“Do you want to do a real beach weekend / research?”
That was my pitch.
I booked an Airbnb in Queens from Saturday through Monday. The listing said it was steps from the beach. By Friday night I was sending train stops, wondering whether to bring a bike, and telling people to come visit.
Saturday became “Beach day!!!” before lunch.
The weather did its part. The sand was busy, the water was cold, and the sky stayed clear. The camera roll has beach umbrellas, the boardwalk, a frozen drink, and the view down the peninsula. One sunset photo got saved twice, which feels accurate for a weekend when the main plan was to stay near the water.
The research part started almost immediately.
I messaged about a listing near Beach 96th Street and asked if it was beside the new construction I had noticed. The next morning I asked about an open house near Beach 116th Street. I took a picture of a real-estate sign, saved a subway map, and kept looking at how the blocks connected to the beach.
I do this all the time. A weekend somewhere becomes a question about living there. Then the question becomes listings, transit, storage, parking, flood risk, and what the neighborhood might look like in ten years.
Rockaway made a particularly good case. It was still New York City. Friends could take the train out. I could bring a bike. The beach was close enough for an ordinary weekend and far enough to feel like leaving.
After we got home, I read the entire Rockaway park plan. I described it as “like 70 pages,” then started passing around a Zillow link. A beach condo with a roof deck briefly looked like the best of every possible version: city, water, space, and no flight required.
The Airbnb lasted two nights. The Zillow tab stayed open.