GREENWICH . . . IT’S NO VILLAGE: Jackie Calagna and Ariel Keiser say local nightlife’s as sleepy as the Ginger Man. (Catherine Nance)
(Catherine Nance)
GREENWICH, Conn. — It’s 10:30 on a Thursday night, and Jackie Calagna and Ariel Keiser, both 18, are smoking away the hours under the harsh patio lights of BarcelonaWine Bar.
Connecticut Gov. Jodi Rell has been spending the summer talking up Greenwich as a tax oasis for New York hedge funders, a wonderland of low-cost living and high-end nightlife. Calagna has a different take.
“It’s a cougar den in there,” she warns, nodding to the bar. “Just Greenwich housewives hitting on young guys. It’s the pits. There’s nothing to do here. I can’t wait to leave.”
Mick Jagger’s voice seeps out: “I Can’t Get . . . No . . . Satisfaction.”
While Albany shot down a $50 million tax on hedgefund managers who work in New York and live out of state, Rell says the benefits of moving to Connecticut remain. But no tax savings may be worth giving up New York City for this.
Signs of human life 60 miles from Manhattan are few and far between: A couple walks home carrying a pizza box, and a few teens loiter in the fluorescent glow of a Tory Burch marquee on the town’s main boulevard, Greenwich Avenue.
“I don’t know if nightlife is the word that comes to mind to describe what goes on here,” admits bartender Pablo Bonelli, who works at the Ginger Man on Greenwich Avenue.
Because of Connecticut’s puritanical liquor code, last call is at midnight. Night owls are known to hail a $9 cab ride to Port Chester in Westchester County so they can booze and carouse for a few more hours.
On Thursday night, the Ginger Man, a pub with wood floors and a clubby Old English atmosphere, is almost abandoned by 10:30 p.m., with one lone drinker propped up on a bar stool.
A couple settling their dinner bill recommends the Sundown Saloon, which is half empty at 11 p.m., with a “crowd” watching baseball on TV.
“We’ve been coming here since high school,” says Steve Vizzo, 37. “Nothing’s really changed.”
The music hasn’t either. “Hotel California” plays on the jukebox.
At 11:45 p.m., Barcelona, a k a “the cougar den,” is the only bar in town with any crowd.
Last call is in 15 minutes — but wait! There’s a popular after-hours hangout, the locals whisper.
The hot spot turns out to be the candlelit office of the Greenwich Psychic, Janet Lee.
She charges $150 for a reading, and inebriated hedge funders and housewives are often lining up for advice.
“People come to me and ask me what they should invest in,” said Lee. “Most of my clients are Wall Street guys who are going through a lot of issues right now.”