Hoboken, N.J.: Start Spreading The News

Sunbathers on Pier A in Hoboken can wave to their Manhattan neighbors and watch ships on the Hudson. (By Rachelle Bowden)

Nearby is the city's Little League field, a pint-size version of a big-league stadium, complete with a fancy scoreboard and plastic seats.

Apparently, the first organized game of baseball was played in Hoboken, though that's a matter of some dispute. But this is a burg of other indisputable firsts. Through July 2, you can read about 99 other milestones at the tiny Historical Museum, some of them head-scratchers (First Woman to Caulk Ships), others cheer-inducing (First Oreo Cookie).

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You can't trudge far in Hoboken without bumping into something Italian, be it person or cannoli. For the latter, there's Carlo's City Hall Bake Shop, a few blocks from the Hoboken terminal (a web of light rail, trains and ferries). The bakery has been around since 1910, and from the look of things, many of its patrons were at the grand opening. Just don't go in hungry -- and don't go in full, either. You can't leave the place without buying something.

After a day of carb-loading at Giovanni's (greasy, perfect pizza, just the way Mom used to order), Carlo's and Leo's, it's almost a relief when the sun goes down and the bar scene kicks in. Not that the eating is over: Diners are elbow to elbow at sidewalk tables along Washington Street, at fashionable spots such as the Elysian Cafe and Robongi.

As the evening progresses, the hubbub grows louder. At Bahama Mama's tiki lounge, a bachelorette party is slurring through a song; the bride-to-be is the one in the veil and flashing deeley boppers. A few steps away at the Black Bear, guys pawing longnecks are watching baseball on the pub's two dozen TVs. The Shannon Lounge, BarNone, McSwiggan's, Buskers: Anything that serves Miller Lite on tap is jammed.

Off the main strip at Willie McBride's, a limo is parked out front and a crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. A celebrity, perhaps? Nah, just a bunch of Jerseyans suffering through the state's new indoor smoking ban.

The Brass Rail is, by contrast, eerily tranquil. A few late diners are whispering in the restaurant's elegant white banquettes, and giant mirrors over the bar provide an interesting perspective of the parade of partyers along Washington Street.

A deejay is positioned near the door, though, and he's pacing, clearly tired of the easy-listening tunes hanging in the air. At 11:01, he approaches a bartender, smiles and says, "Okay, enough of this. Let's crank it up."

John Deiner will be online Mon- day at 2 p.m. to discuss this story during the Travel section's online chat on www.washingtonpost.com.