The number one recommendation from almost everyone I know who’d visited New York in the last couple of years was a unanimous, “walk the High Line”.
The most loved mile of NYC, has only been open for four years. It didn’t take much for me to join the legion of fans. The High Line had me at my first glance in Gansevoort Street.
It’s hard to explain what makes a chunk of elevated rail line exciting. It’s a park, art gallery, café and general hangout. What’s more there are extraordinary views of the Hudson River, iconic architecture and one of the most dynamic city skylines in the world.
I managed to walk five lengths of the High Line while in NYC and caught its many moods including a sunny Sunday stroll, midweek dash uptown and a perfect summer’s evening. Each time the park was populated by locals, visitors, date night couples, singles escaping their pokey rooms grabbing a bench and watching videos on their phone (and free wife). There were families, tourists and downtown diehards who rarely roam more than 10 blocks from home.
What I loved the most: wild flowers, Chelsea Thicket, blossoms scenting the night, art everywhere and even the furniture. But equally it was what neighboured the park: glimpsing lives lived cheek and jowl, night clubs, restaurants, homes, graffiti, street scenes, the Empire State building but most of all the modern architecture. The curves of HL23, the Standard Hotel straddling the path like an open book and Frank Geary’s IAC (especially for the golden hour at night when it’s see through) are the new landmarks in the city.
Every visit deepened my enjoyment of the High Line but our last one topped the lot. It was a stunning, June night, sated on great food and a proseco or two at a neighbourhood bar (West Village bless your organic cotton socks – restaurants and bars to die for AND an apartment a mere two blocks from the High Line!). Up the Ganesvoort stairs, even Hoboken and Queens looked magical across the Hudson, dressed in glittering lights. The warm air was perfumed by flowers in full bloom, music pulsed from exclusive penthouse clubs and the pop up eateries buzzed. I swear every single person was grinning ear to ear, with the full on sensory emersion.
The High Line is barely more than a mile but it has to be the happiest mile in the city. It certainly gladdened my heart. Sure it doesn’t have the achingly wide spaces of Central Park but I’d take the grit of downtown over the exclusivity of Fifth Avenue any day.