Step off the subway at Beach 67th Street and the Atlantic unfurls gray-green and enormous, stripped of pretense. Arverne Beach sprawls along a no-frills stretch of the Rockaway Peninsula, where weathered jetties jut into the surf and the sand holds a coarser grain than the manicured beaches ten blocks west. You'll share the strand with fishermen casting into the swells, teenagers nursing bodega coffees, and runners whose breath clouds in salt air even in May.
“The only Atlantic beach in America you can reach with a $2.90 subway swipe, where working-class Rockaway grit meets unguarded miles of city-owned shore.”
On Rockaway Beach Boardwalk
The boardwalk here feels utilitarian—wood planks worn smooth by decades of sneakers, not sandals. Behind you, the neighborhood hums with renovation: mid-century bungalows shoulder new construction, while corner delis still sell egg sandwiches wrapped in foil. No lifeguard stands dot the winter shoreline; in summer, they appear sparingly, and the locals prefer it that way.
Sunset paints the sky tangerine and plum, silhouetting the distant towers of Brooklyn against the horizon. Couples walk the tideline as sanderlings scatter. You'll leave with sand in your shoes and the realization that New York City contains an ocean beach where you can arrive on a MetroCard, lay your towel on uncrowded sand, and watch container ships drift toward the Verrazano Narrows—all without a single influencer in your sightline.
