Three-Week Tour of the Eastern US 9 (Final Chapter): Camping in New York

Finally have time to finish this unfinished building...

I originally planned to book a hotel. After research, I found that if you want to stay in Manhattan, it would cost three figures. New Jersey was cheaper, but I checked several and all had terrible online reviews. Plus the news kept talking about how even the fanciest hotels might have bed bugs (yes, after disappearing for decades, they've evolved and made a comeback), so I bravely decided: I'll go camping instead.

Speaking of camping, I wasn't planning to compete for territory under a bridge with homeless brothers and sisters (though that could lead to touching stories like "Under the Bridge"), and street corners or subway stations were obviously not ideal — too noisy (though the advantage would be close to tourist spots). I first looked north, since I was going to Woodbury Premium Outlet Mall in Central Valley anyway, so I searched around that area. There actually was a campground there, about ten-plus kilometers southeast. But it was still probably an hour and a half from New York — too far.

So I moved closer and found one on Staten Island, south of Manhattan, but it was an RV campground. I didn't give up, and finally found the best campground in New Jersey, south of Staten Island: CheeseCake State Park. Americans are always careless and misspelled it as "Cheesequake," but I took the trouble to correct it for them. You're welcome.

This park was so old-school that it didn't accept online reservations (unheard of these days) — you had to call. The park closes in the evening, and you need a code to enter. When I made the reservation, they told me to call a few days in advance to get the code. I completely forgot until 6 p.m. on the day itself. I called from a service area on the New Jersey Turnpike, but they had already closed. I wasted $4.50 but didn't get the code. Later I found out that on I-90, a long-distance call only costs $1 (for the same three minutes), not $4.50. That company is quite shady.

When I got to the park, it was already dark. A female police officer (a real cop, not a park ranger) was just about to leave in her car. Unfortunately, she didn't know the code either. But it wasn't a total loss — she pointed out the remote side gate that's only used at night, in a different direction a few dozen meters away (hard to find in the dark), and said it wasn't far to walk in and ask someone already inside, about 25 minutes. Later I realized 25 minutes was probably her speed; I'd need another 10 minutes.

By then it was dark, so I just stayed put, took out the Italian takeout I'd bought on the road, and ate while waiting. Sure enough, before I finished my meal, someone came along. This guy headed straight for the daytime gate, got out, and started examining the lock, only to find it didn't have a code! I went over and asked, and sure enough, he knew the code. And I knew where the gate was — problem solved!

This state park is right next to the Garden State Parkway (exit 120), convenient but noisy. The park has showers, but you can only turn them on and off; you can't control the water volume or temperature! And the temperature was extremely high (every day like that). I could only shower for the first 10 seconds, then had to wet a towel and wipe myself down after it cooled. But Americans seemed fine — adults and kids all enjoyed the hot water. I guess their skin is thicker and not afraid of scalding?

From the park, you can hop right on the highway and head straight to the St. George Ferry Terminal at the north end of Staten Island, arriving in half an hour. Next to the terminal is the New York Yankees baseball stadium, with a large parking lot that holds over a thousand cars — $7 a day. Of course, on weekends you can use the city-run lots, which are even cheaper; for city lots on Sundays, you have to get there early for a spot. The advantage of parking here is that you don't have to drive around Manhattan looking for a space, which costs $15 to $60 a day.

The Staten Island Ferry runs 24 hours a day, with departures at most every 30 minutes (less than 20 minutes during peak times). And it's free! The ferry from New Jersey to Manhattan costs $8 per person. The Staten Island Ferry takes 25 minutes each way and passes by the Statue of Liberty. That means if you don't want to get up close and personal with Lady Liberty, you don't need to spend extra on a boat to Liberty Island. Also, as the ferry approaches Manhattan, you get a panoramic view of the skyline — if you're short on time, you don't need a separate sightseeing cruise. Because of this, many tourists treat the ferry ride as a sightseeing activity.

Once in Manhattan, we took the subway straight to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When buying subway tickets, I saw the machine instructions were quite long, so I just asked the two beauties waiting behind me for help. They were happy to assist and even saved me two bucks (you can buy a $12 ticket for $10; each ride is $2, so that ticket was just enough for three of us to go round trip).

The Met is truly huge, with an incredibly rich collection. Ticket prices are reasonable: $20 for adults, $10 for children. While visiting the Egyptian wing, I casually told my daughter that many of these treasures, along with those in the Chinese wing, were obtained by Americans through theft, robbery, trickery, smuggling, and other illegal means. I had seen a National Geographic special on Egyptian artifacts, which mentioned that the world's three great museums (besides the Met, the other two outlaws are the British Museum and the Louvre; no ranking) are all top-notch thieves. The Egyptian and Chinese governments have been demanding the return of these stolen goods, but the three stubbornly refuse. To my surprise, my daughter immediately wanted to leave and accused me of paying to support illegal activity — money that would be better donated to a polar bear rescue fund. She said this was equivalent to buying stolen goods, a criminal offense. I was speechless, caught off guard — I never expected this. I had wanted to show off my knowledge, but instead turned into an instant criminal. The turn was too sharp and too fast. I desperately tried to defend myself, saying some items were legally obtained, and that we could treat it as an education in rule of law, viewing a display of stolen goods to see what they had looted (in my heart I groaned: my hope to go to the Louvre for another round of legal education was probably ruined). Luckily, she still wanted to see the Impressionist paintings, so I talked her through it with a lot of spittle and managed to escape.

These Americans, really — they steal, loot, and borrow (never to return), and instead of enjoying the spoils in secret under the covers, they have the audacity to display them openly, as if to say: "I stole it, so what?" Admirable, admirable. Truly skilled and bold thieves (how could they not be bold? Egyptians riding camels, no matter how hard they wave their curved swords, can't reach cruise missiles). These Americans made me accidentally commit a crime without thinking, ruining my lifelong reputation. Sin, sin...

Everyone must have seen the Indiana Jones trilogy (also known as "Raiders of the Lost Ark"). In the first and third movies, the superbly brave Harrison Ford (with the indispensable help of the beauties) outwits the Germans, preventing the artifacts from falling into Nazi hands. But where did those artifacts go? Go to the Met and you'll know. Those rooms full of Egyptian antiquities — they're hardly the fruit of "Egyptian-American friendship." The countless treasures seem to remind the world that there are plenty of rugged Indiana Joneses among Americans... A friendly reminder: the fourth movie comes out next year. The over-60 Harrison Ford, still vigorous (with a little help from Viagra), will pick up his old trade again after more than 20 years, continuing to hunt treasures. Let's hope the old man doesn't dress up as a teenage boy, like that Auntie Liu who played a pure young girl at over 50 and scared people on the street.

I'm a rough guy; I know nothing about painting. Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, Van Gogh — they don't seem to have produced many works that I find pleasing. As for Picasso's masterpieces, I honestly think they might have been painted by a long-term patient in a mental hospital. The many portraits of aristocrats and religious paintings in the museum are probably priceless, but if you asked me to hang them in my living room, I'd have to think twice even if you paid me (some paintings might scare you to death if you saw them in the middle of the night). I used to see in art magazines the Yunnan-themed works of Chinese-American painter Ding Shaoguang, which I quite liked, but they don't seem to be here.

Woodbury Premium Outlet Mall

On the last day of the three-week tour, I went on a shopping frenzy at Woodbury Premium Outlet Mall and achieved great victory.

In the dead of night, I finally returned to Toronto.

(View from the ferry)

Passing the Statue of Liberty (some translate it as "Free Woman"):

(Approaching Manhattan)

Metropolitan Museum of Art. Egyptian wing; the left hand of happiness:

Metropolitan Museum of Art. Egyptian wing; this one has to touch itself:

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