The Big Apple’s quiet corner: A taste of suburbia

On all my previous visits to New York, I had always stayed in Manhattan—mostly in Midtown or the West Village—within walking distance of my favourite haunts, like the Met, MoMA and the Guggenheim, as well as the iconic 9/11 Memorial and Museum.

However, this time, my hosts, my daughter Neha and her husband Vince, have moved to a suburb of the Big Apple. This bold decision came soon after Covid, as they grew weary of being cooped up in their upscale Hudson Yards apartment. They opted for a small yet picturesque suburb, rich in amenities like shopping, sports, parks, golf courses and a marina, all while being well-connected to Manhattan via frequent, fast trains.

Their current hybrid work system of online and physical office attendance made this transition possible.

Now residing in Old Greenwich, a charming village with a population of about 6,000 (as of the 2010 census), they are nestled at the border of New York State and Connecticut. For a history buff like me, it’s a treasure trove, offering a taste of quintessential New England landscape, culture and economic vitality.

Their home, like many others in the village, features a colonial hybrid style with sloping shingle roofs and wooden walls raised over a stone or concrete basement. A touch of romance is added by a small rivulet flowing in front of the house, complete with a wooden bridge leading to the driveway. The typical layout includes a garage and a basement, with the main living-dining area and a sunroom—essentially the family lounge—boasting a panoramic view of the hillside. Here, rabbits scamper, birds perch, and one might even catch a glimpse of a deer curiously observing the goings-on. The master bedroom and study occupy the first floor, while the guest room, where I’m staying, is on the uppermost level—not the most convenient place for an out-of-shape "old man," but the six-inch risers and multiple landings make it manageable. Plus, the view from the top, peeking through a "moon window" that’s hard to cover at night, is simply enchanting.

Every house features a portico, where rocking chairs beckon the older residents, while younger folks prefer cool loungers or swings. Fireplaces and well-maintained gardens adorn the properties, all adhering to a charming heritage skyline—whether by tradition or urban bylaws, I’m not quite sure!

On my very first day, despite my children's advice to rest and recover from jet lag, I eagerly disregarded their protests. I didn’t want to waste a moment of my vacation and insisted that Neha take me for a spin in her adorable red EV Mini Cooper. I was eager to explore this historic little town, once a coastal village.

As we settled into the quiet beauty of the car, we embarked on a journey through Old Greenwich’s leafy landscape of rolling hills and winding roads. Key features of the village include the Perrot Public Library, Benny Park—home to a central lake filled with enormous turtles—and majestic trees.

The historic rail station, originally called the "Sound Beach Railroad Station," built in 1894 and added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1989, serves local commuters. We also passed by the famous private beach of Old Greenwich, Tod's Point, a long, thin peninsula named after a former resident who donated the land.

Not to miss out on local shopping, I was pleasantly surprised by the opulent shops lining the streets, filled with cafes, gourmet restaurants and a large grocery store. We stocked up on my favourite foods, including high-quality fruits and exotic vegetables, and I indulged in my eternal weakness—ham, bacon, salami and eggs for the quintessential American breakfast.

Our familiarisation romp concluded with a glimpse of the local public school, fire station and the ubiquitous post office, all built in elegant brick masonry and stonework. Two neo-Gothic churches, crafted from dressed stone, added to the town’s charm. As we wrapped up our tour, I asked Neha, “Why does every house have a huge mailbox in that traditional American style when hardly any mail comes anymore?” She replied, “Dad, it’s just tradition.”

I’m grateful that this tiny gem, reminiscent of Kasauli and its heritage, serves as a perfect retreat for writers and artists alike—no wonder there are not one, but two art dealers in the quaint shopping strip.

More on my adventures next time, but for now, it seems jet lag is catching up with me after a hearty Punjabi dinner ordered from the local favourite, Bombay Times. Butter chicken, yellow daal with tandoori roti and naan and some red wine will make anyone happy, anywhere.

In this little picture-postcard retreat that’s the way to raise a toast to Old Greenwich!