Coney Island is quintessential Brooklyn. Growing up in the borough, this place was one of our proudest landmarks.
I, personally, don’t have any historical ties to Coney Island, but it does have a special place in my heart. In elementary school, my Russian neighbors used to take my sister and I to the beach here on hot summer days with their grandson. In junior high, my parents would occasionally take us here for the summer carnival at Luna Park. In high school, I’d BBQ with my friends. And in college, I think I may have even had a date or two.
I stopped visiting in college because full-time school and part-time work took up most of my time. I didn’t go back the next two years after I graduated either. Weekends were reserved for GMAT studying since my mandatory 9-7 gig at a social media sweatshop kept me from living. Then, I moved to DC for grad school.
As soon as I came back, this was the first place I visited to decompress. I put down my towel, shoved my earbuds in and basked in the sun. It. Was. Glorious. It doesn’t compare to Venice Beach or Santa Monica, but I’ll take what I can get out here on the east coast.