A roam around Brooklyn:

Arriving in Brooklyn by bridge has, of course, its own kind of magic. Whether you arrive on the other side of the Manhattan Bridge, the skyline glows like fire behind you, or through the tunnel with that held-breath moment before the borough reveals itself, Brooklyn greets you like you’re an old friend with an order already made for your drink. After watching Manhattan steal the limelight for years, Brooklyn seems to have settled into its own skin, and spending a few days there doesn’t feel so much like tourism and more like trying to settle into what’s an appropriate place to be for a while, at least. The first thing you come to notice is the pace. There is a frantic corporate hum of Manhattan; Brooklyn strolls. Assemble a day in DUMBO ( Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) in America, where the cobblestone streets and converted warehouses give the impression of having wandered into a movie set: except the coffee shop on the corner is really excellent--and the man behind the counter recalls how you've taken it. The view of the bridge from Washington Street has been photographed a million times, yet standing there yourself, watching the sun beat down upon the stone arches, you understand why people keep returning. And it is a statement: That cities can be beautiful without working too hard. Williamsburg provides an entirely different flavour. During the day, Bedford Avenue is a feast of vintage shops, artisanal bakeries, and people who look as if they are on the verge of singing at an open mic or just finished editing a novel. By night, the music venues and rooftop bars inject a sense of creativity that’s free from commercial hustle. Further south, Park Slope and Brooklyn Heights offer the brownstone fantasy that many visitors dream of — tree-lined streets, stoops of potted plants, and the Promenade offering what might be the best free view in New York City. For those who are open to going East, Bushwick surprises with street art and warehouse parties, showing that Brooklyn is still a place where artists can afford to take risks - at least more so than across the river. Today’s accommodation in Brooklyn is a much richer place than the days when the average person just slept over there because Manhattan is too expensive. These days, real luxury awaits. 1 Hotel Brooklyn Bridge in DUMBO includes rooms where the bed appears to float, and the windows surround the East River like a living painting. There are boutique gems, too, small hotels within converted townhouses where the breakfast is locally sourced, and the staff are cognizant of the best running routes. But Brooklyn’s charm has always been in its accessibility. Budget travellers can purchase clean, characterful hostels in Williamsburg, or rent a room in a Crown Heights brownstone, for which the host gives you a handwritten list of places to eat. Bed-Stuy or Greenpoint Airbnb apartments tend to offer you more room than a midtown hotel closet, and the savings you make on housing can be redirected toward the borough’s true religion — food. And the food. Oh, the food. From Di Fara’s legendary pizza in Midwood to the Ethiopian restaurants of Park Slope, from Smorgasburg’s outdoor feasting to a simple bagel with whitefish at a nondescript shop that hasn’t changed its menu in 40 years, Brooklyn provides as much history as calories. But here’s where I stop, on a subway platform in the morning rush hour, watching the crowd rush toward a delayed C train. A holiday in Brooklyn, especially an uncomfortably brief one, carries an odd emotional load. You are not a local. You are borrowing someone else’s neighbourhood, walking their streets and sitting in their regular coffee shop. There’s a loneliness, maybe even a humility, to that. You see the dad hurrying his son to school with you as he chooses whether to head to a museum or take a third walk across the bridge. You see the delivery drivers stacking boxes at 7 a.m. while you sleep off last night’s craft cocktails. It is nice to be reminded that cities do not exist for our leisure; they are living things, messy and hardworking, at times indifferent to our wonder. That indifference manifests itself in the petty blunders as well. You will take the wrong subway, at least once, stand on the platform for 10 minutes until you see that the express does not halt here. You will queue up for 45 minutes for a good brunch, but not necessarily a wait-in-the-cold good. Somebody will run into you on a crowded sidewalk and not apologise, and, for a second, you are the kind of person who mutters under their breath. Your local bar will be boisterous, and the promised “river view” at the luxury hotel will be only a flash of water if you lean dangerously far out the window. These are not disasters. They are the texture of the place. And somehow they do not take away from the joy. If anything, they anchor it. There would be nothing approaching a perfect holiday; Brooklyn delivers you the genuine thing, tattered edges and all. You walk out, feet aching, a stomach full, and the quiet certainty that you’ve not only travelled to New York, but you’ve also learned one small, necessary element of it.