Today we had two great ambitions for our stay in New York: first, to take the famous Staten Island Ferry, and second, to cross the great Brooklyn Bridge on foot.
Although the subway is undoubtedly the fastest way of travelling around New York, buses are infinitely more rewarding because they allow you to see the city unfolding around you. So we boarded a bus at Columbus Circle and travelled all the way down Manhattan to Battery Park and the South Ferry terminal. It was a long but fascinating journey through the changing landscapes of the city — Midtown slowly giving way to Downtown, the luxuries of Fifth Avenue, then the Financial District, each neighbourhood with its own distinct atmosphere and rhythm. Watching New York transform itself through the windows was an experience in itself.
At Battery Park we boarded the Staten Island Ferry. Most people assume the ferry has always been free, but in fact it only became free in 1997. Before then passengers paid a small fare, but eventually the city decided that collecting tickets was simply not worth the trouble, especially given the enormous crowds already using the service. Since becoming free, the ferry has evolved into one of the world’s great urban journeys — not merely transport, but a genuine New York experience.
The crossing itself was magnificent. We sailed out through New York Harbour under brilliant sunshine, passing the unmistakable silhouette of the Statue of Liberty, alongside Ellis Island and Governors Island, before heading into the broad waters of the bay toward Staten Island. It was one of those perfect New York days: clear skies, glittering water, and a skyline so dramatic it scarcely seemed real.

Arriving at St. George Terminal, we set off for the Garibaldi-Meucci Museum. Once again we travelled by bus, entering yet another completely different New York landscape. Staten Island feels far removed from the intensity of Manhattan: quieter, slower, more residential. There are fewer towering skyscrapers and instead long avenues lined with detached clapboard houses, modest gardens, and peaceful streets that feel almost Midwestern in character. It struck me as a deeply attractive part of New York — comfortable, unpretentious, and calm.
The journey also stirred old memories because I had actually been here once before, many years ago, in 1970, visiting relatives from my Italian mother’s side of the family. Returning after so long gave the day an unexpected personal resonance.
Before visiting the museum, we stopped for a light lunch of tacos at a small place opposite the house. The museum itself occupies a charming historic residence dedicated to two remarkable Italians: Giuseppe Garibaldi and Antonio Meucci. Meucci, according to many, was the true inventor of the telephone, though history has long disputed his claim. He was a brilliant but unfortunate man whose life was plagued by financial hardship and patent disputes. Garibaldi, meanwhile, stayed with Meucci for a time after escaping revolutionary struggles in South America. Their friendship forms the heart of the museum.
Inside, we were warmly welcomed by an elderly lady whose enthusiasm and knowledge brought the place vividly to life. She explained the significance of the museum and guided us through rooms filled with relics, photographs, and memorabilia connected to both men. It was a sweet and deeply human museum — modest in scale but rich in atmosphere and historical feeling.

Afterwards we returned by ferry to Manhattan and turned our attention to the second great experience of the day: crossing Brooklyn Bridge.

Reaching the Brooklyn side required a mixture of buses and subways — not everyone’s favourite mode of transport — but eventually we arrived and began the walk. The crossing is no short stroll: depending on pace, it can easily take forty-five minutes to an hour. Yet on such a beautiful afternoon there could hardly have been a finer place to walk.
The bridge itself is extraordinary. Built in the 1870s, it was for many years the largest suspension bridge in the world and remains one of the great engineering monuments of the nineteenth century. Its immense Gothic arches rise above the East River with almost cathedral-like grandeur, supporting the vast web of suspension cables stretching across the water.
For Sandra, however, the bridge held an even more personal significance. Her grandfather had actually worked on restoration and reinforcement projects there in the early twentieth century, when the original structure was struggling under the ever-growing pressures of modern traffic. Tired of village life and Sunday school in Italy, he had seized the opportunity to emigrate to America, finding work among the teams responsible for strengthening the bridge’s cables and structural supports. To cross it today was therefore not only a tourist experience but also a journey into family history.
The walk itself was unforgettable. First comes the gradual climb upward, then the long central span high above the river, the wooden walkway stretching ahead with the skyline unfolding on every side. To the right stood the elegant Manhattan Bridge, while beyond rose that astonishing forest of skyscrapers: the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, the Woolworth Building, Rockefeller Center, Wall Street, and countless others.
Ordinarily I dislike skyscrapers intensely, especially when they intrude upon historic cities such as London. There they often feel destructive and alien. But New York is different. Here the skyscrapers are the city. Together they form not chaos but a kind of magnificent fantasy landscape — almost like the backdrop to some colossal fairy tale. Seen from Brooklyn Bridge, they cease to be individual buildings and become something far greater: the defining image of New York itself.

Having crossed this extraordinary bridge, we then faced the practical question of how on earth to return to our base at the West Side YMCA. Sandra, quite firmly and understandably, declared that she was absolutely not going down into any more subways. After a day of ferries, bridges, museums, and endless walking, the thought of descending yet again into the underground tunnels of New York held little appeal.
So began another small adventure: navigating the city entirely by bus.
As so often in New York, fortune favours those willing to ask questions. Between Sandra’s determination and the extraordinary helpfulness of New Yorkers — especially the bus drivers — we somehow pieced together a route home. In the end we took three separate buses, each carrying us through another sequence of changing cityscapes.
We travelled first through the Lower East Side, then through Greenwich Village and the East Village, watching the atmosphere shift from old immigrant streets to bohemian cafés and lively evening avenues. Gradually we moved northwards again, eventually reaching Sixth Avenue, where we caught another bus that rolled up Broadway toward home.
As we approached the area affectionately nicknamed “Sesame Street” near the YMCA, the vast towers and noise of Midtown somehow began to feel familiar and welcoming rather than overwhelming. By the time we finally arrived back, we were utterly exhausted.
We decided not to eat out that evening. By then we had already done some shopping and had enough food in our room — coleslaw, bread rolls, buns, and various small things — and after such a long day even a simple meal felt deeply satisfying.
And so the day ended: two ambitions fully achieved, tired feet, aching legs, but enormous happiness. We had crossed New York Harbor on the Staten Island Ferry, explored the quieter world of Staten Island, visited the remarkable Garibaldi-Meucci Museum, and finally walked the full span of Brooklyn Bridge itself.
And that walk, stretching high above the East River with the skyline blazing around us, must surely rank among the greatest urban walks anywhere in the world.