Perhaps you too coped with the summer heatwave by going to the Rockaways, that skinny spit of land that juts out from Queens into the water down by JFK Airport. Most Rockaway beaches are informally numbered for the streets that crisscross the peninsula, which is only a few blocks wide. For example, I’m going through my notes while sitting on the sand at Beach 60th Street, looking west to Beach 61st Street, which runs in this way to Beach 149th Street. There, where the last city block lapses into nature reserves and semiprivate vacation zones, is Jacob Riis Park.
The one-mile plage at Jacob Riis Park is nicknamed “the People’s Beach.” Regulars love this part of the Rockaway coast because it barely feels like the city. It’s neither super accessible by subway nor affordable by taxi, so I’ve always hitched a ride in a friend’s car. It’s worth a little hassle: In my decade and a half of coming here, summer days have always ended in a sparklingly fun queer gathering pulsing with music and all different types of people dancing in a weed haze.
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