Even when you love this city as much as we do, there comes a point in the summer when it becomes unbearable. It’s as though the skyscrapers bend, crowding around you, imposing their crushing weight of glass, steel, stone and concrete. The streets are open blast furnaces filled with throngs of sweaty human kindling. The claustrophobic subway stations become pressure cookers filled with the suffocating, putrid stew of slowly tenderizing bodies. Even your daily commute isn’t immune. The trains travel slower, the buses less frequently, and foot traffic runs at an even more uncivilized, frenetic pace than usual. Soon, your emotional armor, so methodically constructed and maintained, goes from disheveled to distressed to nonexistent. That thick, calloused skin — the pride of all New Yorkers — is peeled right off, unceremoniously, like a discarded rind, mercilessly exposing the raw, tender nerves just beneath. Under such dire circumstances, there’s only one solution: you must leave. Even if just for a night, a day, a few hours.
Though some abscond to holidays in distant foreign lands, and still others opt for remaining in the general vicinity by way of The Shore, there is an option that constitutes a much lower hanging fruit: Governors Island, a landmark oasis a mere 800 yards off the coast of Lower Manhattan.