Greater New York has so much surf that it’s an honest wonder that the state didn’t apply for the “Surf City, USA” moniker.
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“Surf is where you find it,” he tells me as we sip our ice-cold beers at one of The Standard High Line’s Biergarten picnic tables. There is a buzz of energy around us. Attractive folk playing ping-pong, eating pretzels, unwinding after a day of New York City work.
Laughing. Enjoying the very first brushes of Spring.
I nod and agree.
My surfboard is, in fact, upstairs leaning against a floor-to-ceiling window. Looking out across the unimpeded Hudson to New Jersey beyond. It is the best view in all of Manhattan and the room, with natural wood finishes and the appropriate amount of modernity, makes it difficult to want to leave.
The bed is both soft and firm. The bedsheets cold yet comforting. It is a paradox of sorts but maybe it’s a paradox solved by perfect feng shui. The Chinese concept of harmonizing one’s environment has lost its trendy appeal, I suppose, but that feeling of… balance… is something worth paying extra for. My surfboard is lucky to be up there alone, enjoying the view, enjoying a harmony it has never before experienced since it’s asymmetrical.
Surf is where you find it and right now it is at the Biergarten. A cheer emanates from the foosball table where a handsome stockbroker has just drilled a goal without spinning the handle like an amateur. One perfect shot, and I take a sip of my perfect beer.
Oh that every hotel could have a biergarten.
This morning, surf was at The Standard High Line’s breakfast restaurant The Grille Café, with its lobster roll scramble and waitstaff that makes a blow-in feel downright local. Maybe it is the homey yet chic furniture? The bar stocked and the bartender making all manner of champagne cocktail? Impossible to know.
Tonight, surf might be upstairs at Le Bain, the rooftop disco where even more attractive folk come and dance and sip perfect dirty martinis. The spot is considered “legendary” and should be but it also feels like a complimentary addition to room, café and general environs. Like a timely after-dinner mint.
In all fairness, surf might also be in New Jersey, across that unimpeded Hudson. It might be up in the Rockaways it might be in Long Beach. Greater New York has so much surf that it’s an honest wonder that the state didn’t apply for the “Surf City, USA” moniker.
Maybe it’s better that it’s all a “secret” because it’s all easy to access from The Standard High Line.
All too easy to access, in fact.
I take another sip of my ice-cold beer while quietly toasting surfers everywhere.
“Here’s to us.”