Brooklyn Bridge

Colin and his Pa (aka Himself) set quite a furious pace on foot. These two have climbed the Sierras together on one of their wilderness backpackie camping trips; you know, the kind of camping trip where you take no water, just a little water purification kit. These two can walk for miles and miles and then walk some more. I quite like walking, too. I'm just more a stroller than a strider, but on our marathon walk from Brooklyn to Chinatown, I became a strider. I didn't want to get lost so I kept up.

At one point, before we even hit the Bridge, Himself looked back at me and I mimed drinking a cuppa coffee. Colin said he thought we could stop in Dumbo, grab a coffee at a riverside restaurant and sit in this new little patch of green along the river. Dumbo isn't like other neighborhoods I'd seen in Brooklyn. There's no lively street scene. It's lofts, old warehouse space and a restaurant or two. And now a little park, right by the water. Sitting in that little park, listening to the roar of traffic on the two bridges flanking the park, The Brooklyn Bridge and The Manhattan Bridge, I listened to Colin and his Dad planning the rest of the walk. I stared up at The Brooklyn Bridge, remembering footage shot of the hundreds of thousands streaming over it and away from Manhattan on 9/11.



We wound our way through Dumbo and back into whatever part of Brooklyn houses the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge and made our way up. It's a beautiful bridge with ample pedestrian and cycling space well above the traffic level.

We quickened our pace. Chinatown beckoned.