Fun on the Waterfront

“OK, all together now: John-ka-NAK-a-NAK-a, too-ri-ay!” My two kids and I, and 15 or so other rhythm-challenged people, are hauling away at a long, heavy rope, more or less in sync with the sea chantey we’re singing, putting our backs into raising a sail that looks--and feels--approximately the size of North America. Given our dazzling dearth of competence, it’s a good thing that the ship we’re on isn’t actually going anywhere; the four-masted bark Peking is an exhibit at Lower Manhattan’s South Street Seaport Museum.

New York’s the place where I was young and in love, and in my fond and rosy view it never lost its trademark glow, even at its most down-at-the-heel. I’m here because I want my kids to love it too, to find their own favorite small corners of this great sprawling city.

Lower Manhattan seems a likely place to start; it always held a quirky charm that Midtown’s rigid grid-work lacks. Narrow cobblestone alleys, somehow cool on the hottest days, invite leisurely rambles with no particular destination in mind, and the possibility of a pleasant surprise is always just ahead. You can round a featureless block of banks and office buildings and suddenly find yourself on a curving boulevard of ornate brick and stone facades that could pass for Paris.

The oldest vestiges of European-American history that Manhattan has to offer are here, a patchwork preserve of graceful antique architecture sandwiched between the soaring glass and steel towers of the financial district.

South Street Seaport, on the East River edge, is a monument of sorts to this merger: an 11-block gentrification of centuries-old brick and iron buildings where fishmongers and sailors (and practitioners of less honorable waterfront professions) once thrived.

We’re in Manhattan on the heels of the infamous July heat wave, between rounds of family business. It seems a good idea to stick close to the waterfront. Here we find the New York equivalent of the Holy Grail: a reasonably priced, up-to-date hotel that’s in walking distance of everything we want to see. The family-friendly Best Western Seaport Inn is in a renovated brick commercial building almost in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge.

We arrive too early to claim our room, so I park our bags with the agreeable desk clerk. Dad has plans for his own, serious day. We send him off--we being Peter, who is 7, Delia, 14, and me--and head out on foot across the cobblestones toward the neighboring South Street Seaport.

Rescued from the wrecker’s ball and declared a historic district in 1967, the charming rows of 18th and 19th century commercial buildings that make up the seaport district now house tony shops, restaurants and mini-museums. Smack against the skyscrapers where the Masters of the Universe labor, the neighborhood seems improbably elegant and quaint, refreshingly human in scale. Best of all, I can let go of my son’s hand for whole minutes at a time, for the first time since we left home in suburban L.A.

Even before we cross South Street to the Seaport complex, Pete’s sensitive nose wrinkles in response to the potent scent wafting from the adjacent Fulton Fish Market. It’s one of the largest wholesale fish markets in the country, and it keeps up business as usual in the middle of the tourist hub because its business is conducted at night. When we pass at 9 a.m. the place is deserted except for a couple of guys in waders hosing down stainless steel tables.

The heart of the Seaport is at the end of Fulton Street: Schermerhorn Row. This genteel rank of fastidiously restored Federal- and Georgian-style red brick warehouses and countinghouses is now home to upscale shops and the Seaport’s Visitors Center.

We do need to get oriented. But first I spy a small white lighthouse on the corner. My tourist map says it’s the Titanic Memorial, which used to grace an old seamen’s hostel. I’m trying to read its plaque when Delia spots a Godiva shop and disappears into its gilt maw in search of a pick-me-up. I turn to follow her, but Pete tugs at my shirt; he has spotted the Yankees Clubhouse Shop across the street.

A good 75% of the males within a two-block radius are already in there, riveted to the World Series videos running continuously on the store’s monitors. Peter finds at least five things he can’t live without--a Yankee jersey, a signed baseball, that cool video. . . . We negotiate down to a Yankee cap.

With two of the three of us sated for the moment, we go into the visitors center. Here’s where to buy tickets for the South Street Seaport Museum, which isn’t a building but several exhibits scattered around the neighborhood.

We vote no on the maritime and boat-building museums, and even the children’s center, though the price of admission covers them all. Our eyes are on the floating museum ships berthed at Pier 16, across South Street.

We clamber aboard the 30-foot tug W.O. Decker (“Little Toot!” Pete exclaims, delighted), the 1908 lightship Ambrose and now the bark Peking, where a perky guide puts us through a crew’s paces. To everyone’s surprise, the sail actually rises, luffing gently in the breeze blowing off the East River.

Pier 17, across the way from the Peking, is a handsome multistoried shopping center whose rather commonplace roster of retailers--Banana Republic, Sharper Image, Structure, etc.--leaves me underwhelmed but makes my mall-addicted daughter feel right at home. Peter spots a nifty shell shop on the street level, and while Delia tries on pants at the Gap, we listen to the sea in a series of shells.

There are myriad restaurants at the Seaport and Pier 17, ranging from upscale to chain. But I noticed a sushi bar on the way over here, and we backtrack to Kon Kon, a bright, hip-looking Japanese restaurant with shiny wood floors, lazy ceiling fans and Brazilian jazz on the sound system. The kids order cooked items--yakitori (chicken kebabs) and katsu (a breaded pork cutlet). It’s only so-so, and the iced tea tastes like instant. But, as I’d hoped, the assorted sushi is absolutely dazzling.

Restored, we sally forth to the New York Waterways ticket booth on Pier 16 and get seats for the Circle Line’s hourlong Liberty Cruise, which promises wonderful views of Lower Manhattan as well as Liberty and Ellis islands, plus a great escape from the enervating heat. It delivers on all counts; the ride’s just long enough for a midday break from walking, without challenging my kids’ somewhat iffy attention spans. And if you’re willing accept a nice, long look at the Statue of Liberty in exchange for missing the sweaty three-hour lines for the ferry there, it’s an excellent alternative. The tour guide keeps up a steady patter about the passing cityscape, full of the kinds of factoids kids love to collect--the height of the World Trade Center’s twin towers (1,368 feet), the landfill their construction created that’s now Battery Park City, the number of immigrants that passed through Ellis Island (12 million).

Back on land, we head for the shady canyon of Wall Street. The young brokers and bankers in their natty suits are pouring gratefully into the streets after a hard day pushing money around.

The kids trudge along until we get to Federal Hall at 26 Wall St., where a towering bronze of George Washington grabs Pete’s attention. This is an imposing building, fronted by Greek columns and a broad spread of steps, erected on the site of Washington’s first swearing-in as president.

At the head of the street, Trinity Church’s airy, Gothic interior provides a cool sanctuary. We take a turn around the cemetery and admire Alexander Hamilton’s tomb.

On returning to our hotel, Pete discovers a video rental booth in the lobby that has “Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls,” and his evening is made. Upstairs, Gerry (a.k.a. Daddy) has pulled the curtains open to enjoy the million-dollar view of the Brooklyn Bridge that our $189 double queen-bedded room affords. In the foreground is FDR Drive, but the windows seal out every bit of traffic noise, leaving us with nothing but the beauty of the lights.

Delia has announced her determination to stay put, so Gerry and I take Pete to an early supper at a nearby restaurant, the Yankee Clipper. Of all the places to eat in the Seaport, we pick this one because we see families in the windows. Sure enough, they have a kids’ menu, but the grown-ups’ prices are high, and the food is sadly second-rate. (For the record, Pete declares the chicken strips the best he’s ever had.) The dessert is so awful we let it sit; the manager comes by to apologize and takes it off the bill, unasked.

After a stroll on the pier to admire the view of Brooklyn, it’s back to the hotel for bed.

Next day we’re up early to graze on the hotel’s decent breakfast buffet. There’s granola, fresh fruit and good, strong coffee, and Delia discovers the chocolate croissant as a whole new food group: breakfast candy.

We check out, once more leaving our baggage in the desk clerk’s care. Then we make our way the seven or eight blocks to the first stop on the day’s agenda, Fraunces Tavern, one of New York’s most gracious survivors.

Fraunces, built as a home in 1719, was the meeting place for the Sons of Liberty before the Revolutionary War, and the site of Washington’s farewell address to his officers when the British finally quit New York in 1783. Today the restoration houses a genteel restaurant and a museum in meticulously furnished period rooms.

Our admission gets us a “Fun Guide,” which encourages kids to discover the inn’s rich past as they pass through the displays. An exhibit of children’s portraits in the Yellow Gallery catches both kids’ fancies, as do the antique toys the bewigged and gowned children in the pictures might have played with. (This exhibit closes Sept. 5.) It’s only a few blocks to Battery Park and Castle Clinton, a circular red-stone fortress built to defend New York in 1812 and later turned into a popular music hall. Now it houses--what else?--a museum. If Wall Street is the heart of high finance, Lower Broadway is its polar opposite, the jostling, fly-by-night center of low commerce. Card tables crowd each other down the packed sidewalks, their owners vying to sell you books, Pokemon cards, pirated videos of first-run films and pretty much anything else you can think of. My elucidation on the moral questions raised by the copyright issue is a little complex for Pete when he finds a tape of “The Wild, Wild West” for five bucks, but a simpler, “It’s stealing, and Will Smith wouldn’t like it,” persuades him and he passes it by, not without a yearning backward glance.

Later, as we pile into a cab and zip up the FDR Drive toward welcoming relatives and lumpy sofa beds, Pete watches Lower Manhattan disappear out the back window, then turns around with a sigh. “I could live there,” he says. Me too, kid. Me too.

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GUIDEBOOK

The Scene From South Street Seaport

Getting there: Fly nonstop from Los Angeles to New York on American, Continental, Delta, TWA, Tower and United. Round-trip fares start at $356.

Where to stay: Best Western Seaport Inn on Peck Slip; rooms cost $135 to $209. Telephone (212) 766-6600; Internet https://www.bestwestern.com.

Seeing the sights: South Street Seaport Museum, tel. (212) 748-8600, is open 10 a.m.-6 p.m. daily, closed Tuesdays after Sept. 30; admission, $6 adults, $3 children. Internet https://www.southstseaport.org.

Circle Line Cruises, Pier 16, tel. (212) 563-3200, Internet https://www.circleline.com. One-hour sightseeing cruises cost $12 adults, $6 children.

Fraunces Tavern, 54 Pearl St., tel. (212) 425-1778. Museum open weekdays 10 a.m.-4:45 p.m., weekends noon-4 p.m. Admission $2.50.

For more information: New York Convention and Visitors Bureau, tel. (212) 484-1222; Internet https://www.nycvisit.com.

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