New Yorkers collect experiences like Girl Scout badges. Some are universal—crying on the subway, spotting a rat in broad daylight, running into an ex at a bodega—while some more advanced ones take years to earn. I’m proud to say that I’m the holder of one of the rarest New Yorker badges (ignoring Staten Island as usual): commuting by ferry.
For a summer (one ripped from an early 2000s coming-of-age movie), I caught the ferry shuttle to Governors Island to work in the kitchen of a waterfront oyster bar. Suited up in the uniform Smee might wear in a Wes Anderson Peter Pan (red Vans, denim apron, stripes), I’d board a literal boat twice a day.
Imagine my confusion the morning of the island’s apparently annual Jazz Age Lawn Party, when I thought I’d either hallucinated that every other ferry passenger was in 1920s period costume or time traveled. Imagine their discomfort when they discovered that the only passenger who didn’t get the memo came dressed like a twee fishmonger.
Imagine my annoyance at spending an entire summer explaining to people that Gov Ball does not in fact take place on Governors Island, but in the Citi Field parking lot.
I thought my ferry days ended with my oyster bar stint. I didn’t think I’d get another chance to hand a paper ticket to a deckhand rather than struggling to Apple Pay for the subway. I didn’t dream that I’d once again gaze out at the Statue of Liberty and twinkling city lights from any kind of watercraft unless it was under the guise of a booze cruise or chaperoning my future child’s senior class trip.
Until last week, when I alerted Google Maps that I was getting a haircut directly across the river, and her advice was to simply…cross the river. I couldn’t believe my eyes when “ferry” popped up as the recommended mode of transport to Brooklyn, beside the bold claim that this nautical adventure would take half the time it would to walk inland and descend into the subway’s sweaty bowels. I couldn’t just “take the ferry to get a haircut,” I told myself. And yet, ten minutes later, I was taking the ferry to get a haircut.
Stepping from dry land onto a vessel that could pass for a yacht if it really wanted to (far cuter than Staten Island’s orange barge) was transformative. Immediately, I was once again swept up in the whimsy of the ferry. I was taken by the views, the temperature-controlled cabin, the flat screen TV that displayed only a John Oliver poster for the entire ride, and—yes, for real—the light refreshments. Being offered a light refreshment on the subway probably means you’re about to be murdered, but on the ferry purchasing a Gatorade is part of the magic.
The ferry is for the main characters who want to pop in headphones and see a bridge up close, and the ferry is for people who require pizzazz that a train or bus simply cannot offer. When you take the ferry, you’re on island time.
Ferries have been around in New York since it was New Amsterdam. As early as 1642, there was a ferry service from Manhattan to Brooklyn, and by 1904, there would be 147 boats serving New York City’s waters. And yet, centuries later, we New Yorkers often willingly choose far less adorable ways of getting around. It’s time to stop arriving late grumbling about the MTA and start arriving in style, singing the praises of Hornblower Cruises.
In case you weren’t aware, the ferry has its very own online personality. It’s nearly 35 thousand TikTok followers receive near-daily reminders that the ferry exists, along with occasional collaborations with the ferry’s more viral best friend, the personified Empire State Building (whose following has surpassed 1.2 million). The ferry never lets its fans forget that it’s a Swiftie, posting an abundance of Taylor Swift-themed content ever since it hosted multiple sold-out album release cruise parties aboard Lunchbox.
What do I mean, “aboard Lunchbox?” Thank you for asking. Lunchbox is the newest member of the fleet, a commuter ferry named by a class of PS 170 second graders. Other NYC ferries named by genius prodigy children include Dream Boat, Ferry Godmother, Tooth Ferry, and Forget Me Knot.
As a New Yorker with my ferry Girl Scout badge, I plan to stop neglecting my duties. I’m swearing off of pointless subway trips underwater in 2024. And I urge you too to answer the call of Google Maps rather than fighting your seafaring destiny. Heal from your hardened ways, and then tell me whether your inner child would rather earn another Monday morning delay badge on land or ride to work on a boat named Lunchbox.
