“New York City Misses You Too.” It’s presumptuous but effective, as advertising slogans go, in that it prompted in me a nagging question: did I miss New York? If so, how much? Enough to do something about it?
The above legend was emblazoned across an illuminated billboard, skyscraper-tall, backed by a photo of Manhattan by night, lights atwinkle. I passed it on each occasion I took the Westway into central London and back home again—several times each week, during the months and, now, years following the peak of the pandemic. I had plenty of time to stare at it, to register the fact that circumstances in the travel industry remained so grave that even the second greatest city in the world was reduced to pleading, presumptuously or not, for British tourists to visit.
From the mid-1990s until five years ago, like so many people, I made regular pilgrimages to Manhattan— at least once or twice a year. Initially, entirely for pleasure. Then, for business and pleasure. Latterly, mostly for business. But in the period preceding the pandemic the trips became less frequent, and since 2018 I hadn’t been at all.
Feedback from those who had was not uniformly positive. Friends and colleagues, and some permanent residents, too, reported that the city seemed to have suffered more than most from the lockdowns and their aftermaths. The way they told it, the bagel had gone stale. New York, I was told, was tatty, bedraggled, even humbled. Hard to believe—and I didn’t, quite. But still my informants persisted: the subway was overrun by crazies; rats the size of sheepdogs had taken control of Central Park; and the whole place stank.
Frankly, this all seemed a bit rich to me: these were the same people who had complained for decades that New York had been gentrified into submission, Downtown had been Disneyfied, Brooklyn’s edge had been blunted. Now urban archivists who had long mythologised a lost demi-monde of junkie punk poets were holding their noses and coming over all suburban about... littering. What happened to the concrete jungle where dreams are made of?
Local press confirmed that New York is suffering. Crime is up. Rates of fatal overdoses are skyrocketing. An influx of tens of thousands of asylum seekers is putting an almighty strain on the public purse—and, it seemed to me from talking to friends there, the public patience. (Aren’t poor, huddled masses what New York was built on?) There is a housing drought and a glut of empty offices. Midtown is uncannily quiet compared to pre-pandemic levels, as people continue to work from home and businesses shutter or downsize or relocate. Tax revenue from commercial real estate has plummeted. The tech sector is in retreat. Adding idiocy to injury, to widespread consternation the mayor, Eric Adams, recently authorised a redesign of Milton Glaser’s iconic “I Heart NY” logo. (It now says “We Heart NYC”, in a sans-serif font, with a decidedly emoji-looking heart. In a word, it sucks.)
All desperate and depressing. But I confess, in my superficial way, that the thing that really hit home was that even my most elegantly dissolute Manhattanite friend, a perennial booster for the more dubious seductions of his adopted home, sounded defeated. Incredulity curdling into dismay, he told me that the dark art, at which he was a veteran practitioner, of scoring a last-minute reservation at the hottest restaurant, or a seat at the most exclusive bar, had lost its magic these days. It was too easy. The competition had either upped sticks for Westchester or retired into early-onset senescence. Perhaps, he suggested, those two are the same thing.
Everyone who remained, he said, voice dripping with glassy disdain, ate early and scuttled home to watch Netflix, as if they lived in Kansas or Ohio, rather than in what was once the greatest going-out city on Earth. (The hottest of hot new dining rooms in the West Village, where my friend lays his head, has the promising name Libertine. He reported that the place was packed but everyone was being scandalously well behaved.) Maybe, he suggested, I should come and see for myself, if only so he’d have someone to drink with, after hours?
I resisted. I could take his word for it. I had more than enough on my plate keeping London’s tottering hospitality industry afloat to lend a hand in someone else’s city. Especially at those prices.
Then, last spring, my wife decided she wanted to visit her friend, yet another former party person who’d lately quit the city (in her case for a big old doer-upper in Connecticut), and we should take the kids and make it our summer holiday. With all due respect to the Constitution State, I did not intend to spend my (our) summer holiday in Connecticut. Perhaps a couple of days there, a few days visiting other friends on Long Island, and either side of that: NYC?
Friends were sceptical. My wife was sceptical. I was sceptical. I’d never been to New York as a dad. I mean, I’ve been many times since I became a father, but I’ve never taken the kids with me. This would be a family holiday to a city I’ve only ever visited with less wholesome activities than sightseeing on my agenda. There would be no opening nights, no after-parties, no dive-bar lock-ins. What does a family of four do for fun in New York in the daytime?
I took advice. We should stay in Midtown (really?), because then you can walk to all the main attractions. When it came to those, you should book ahead, to avoid disappointment. Spontaneity has its place, but in New York, with the family in tow, you need to have a plan. Even, though I shudder at the word “itinerary”.
Twenty-plus years ago a regular bolthole of mine was 60 Thompson, on the edge of SoHo. It’s now part of a chain, owned by Hyatt. We booked into the Thompson Central Park, on West 56th Street. It maintains some of the spirit of Downtown—hidden behind a velvet curtain at the back of the lobby is a recreation of a grungy, graffitied burger joint (it’s called Burger Joint)—while offering the more chi-chi amenities one would expect of a luxury hotel. Our rooms were stylish and comfortable, service was warm and efficient, and the proximity to Fifth Avenue, Museum Mile and even Times Square turned out to be a boon.
New York City hotel rooms tend to be smaller than average, not only because space is at a premium but also because you’re in New York City: why would you spend any more time than necessary in your hotel room? (The old me—by which I really mean, the young me—would have had a smart-arse answer to that question, but he’s not here to argue.)
So, then, three full days in the city. Four people, all with wildly differing interests and priorities. Call me a curmudgeon, but I’m not, unlike Penelope (age 13), all that fussed about visiting the “biggest Sephora in the world”. Her mother, meanwhile, would rather be looking at contemporary art than researching and reporting a detailed list of the best pastrami sandwiches in the city, which is what Oscar (age 11)—and his gluttonous father—was focused on. (He was rewarded for his patience at the Guggenheim-Frick-Met-MoMA with an excitingly late-night screening of the latest Mission: Impossible.) Propping up the bar at Fanelli’s, on the corner of Mercer and Prince, will always be among my most cherished New York activities, but I must begrudgingly accept that daytime drinking in darkened watering holes is not the summer holiday the rest of the family was hoping for. (They got sun, sea and sand later in the week, in the Hamptons.)
And yet, despite all the kvetching and schlepping, there were moments of unexpected harmony, and these were a joy. Wandering Dimes Square with Penelope, on a sweltering afternoon, checking out the latest outpost of Lower East Side cool, drinking bubble tea, getting her nails done in a Korean place, checking out vintage T-shirts and second- hand books. A morning jumping in and out of cabs with Oscar, shopping for merch—Mets hat for him, trainers for me—while snacking on strawberry-liquorice twists from Russ & Daughters. Dirty Martinis in the bar of the Thompson with Danielle while, safely upstairs in bed, the kids watched Idris kicking arse, or perhaps ass, on Apple TV.
All four of us walked the length of the High Line on a sultry evening, from Hudson Yards through Chelsea and down to the Meatpacking District, where we watched the sun sink behind the skyline from the roof of the Gansevoort Hotel, while eating sushi from the outdoor omasake bar at Saishin.
All four of us lined up at the counter of the terrific S&P sandwich shop, opposite the Flatiron, being thoroughly spoilt by the funny young staff. All four of us enjoyed the view from the top of the Empire State Building. (Honestly, who knew?) And then a triumphant visit to a Broadway show, Wicked. (It really is.)
Yes, we saw crazies on the Subway. Yes, we saw rats in the park. Yes, we smelt weed wherever we walked. Not in a good way. Yes, it was clear that in recent years the city has taken knocks. Who hasn’t? And isn’t that yet another reason to declare, in solidarity: We Heart New York?
Our last night, a Friday, we went for cheeseburgers at JG Melon on the Upper East Side. The line outside was forbidding but the charming man on the door took pity on the hungry British kids and their hectored British parents and guided us through the throng to a prime table for four at the back. The place was buzzing, and I happily blew a week’s wages on another round of drinks and desserts. (Not going to lie, as Penelope says, New York right now is expensive.)
There’s a new billboard on the Westway, a pink background behind an image of the Statue of Liberty. New slogan, too: “It’s time for New York City.”
Gen Z youngsters, like my 12-yearold daughter, are fond of dropping the expression “It’s giving” into conversation. For those readers unfamiliar with this particular turn of phrase (a group comprising many Millennials, a lot of my fellow Gen Xers, and very likely, all Boomers), it’s an abridged way of saying, “This is giving off a vibe much akin to something-or-other.” For example, a toddler scribbles a marker on their face: “It’s giving Post Malone.”
In its brevity, “It’s giving” is giving Singlish, I think—eliminating every possible extraneous word, the same way “Can” radically contracts the statement, “Indeed, we can pursue that course of action, if you wish.” However, much like “Yasss, queen,” “It’s giving” was born in the LGBTQ drag ball subculture, an environment of vibrant creative self-expression. Singlish, meanwhile, was born in Singapore.
At the time of press, we’re still finalising where we’ll be spending this Christmas as a family. Possibly it’ll be Nikoi, the eco-luxe private island resort off Bintan. My wife and I had the chance to visit the neighbouring adults-only sister island Cempedak earlier this year and were very impressed by its environmentally friendly design and philosophies, the warm and genuine service, paradisical setting, and terrific cuisine. (They’ve just put out a cookbook—could be a nifty gift idea.)
What’s really great about Nikoi and Cempedak, though, is resting easy in the knowledge that your vacay budget isn’t going to some faceless multinational corporation. Instead, it’s supporting a local business that in turn, is funding a foundation actively uplifting some of the most underserved communities in our region.
The Island Foundation, which was founded in 2010 by the owners of Cempedak and Nikoi, aims to provide better learning opportunities for children in small island and coastal communities across Indonesia’s Bintan Regency. Through local teacher training, and the establishment of learning centres (12 thus far) teaching primary-aged kids subjects including English, IT, local culture, health, and environmental protection, the foundation is making a big difference in areas where typically, 77 per cent of children don’t finish school.
“We set out to give back to the community from day one,” says Nikoi cofounder Andrew Dixon. “We began with conversations with local villages. They expressed a need for education, especially in English, so first we set up libraries, providing reading materials.” The libraries quickly evolved into formal learning centres. “We connected with the United World College in Singapore, who assisted in creating a fantastic curriculum,” Dixon explains.
“We have about 600 children enrolled now, and the impact is evident, with over 3,000 kids benefiting so far,” he says. “We conduct teacher training workshops and have identified individuals in the villages to manage these learning centres, investing heavily in their training. They’ve become influential figures in their communities.”
Dixon says there’s a multiplier effect to these efforts; he reckons around 15,000 people have benefited directly or indirectly from the Above: Family-friendly, eco-friendly luxury at Nikoi Island. Opposite page: Yassss, parenting can be a real drag. 29 Agenda foundation’s community programmes. “That’s a significant figure for a small resort,” he says. When COVID shut down the hotels, Dixon explains, individual donors who’d been guests in the past stepped up to continue funding the foundation’s initiatives.
Nevertheless, while many who stay at Nikoi and Cempedak do appreciate the fact their spending at the resorts helps support worthy causes, Dixon says the organisation is careful not to shove the charitable angle down people’s throats. “Guests come for the experience, and while we appreciate and welcome their interest in the foundation, we want them to enjoy their stay without feeling overwhelmed by sustainability messages,” he says.
A few years ago I had the chance to interview one of our region’s biggest charitable givers, Andrew ‘Twiggy’ Forrest, a signatory to Bill Gates’ Giving Pledge (where the world’s richest commit the majority of their wealth to philanthropy). This June, in his latest mega-generous endowment, the Aussie mining multibillionaire and his wife gave AUD5 billion to their Minderoo Foundation. The largest single charitable donation in Australian history, this sum will fuel the foundation’s various initiatives, including cleaner oceans, cancer cures, and an end to modern slavery.
Forrest told me he makes grand gestures like this not only to fund the work but to set an example for his fellow super-rich. He said, “Across Asia, including Australia, there’s a defensive mindset” among the very wealthy that leads them to horde their gold like real-life Scrooge McDucks. Instead, Forrest believes, the rich should utilise the talents that got them to the top in business—and the money they’ve earned in that position—to do some good. “The skill you have, which allowed you to accumulate that capital, you should use that skill to distribute capital in the wisest, highest leverage, highest benefit way possible,” he said.
Successful entrepreneurs have a responsibility to give both generously and strategically—in Forrest’s view, they are better qualified to rectify the world’s ills than politicians. When I asked him, playing the devil’s advocate, how he’d respond to the suggestion that perhaps the rich should just Sustainably constructed bamboo villas at Cempedak Island. Each year, Nikoi and Cempedak donate nearly SGD500,000 to supporting responsible tourism, conservation, local culture and education. pay their fair share of tax and let governments fix the big issues, suffice to say, Forrest disagreed enthusiastically.
“I’d say that is moronic—at its kindest. The greatest waste has happened under political leaders who say that. I’ve seen train wrecks created by politicians who’ve said, ‘Actually, we should just pay more tax.’ My response is, ‘Well, can you show me what you achieved with everyone else’s money, once you got your hands on it in the past? Answer: a train wreck,” Forrest said. “To those who’d suggest, ‘Oh, you should just pay more tax’—I’d say, ‘What, so politicians can waste more of it?’”
It’s giving… but not to the tax man. Season’s greetings, dear readers. May 2024 be a gift to us all.
When people say they don’t like camping, it’s usually because they’re attached to the comforts of city living. But what if you didn’t have to stray far from conveniences like running water, restaurants and bathrooms?
What if you could camp right in the middle of your city?
That’s the idea behind “urban camping.” Eager fans waiting for concerts or a store’s opening may have pioneered the practice, but it’s grown beyond securing your spot at the front of a queue. So, why not camp in the city for the joy of the experience itself?
As strange as it may seem, urban camping is having a moment, and it’s hard to ignore.
Urban camping is exactly what the name suggests— camping out in an urban area. More than half of the world’s population lives in cities, and remote wilderness areas can be hard to get to. Urban camping brings the thrill of sleeping outdoors to the concrete jungle instead of making you hike for hours to get to your spot.
“Camping in a city” is rather vague. That broad umbrella definition can mean several different things, and that’s part of the appeal of urban camping. The practice has a lot of variety—arguably even more so than conventional camping.
For some, urban camping is less about pitching a tent on a sidewalk and more about being near a metropolitan area. That could mean finding a nearby campsite or rolling out your sleeping bag in a park. This way, you get near or even within city limits but still have some more traditional hallmarks of the camping experience.
More hardcore urban campers ditch the grass for asphalt. They may sleep on the roofs of their apartment buildings, find abandoned buildings to camp in, or even opt for sidewalks or parking lots.
Of course, not every city dweller—including some public officials—takes kindly to urban camping. This conflict has led to an extreme subcategory called “stealth camping,” where the idea is to camp where no one will notice you. That could mean sleeping in a car or setting up a hammock in an area with minimal foot traffic.
Whether or not you need to stealth camp, why would you pitch your tent in the city? For some, it’s a matter of convenience. Urban camping lets you enjoy sleeping under the stars without trekking far outside of civilisation. If you forget to pack something or would like to eat out, you can easily run out to a store or restaurant.
Urban camping can also be a thrifty way to travel. Even New York City has camping spots within 50 kilometres of the city, offering a far more affordable alternative to a hotel or Airbnb. Why not save money on lodging to give yourself more to spend on food, drink and entertainment?
Urban camping can be a nice middle ground if you’re a fan of the outdoors but your friends and family don’t share your enthusiasm. Everyone can enjoy the tent experience without worrying about bugs or potentially dangerous wildlife. The proximity to proper toilets, hot showers and good coffee is also hard to overlook, even for the most outdoorsy adventurers.
If nothing else, there’s an undeniable thrill to urban camping. What you lose in connection with nature, you gain in the excitement of the concrete jungle. Willingly pitching a tent on asphalt is so unorthodox that it’ll undeniably draw eyes and attention.
How many others can claim they’ve done the same? If you’re looking for a unique experience or cool story to tell, this is a relatively easy way to get one.
Urban camping also scratches a certain rebellious itch some may have. Even if it’s perfectly legal—which it isn’t always, but more on that later—it’s unusual enough to make a statement. You could see it as a stance against urban sprawl or the monotony of city living.
As unique and exciting as the urban camping experience can be, it carries unique dangers, too. Most prominently, it’s not always legal. Singapore has five authorised camping sites across three parks, and many cities around the globe restrict where you can sleep or pitch tents. If you don’t read up on these regulations before camping, a hefty fine might ruin your weekend.
If you’re not careful, urban camping may also be unsafe. Sure, there aren’t any lions, tigers or bears to worry about, but, oh my, humans can be just as if not more dangerous.
Camping out in the wrong part of town with little more than a tent to protect you is ill-advised if you value your safety. That’s especially true if you’re travelling and don’t know the area well.
Even if you’re not in a riskier part of the city, know that people probably won’t leave you alone. Urban camping is a strange sight, so if your spot sees enough foot traffic, you’ll get a few passers-by staring at you, taking pictures or talking to you about it. For some, that attention is part of the draw of urban camping. For others, it may feel like an invasion of privacy.
Camping purists may also find city landscapes too distracting for an ideal camping experience. Even if you’re in a park, you’ll likely hear more cars going by than you would in a more remote campsite. Cities’ light pollution also makes it harder to see stars, so if you’re looking to reconvene with nature, you’re better off in the woods.
If you don’t mind the noise and attention, urban camping is an experience like no other. Like ordinary camping, though, it requires some preparation to make the most of this adventure.
The most important step is to read up on your destination before planning to camp in the city. Make sure it’s legal before you try it. In most places, you’ll find that some forms of urban camping are totally permissible, but others will get you into trouble.
You’re more likely to be ok in a park or rooftop than you are out on the streets but read local regulations carefully to know for sure.
You may need to get a camping permit, too. You can get one online for one of Singapore’s five legal camping grounds, and many other areas have online portals, too. A parking permit may also be a good idea, depending on your specific urban camping approach.
Next, be sure to camp in a safe area. If you’re unfamiliar with the city, ask locals which places to avoid. Choosing a place with plenty of light and going with a group will make it safer.
One of the best parts about urban camping is that packing is less of an issue. If you realise you need something you forgot, you can run out to a nearby shop to get it. Even so, ensure you have a few essentials—namely, a sleeping bag, lights, a portable charger and appropriate clothing.
You probably can’t build a fire on the sidewalk, so don’t worry about firewood, but you may be able to simulate the experience with a portable gas stove. Just review local regulations before the police take away your means of making s’mores.
Urban camping may not offer all the same things as going into the wilderness, but that’s the point. It’s a unique experience you won’t get with conventional camping or staying at a hotel in the city.
If you’re looking for a way to switch things up, give this weird, unconventional kind of camping a shot. You may just find it’s for you.
