Located in Manhattan, in a beautiful and safe neighborhood of the Upper West Side. We are 1/2 block from Central Park and the subway, we serve young people and students (between the ages of 18 and 35) traveling through New York City.
We are a youth hostel! You must be between the ages of 18-35 to make a reservation.
The youth hostel offers 40 beds in dormitory style (bunk beds) accommodation, both single sex and co-ed rooms.
There is no curfew. You will be given a key ($10 cash deposit, refunded upon checkout) so you can come and go as you please.
We do close the rooms for cleaning from 12pm-3pm and require all guests to leave their dormitory bedrooms.
Lockers are located downstairs in the common lounge area. A safe is available for any documents or electronic items you wish to leave in a safe place at the reception. We DO NOT offer storage for Bicycles!
We are located in an old brownstone building. We do not have an elevator. The guest rooms are located on the upper floors.
]]>Located in Manhattan, in a beautiful and safe neighborhood of the Upper West Side. We are 1/2 block from Central Park and the subway, we serve young people and students (between the ages of 18 and 35) traveling through New York City.
We are a youth hostel! You must be between the ages of 18-35 to make a reservation.
The youth hostel offers 40 beds in dormitory style (bunk beds) accommodation, both single sex and co-ed rooms.
There is no curfew. You will be given a key ($10 cash deposit, refunded upon checkout) so you can come and go as you please.
We do close the rooms for cleaning from 12pm-3pm and require all guests to leave their dormitory bedrooms.
Lockers are located downstairs in the common lounge area. A safe is available for any documents or electronic items you wish to leave in a safe place at the reception. We DO NOT offer storage for Bicycles!
We are located in an old brownstone building. We do not have an elevator. The guest rooms are located on the upper floors.
]]>Close at hand, too, in Old Jewry, was that Windmill tavern, of which Stow wrote that it was “sometime the Jews’ synagogue, since a house of friars, then a nobleman’s house, after that a merchant’s house, wherein mayoralties have been kept, and now a wine tavern.” It must have been a fairly spacious hostelry, for on the occasion of the visit of the Emperor Charles V in 1522 the house is noted as being able to provide fourteen feather-beds, and stabling for twenty horses.
From the fact that one of the characters in “Every Man in His Humour” dates a letter from the Windmill, and that two of the scenes in that comedy take place in a room of the tavern, it is obvious that it also must be numbered among the many houses frequented by Jonson.
One dramatic episode is connected with the history of the Windmill. In the early years of the seventeenth century considerable excitement was aroused in Worcestershire by the doings of John Lambe, who indulged in magical arts and crystal glass enchantments. By 1622 he was in London, and numbered the king’s favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, among his clients.
That was sufficient to set the populace against him, an enmity which was greatly intensified by strange atmospheric disturbances which visited London in June, 1628. All this was attributed to Lambe’s conjuring, and the popular fury came to a climax a day or two later, when Lambe, as he was leaving the Fortune Theatre, was attacked by a mob of apprentices. He fled towards the city and finally took refuge in the Windmill. After affording the hunted man haven for a few hours the host, in view of the tumult outside, at length turned him into the street again, where he was so severely beaten that he died the following morning. A crystal ball and other conjuring implements were found on his person.
]]>Close at hand, too, in Old Jewry, was that Windmill tavern, of which Stow wrote that it was “sometime the Jews’ synagogue, since a house of friars, then a nobleman’s house, after that a merchant’s house, wherein mayoralties have been kept, and now a wine tavern.” It must have been a fairly spacious hostelry, for on the occasion of the visit of the Emperor Charles V in 1522 the house is noted as being able to provide fourteen feather-beds, and stabling for twenty horses.
From the fact that one of the characters in “Every Man in His Humour” dates a letter from the Windmill, and that two of the scenes in that comedy take place in a room of the tavern, it is obvious that it also must be numbered among the many houses frequented by Jonson.
One dramatic episode is connected with the history of the Windmill. In the early years of the seventeenth century considerable excitement was aroused in Worcestershire by the doings of John Lambe, who indulged in magical arts and crystal glass enchantments. By 1622 he was in London, and numbered the king’s favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, among his clients.
That was sufficient to set the populace against him, an enmity which was greatly intensified by strange atmospheric disturbances which visited London in June, 1628. All this was attributed to Lambe’s conjuring, and the popular fury came to a climax a day or two later, when Lambe, as he was leaving the Fortune Theatre, was attacked by a mob of apprentices. He fled towards the city and finally took refuge in the Windmill. After affording the hunted man haven for a few hours the host, in view of the tumult outside, at length turned him into the street again, where he was so severely beaten that he died the following morning. A crystal ball and other conjuring implements were found on his person.
]]>While there may at times be good reason for doubting the claims made as to the antiquity of some London taverns, there can be none for questioning the ripe old age to which the Pope’s Head in Cornhill attained. This is one of the few taverns which Stow deals with at length. He describes it as being “strongly built of stone,” and favours the opinion that it was at one time the palace of King John.
He tells, too, how in his day wine was sold there at a penny the pint and bread provided free. It was destroyed in the Great Fire, but rebuilt shortly after. Pepys knew both the old and the new house. In the former he is said to have drunk his first “dish of tea,” and he certainly enjoyed many a meal under its roof, notably on that occasion when, with Sir W. Penn and Mrs. Pepys, he “eat cakes and other fine things.”
Another, not so pleasant, memory is associated with the Pope’s Head. Two actors figured in the episode, James Quin and William Bowen, between whom, especially on the side of the latter, strong professional jealousy existed. Bowen, a low comedian of “some talent and more conceit,” taunted Quin with being tame in a certain role, and Quin retorted in kind, declaring that Bowen’s impersonation of a character in “The Libertine” was much inferior to that of another actor.
Bowen seems to have had an ill-balanced mind; he was so affected by Jeremy Collier’s “Short View” that he left the stage and opened a cane shop in Holborn, thinking “a shopkeeper’s life was the readiest way to heaven.” But he was on the stage again in a year, thus resuming the career which was to be his ruin. For so thoroughly was he incensed by Quin’s disparagement that he took the earliest opportunity of forcing the quarrel to an issue.
Having invited Quin to meet him, the two appear to have gone from tavern to tavern until they reached the Pope’s Head. Quin was averse to a duel, but no sooner had the two entered an empty room in the Cornhill tavern than Bowen fastened the door, and, standing with his back against it and drawing his sword, threatened Quin that he would run him through if he did not draw and defend himself. In vain did Quin remonstrate, and in the end he had to take to his sword to keep the angry Bowen at bay.
]]>While there may at times be good reason for doubting the claims made as to the antiquity of some London taverns, there can be none for questioning the ripe old age to which the Pope’s Head in Cornhill attained. This is one of the few taverns which Stow deals with at length. He describes it as being “strongly built of stone,” and favours the opinion that it was at one time the palace of King John.
He tells, too, how in his day wine was sold there at a penny the pint and bread provided free. It was destroyed in the Great Fire, but rebuilt shortly after. Pepys knew both the old and the new house. In the former he is said to have drunk his first “dish of tea,” and he certainly enjoyed many a meal under its roof, notably on that occasion when, with Sir W. Penn and Mrs. Pepys, he “eat cakes and other fine things.”
Another, not so pleasant, memory is associated with the Pope’s Head. Two actors figured in the episode, James Quin and William Bowen, between whom, especially on the side of the latter, strong professional jealousy existed. Bowen, a low comedian of “some talent and more conceit,” taunted Quin with being tame in a certain role, and Quin retorted in kind, declaring that Bowen’s impersonation of a character in “The Libertine” was much inferior to that of another actor.
Bowen seems to have had an ill-balanced mind; he was so affected by Jeremy Collier’s “Short View” that he left the stage and opened a cane shop in Holborn, thinking “a shopkeeper’s life was the readiest way to heaven.” But he was on the stage again in a year, thus resuming the career which was to be his ruin. For so thoroughly was he incensed by Quin’s disparagement that he took the earliest opportunity of forcing the quarrel to an issue.
Having invited Quin to meet him, the two appear to have gone from tavern to tavern until they reached the Pope’s Head. Quin was averse to a duel, but no sooner had the two entered an empty room in the Cornhill tavern than Bowen fastened the door, and, standing with his back against it and drawing his sword, threatened Quin that he would run him through if he did not draw and defend himself. In vain did Quin remonstrate, and in the end he had to take to his sword to keep the angry Bowen at bay.
]]>To its pioneer days much of San Francisco’s Bohemian spirit is due. When the cry of “Gold” rang around the world adventurous wanderers of all lands answered the call, and during the year following Marshall’s discovery two thousand ships sailed into San Francisco Bay, many to be abandoned on the beach by the gold-mad throng, and it was in some of these deserted sailing vessels that San Francisco’s restaurant life had its inception.
With the immediately succeeding years the horde of gold hunters was augmented by those who brought necessities and luxuries to exchange for the yellow metal given up by the streams flowing from the Mother Lode. With them also came cooks to prepare delectable dishes for those who had passed the flap-jack stage, and desired the good things of life to repay them for the hardships, privations and dearth of woman’s companionship.
As the male human was largely dominant in numbers it was but natural that they should gather together for companionship, and here began the Bohemian spirit that has marked the city for its own to the present day.
These men were all individualists, and their individualism has been transmitted to their offspring together with independence of action. Hence comes the Bohemianism born of individuality and independence.
It was only natural that the early San Franciscans should foregather where good cheer was to be found, and the old El Dorado House, at Portsmouth Square, was really what may be called the first Bohemian restaurant of the city. So well was this place patronized and so exorbitant the prices charged that twenty-five thousand dollars a month was not considered an impossible rental.
Next in importance was the most fashionable restaurant of early days, the Iron House. It was built of heavy sheet iron that had been brought around the Horn in a sailing vessel, and catered well, becoming for several years the most famed restaurant of the city. Here, in Montgomery street, between Jackson and Pacific, was the rendezvous of pioneers, and here the Society of California Pioneers had its inception, receiving impressions felt to the present day in San Francisco and California history. Here, also, was first served Chicken in the Shell, the dish from which so many later restaurants gained fame.
]]>To its pioneer days much of San Francisco’s Bohemian spirit is due. When the cry of “Gold” rang around the world adventurous wanderers of all lands answered the call, and during the year following Marshall’s discovery two thousand ships sailed into San Francisco Bay, many to be abandoned on the beach by the gold-mad throng, and it was in some of these deserted sailing vessels that San Francisco’s restaurant life had its inception.
With the immediately succeeding years the horde of gold hunters was augmented by those who brought necessities and luxuries to exchange for the yellow metal given up by the streams flowing from the Mother Lode. With them also came cooks to prepare delectable dishes for those who had passed the flap-jack stage, and desired the good things of life to repay them for the hardships, privations and dearth of woman’s companionship.
As the male human was largely dominant in numbers it was but natural that they should gather together for companionship, and here began the Bohemian spirit that has marked the city for its own to the present day.
These men were all individualists, and their individualism has been transmitted to their offspring together with independence of action. Hence comes the Bohemianism born of individuality and independence.
It was only natural that the early San Franciscans should foregather where good cheer was to be found, and the old El Dorado House, at Portsmouth Square, was really what may be called the first Bohemian restaurant of the city. So well was this place patronized and so exorbitant the prices charged that twenty-five thousand dollars a month was not considered an impossible rental.
Next in importance was the most fashionable restaurant of early days, the Iron House. It was built of heavy sheet iron that had been brought around the Horn in a sailing vessel, and catered well, becoming for several years the most famed restaurant of the city. Here, in Montgomery street, between Jackson and Pacific, was the rendezvous of pioneers, and here the Society of California Pioneers had its inception, receiving impressions felt to the present day in San Francisco and California history. Here, also, was first served Chicken in the Shell, the dish from which so many later restaurants gained fame.
]]>Among the “Familiar Letters” of James Howell is a stately epistle addressed “To Sir Paul Pindar, Knight,” who is informed to his face that of all the men of his times he is “one of the greatest examples of piety and constant integrity,” and is assured that his correspondent could see his namesake among the apostles saluting and solacing him, and ensuring that his works of charity would be as a “triumphant chariot” to carry him one day to heaven. But Sir Paul Pindar was more than benevolent; he was a master in business affairs and no mean diplomatist.
His commercial aptitude he put to profitable use during a fifteen years’ residence in Italy; his skill as a negotiator was tested and proved by nine years’ service in Constantinople as the ambassador of James I to Turkey.
At the date of his final return to England, 1623, the merchant and diplomat was an exceedingly wealthy man, well able to meet the expense of that fine mansion in Bishopsgate Street Without which perpetuated his name down to our own day. In its original state Sir Paul Pindar’s house, both within and without, was equal in splendour and extent to any mansion in London.
And, as may be imagined, its owner was a person of importance in city and court life. One of his possessions was a great diamond worth thirty-five thousand pounds, which James I used to borrow for state occasions. The son of that monarch purchased this jewel in 1625 for about half its value and successfully deferred payment for even that reduced sum! Sir Paul, indeed, appears to have been a complacent lender of his wealth to royalty and the nobility, so that it is not surprising many “desperate debts” were owing him on his death.
A century and a quarter after that event, that is in 1787, the splendid mansion of the wealthy merchant and diplomat had become a tavern under the names of its builder, and continued in that capacity until 1890, when railway extension made its demolition necessary. But the beautifully carved front is still preserved in the South Kensington Museum.
]]>Among the “Familiar Letters” of James Howell is a stately epistle addressed “To Sir Paul Pindar, Knight,” who is informed to his face that of all the men of his times he is “one of the greatest examples of piety and constant integrity,” and is assured that his correspondent could see his namesake among the apostles saluting and solacing him, and ensuring that his works of charity would be as a “triumphant chariot” to carry him one day to heaven. But Sir Paul Pindar was more than benevolent; he was a master in business affairs and no mean diplomatist.
His commercial aptitude he put to profitable use during a fifteen years’ residence in Italy; his skill as a negotiator was tested and proved by nine years’ service in Constantinople as the ambassador of James I to Turkey.
At the date of his final return to England, 1623, the merchant and diplomat was an exceedingly wealthy man, well able to meet the expense of that fine mansion in Bishopsgate Street Without which perpetuated his name down to our own day. In its original state Sir Paul Pindar’s house, both within and without, was equal in splendour and extent to any mansion in London.
And, as may be imagined, its owner was a person of importance in city and court life. One of his possessions was a great diamond worth thirty-five thousand pounds, which James I used to borrow for state occasions. The son of that monarch purchased this jewel in 1625 for about half its value and successfully deferred payment for even that reduced sum! Sir Paul, indeed, appears to have been a complacent lender of his wealth to royalty and the nobility, so that it is not surprising many “desperate debts” were owing him on his death.
A century and a quarter after that event, that is in 1787, the splendid mansion of the wealthy merchant and diplomat had become a tavern under the names of its builder, and continued in that capacity until 1890, when railway extension made its demolition necessary. But the beautifully carved front is still preserved in the South Kensington Museum.
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