Spent the weekend visiting two of New Jersey’s big beach communities: Asbury Park and Atlantic City. Both of which, apparently, have websites. Who’d ‘uv thunk it?
Sadly, this was my first and probably only trip down the shore this summer—although I fully intend to go in September when the beaches are more empty, but still warm—and yet another reminder of quickly time passes when you aren’t careful! It’s hard to believe I’ve spent almost an entire summer approximately an hour (depending on that all important Jersey variable: traffic) from the ocean and have only frolicked in the surf once. I stopped in Seaside Heights in April, when I took a Belgium coworker of down the Shore, with an authentic Shore native as guide who could point out all the “Jersey Shore” sites.
There are always a thousand people milling about in a noisy mass of toasted, if not crisped, flesh, cigarettes and powdered sugar wafting in the salty breeze at Seaside. There are bars on the boardwalk and you can sit out at the edge of the sand, watching beach-goers and the waves, as you sip your liquid bread of choice. Asbury Park, on the other hand, had drank too much at the Stone Pony while Springsteen belted into the mic during the 80s and lost herself amidst discarded cigarette butts and bottle splinters on the pavement. But she woke up one morning, with a splitting headache and not entirely sure how she wound up such a wreck. Now, when I jogged down the surf, from the convention center to the old casino/carousel, all I saw were families and people looking to work quietly on their tan. All of the buildings on the boardwalk were new, with no slightly shabby boardwalk games and hardly any of the food stalls that are ubiquitous on the boardwalk at Seaside Heights and Atlantic City. Asbury had cleaned herself up, turned a new leaf, and was even the patio bar at the had a postboard full of dress code banning things such as “baggy jeans” for gentleman and hats deemed of the wrong sort.
The Stone Pony still stood at the edge of the boardwalk, but even the apartments and beach bungalows inland were refurbished to stay relevant against the new buildings under construction. Graffiti was scarce, and it wasn’t until you were further inland, away from the shore, that you saw any of the derelict and rougher Asbury Park.
The revitalization was starting from the shore and working its way inward, and part of me wondered if this quintessential (albeit not particularly attractive) part of Jersey was slowly being eroded. But while out dancing in Atlantic City Saturday night, I met someone named Tony from Long Island who had enough hair gel for the both of us. He was blonde, but still a guido. The Shore might be getting a fresh face, but some things stay the same.
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