones I've seen in the city (1770s), fascinating new (and incredibly gaudy) mausoleums and the largest concentration of ivy-covered tombstones I've ever seen in one place. I love, love, love a good ivy-covered anything but it adds a creep-factor to tombstones and cemeteries that is almost too much for me to handle.

A section of the cemetery houses the Vanderbilt family mausoleum, constructed by Cornelius Vanderbilt and landscaped by Frederick Law Olmstead. Unfortunately the Vanderbilt section is private—I was hoping that we could at least sneak a peek at the (supposedly haunted) mausoleum, but the area is heavily wooded and guarded by a barbed-wire fence. They do offer tours that often include the Vanderbilt section so I'll definitely be coming back to test out that haunted theory for myself.

Moravian has an amazing receiving tomb (beautifully labeled as such), a hillside mausoleum with incredible views of the water, the only headstone I've ever seen with the word "bones" on it, and some of the most beautiful fall foliage I've seen all year. East coast Octobers were positively made for afternoon cemetery strolls, and the day we went was perfect fall weather—sunny, yet chilly at the same time.

Moravian also gets the distinction of having the single most disturbing gravesite I've stumbled upon in my cemetery travels thus far. JMP pointed it out to me, and I don't think I'll ever be able to forget about five-year-old Harry B. Cairns—or stop wondering how he drowned, why someone felt the need to permanently etch that grisly fact on his headstone, why the 80-year-old grave looks so fresh, or who left that super creepy and tattered fairy doll behind.

And because I don't wish to leave you on that distressing note, I give you some of the other headstones that we came across at Moravian (although, unfortunately, not right next to each other):

Staten Island / Snug Harbor

A few weeks ago the weather finally got warm (albeit temporarily) so Jim and I decided we wanted to take an adventure. He had never been to Staten Island, so I proposed that we go to Snug Harbor. I had been once before, but I wanted to see it in the winter, especially since the last of the snow was rapidly melting.

We took the Staten Island Ferry, which is a wonderful adventure just by itself. We couldn't figure out how to get on an upper, outside deck but it ended up not mattering so much because we found our way to the rear of the ferry, and the view did not disappoint.  I'm still amazed every time I take one of the ferries (Staten Island, Governor's Island, Ikea...) that such a novel mode of travel is absolutely free. New York is a city of extremes; we pay absurd prices for things like apartments and lattes, but we also get things for free that probably should be expensive. It all has a way of balancing out in the end — at least that's what I prefer to think every month when I mail my embarrassingly large rent check. 

We decided to walk to Snug Harbor, which I chickened out of doing my first time there, and I still don't highly recommend it. It's a long walk, but more than that it's kind of a sketchy one, and apparently one that doesn't get much attention from anyone with a snow shovel. We walked along Richmond Terrace, for the most part, and it's definitely not the most pedestrian-friendly route that I've been on. 

We walked back to the ferry a different way — through neighborhoods — although I don't really recommend that either. There is a bus that takes you directly from the terminal to the entrance of Snug Harbor and I'll definitely be taking that on any return trips.

We tried, relatively unsuccessfully, to find Staten Island's historical district, but we did happen upon some beautiful, although mostly neglected, historic homes. Right next to the entrance to Snug Harbor is the Neville-Tysen house, which I hadn't noticed on my previous visit. While there is some dispute over when it was built — some say it's pre-Revolutionary, some say it's post — the house is one of the oldest houses in New York City and received landmark status in 1967. 

I'm not sure what the current status of the house is, but a recent owner was critically injured in 2012 when she fell through a weak spot in the floor into a well below. It appears to be boarded up now (definitely haunted?) and in a state of decay, but I hope that people haven't given up on it just yet. 

Snug Harbor was just as weird, beautiful and desolate as the first time I went, but it was nice to be able to show someone else around. The cottages are still one of my favorite parts of the campus — five of which are now home to artists via a live/work residency program (a total dream). 

Everything looks even more enchanting (and abandoned) when it's covered in snow, and although it was warm there was still enough snow on the ground to make this visit feel completely different than when I went in the sweltering heat of July. The fountains were turned off, and the Chinese Scholar Garden appeared to be closed, although the general grounds are open year-round from dawn to dusk.

The Governor's House is just as creepy as ever (definitely haunted.) and the allée is only slightly less enchanting without the greenery. We also made a point to check out the Snug Harbor Cemetery, which I somehow neglected on my first trip, despite my intense love of all things funereal. 

What we found was not exactly a cemetery, but more of a burial ground, with no visible headstones or markers of any kind. The only indication that it even existed was a brick wall surrounding a field, with a gate that was locked. I don't know if it's ever open, but it's basically in someone's back yard now which I think has to be pretty creepy for them (definitely, definitely haunted). Apparently more than 9,000 seamen — who spent their last days at Snug Harbor — are buried here, but all of the nameplates have been removed to prevent people from stealing them for scrap.

Our last stop in Staten Island was a Dairy Queen (the only one in New York!) in the ferry terminal for Blizzards (necessary) before boarding the ferry back to Manhattan. We ended up hitting the time exactly right to catch a crazy beautiful sunset over the Statue of Liberty, and the light sparkling off of the buildings in Lower Manhattan was just perfect. It was the perfect adventure-filled day, and all it cost us was the price of a (well-deserved) Blizzard.

Snug Harbor

Yesterday, after a few days of trying to do that relaxing thing that people seem to be fond of, I wanted an adventure. I like to call them adventures, but really it's just me walking around places by myself and taking a million photos.

Staten Island was the last of the five boroughs that I hadn't been to, so I finally decided to make the trip. My main destination was the Snug Harbor Cultural Center and Botanical Garden, which was so wonderful that it deserves its own post. I took the Staten Island Ferry (more on that tomorrow) and then hopped on the S-40 bus to Snug Harbor. I was kind of dreading figuring out the bus situation and had even considered walking, but trust me, you want to take the bus. It leaves out of terminal D (in the St. George Ferry Terminal), and while you may have to wait a little bit, it's only a short ride to Snug Harbor.

In 1801, Snug Harbor was created as the first home for retired sailors in the United States, was converted to a cultural center in the '70s and the botanical gardens were added in 2008. It's a wonderful place for a meandering day trip, and even though it was a Sunday there were hardly any other people there. I love discovering new, interesting places in the city, and it's even better when it feels as if I have them all to myself. I spend most of my time in New York defending my small amount of personal space from 8 million people that want to invade it, that sometimes it's nice (and even necessary) to have fields and gardens and lawns to roam, (mostly) undisturbed.

Snug Harbor has a lot to see, but it's not unmanageably huge — I walked the entire grounds in a few hours, making many stops along the way. Make sure to grab a map at the Main Hall, and there are signs along the paths so it's fairly easy to find your way. The Chinese Scholar's Garden is the only attraction that costs money — $5 for adults, $4 for students — and the entrance is a bit tricky to find. I actually walked right into it without having to show anyone my ticket, so I suppose I didn't have to pay at all, but I figured that $4 was a small price to pay for such a beautiful day.

My favorite part was definitely the Allée, a walkway lined with arching European hornbeams — it seriously felt like a dream. I walked through it a few times, not only feeling far away from New York, but feeling as if I was in a different world entirely.

There is a rose garden, a row of cute cottages, beautiful fountains, and even a secret' garden that is only accessible by successfully navigating a tiny hedge maze. The path was a little unsteady, and the garden wasn't exactly bountiful, but it was a great, shady place to rest. I know a lot of my friends dread doing things solo, but I actually crave solitude and I think I even thrive off of it. It's a nice change of pace to be in complete control of your day, not relying on anyone else has a freeing aspect to it that has always appealed to me.

The Music Hall is one of the oldest concert halls in the City (second only to Carnegie Hall) and the Harbor Lights Theater Company is currently putting on a production of Oliver! until July 28th.

I also checked out the Noble Maritime Collection (because I'm eighty years old), a donation-based museum filled with nautically-themed treasures. The museum itself is in a gorgeous building, and occupies three floors. It was a great place to cool off, and had some pretty impressive artwork, model ships and relics from Snug Harbor's days as a retirement community (side note: is there anything creepier than a wicker wheelchair??).

The whole institution feels a tad rundown and neglected, but it feels as if it may be more from a lack of funding than a lack of interest. I love a bit of character and crumble to my buildings, though, so in my opinion it only adds to the charm of the whole place.

I will definitely be back, especially in the fall and spring — I bet the grounds are absolutely breathtaking when the leaves start to change. Snug Harbor felt like another slightly secret, hidden gem well within city limits, and it's only a 25 min ferry —and 10 min bus — ride away.