Sleeping on the Staten Island Ferry

I was standing on the back deck of the Staten Island Ferry watching snow fall on the Hudson River. Eventually, the Statue of Liberty disappeared from view. It was deathly cold. The sky was steel grey, and the winds were harassing. I had a flight out of New York in a few hours, but the weather was getting worse, and the likelihood of my flight being canceled was increasing with every contraction in the mercury.  

I got off the ferry and meandered through lower Manhattan in a vain attempt to find a subway heading uptown. I didn’t know the difference between lines, and I had no money for a taxi. The temperature dropped into the teens as I walked up and down Wall Street pretending like I knew where I was going.

Lower Manhattan in the winter can be grueling when it’s dark and you’re lost. The skyscrapers disappear into the blackness of the sky. It feels like you’re in an obsidian labyrinth, and the numbers on subway entrances might as well be written in Thai. Descending into the bowels of New York without knowing where you’re going is intimidating, but after you’ve walked up and down the same streets a dozen times, you have to ask a stranger for help, so you look for someone who looks trustworthy, as thoughts like, “Is this guy a thief?” wreak havoc on your mind.

So, I finally asked someone for help, playing the extra-nice “out of towner.” I was pointed to a staircase and got on an uptown train, grateful for the heat, a place to sit, and that my wallet was still in my pocket. The train was packed. Dozens of strangers sat shoulder to shoulder, frozen stiff. As the train rattled and screeched, I considered my options.

My first thought was if the Staten Island Ferry runs twenty-four hours a day, and it’s free, I could take the twenty-five-minute ride back and forth and catch a few minutes of sleep here and there. At least it would be warm (while in transit). God willing my flight wouldn’t be delayed long – maybe by daybreak I could head to the airport.

Another option was to go to the airport, but I figured everyone would do that, and being stuck in a terminal for hours, or possibly days, was claustrophobic. If I crashed on the ferry, at least I’d have the option of walking around Manhattan if the weather cleared up.

It didn’t take long to figure out the ferry was my only option. Shortly thereafter, an email arrived confirming what I was hoping to avoid: my flight was canceled. I sat on the train bewildered. I didn’t want to spend the night on the ferry, but I would if I had to. My gut started to rot with anger and shame.

I could’ve called several friends and family for help, but I wasn’t in the mood; pride had gotten the better of me. I got myself into this mess and it was on me to get out of it, and if that meant an evening of crossings over the Hudson, so be it. Maybe I’d meet some interesting folks.

The train kept rumbling on …… Chambers St —> Canal St —> Spring St —> West 4 St.

As I shuffled back and forth, staring at the floor, I remembered a conversation with a friend of the family earlier in the week. He lived in the West Village, but was in Venice, and said if the snow hit and I needed a place to stay, to call him. I was hesitant at first, but the thought of spending the night on the ferry was becoming too real, so I texted him.

A few seconds later I received the following text: “Nick is the doorman, he’s waiting for you to get there.”

I took a looong breath … and exhaaaaaaaled …… like never before.

I got off the subway on 14th Street and met the doorman in a fashionable, modern lobby. On a glass coffee table sat the usual suspects: a two-inch-tall Tom Ford book and thousand-dollar Assouline’s.

You gotta understand that just about every previous trip that I made to New York was done on a shoestring budget. I stayed in Times Square hotels, lived off street food, and wore the hell out of my loafers because I couldn’t afford taxis, but when I arrived at this architectural masterpiece that, to no one’s surprise, had a single digit occupancy rate, but was sold out before breaking ground (to the tune of tens of millions of dollars), I knew I was going to have the time of my life – if only for a night.

The doorman was straight out of a Hollywood movie: toothy smile, gregarious, and empathetic, as if he knew the ferry boat was my other option. He called me by name as he handed over the key to the apartment, “Welcome Mr. Evans. I hope you have a warm night, and if you need anything – anything at all – please don’t hesitate to ask.” I went from gassed to giddy in two seconds.

As I entered the apartment, a wave of ASMR coated my brain. My eyelids became droopy, my breathing slowed, and my soul was filled with ¹hygge. You know that feeling when you’re in the presence of serious coziness and enviable style … like the Ralph Lauren store on Madison Avenue, when everything you touch is sensuous, as if a spritz of elegance is infused in the air … that’s where I was – and I was LOVING IT!

Ralph Lauren Men’s Flagship - 867 Madison Avenue, NY

I walked into a two-story tall living room with floor to ceiling windows. The drapes were longer than Princess Diana’s wedding gown, and the views were AMAZING. The World Trade Center was lit up like a Christmas tree.

I took off my winter jacket, loosened my tie, and plopped down on the sofa where I almost fell asleep. But, before I took a nap, I went to the roof. The snow was several inches thick, but not the powder variety, rather that brutal vintage that thrives in Manhattan: crunchy, like broken glass. Now, if the view from inside was great, the view from up top was magnificent!

To the northwest were the skyscrapers of Hudson Yards, to the north was the Empire State Building and all of midtown, and to the south was the entire downtown skyline, brightly lit up against a jet-black sky. I stood there and shook my head in disbelief – an hour earlier I thought I’d be sleeping on the Staten Island Ferry.

Eventually, I came inside, changed into pajamas, and retired to one of the most comfortable beds I’d ever slept in. As I laid there, I said a prayer that sounded like this, “Dear God, I don’t want to leave, so please let it snow!” And it did. I ended up staying two days in the lap of luxury.

¹ Hygge is a Danish word that embodies a feeling of coziness, comfort, and contentment through simple experiences. Picture being wrapped up in a cashmere blanket on a cold day, in front of a warm fire with the people you love most, with the smell of fresh-baked cookies in the air, while Bach plays softly as the sun sets. That’s hygge, and it’s pronounced Hue-Guh.