Statue of Liberty

A green giant rises from a small island in the harbour, torch lifted high, crown rayed against the sky, facing out to the open sea and the ships coming in. For millions arriving by water over the years, she was the first thing they saw of America. This is the Statue of Liberty, perhaps the most famous symbol of the country.

She was a gift. France gave the statue to the United States in friendship, and she was dedicated in 1886, a joint project: the French built the statue, the Americans the pedestal she stands on. The idea was to celebrate liberty and the long friendship between two republics.

The figure was designed by the French sculptor Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, and her inner skeleton of iron was engineered by Gustave Eiffel, the same engineer behind the great tower in Paris. Her copper skin hangs on that frame, thin as a coin, which is how something so huge could be built and shipped at all.

The green is not paint but age. The copper was once the warm brown of a new penny; over decades in the sea air it weathered to the pale green you see now, a natural coating that also protects the metal beneath. The colour has become part of how the world pictures her.

The details carry meaning. She holds a torch for liberty and a tablet marked with the date of American independence; a crown of seven rays stands for the seven seas and continents; and at her feet, often missed, lie broken chains, a sign of freedom from tyranny.

For generations she meant immigration above all. Ships full of newcomers passed her on the way to the processing station on nearby Ellis Island, and a famous poem linked to the statue welcomes the world's tired and poor. For many families, she is tied to the moment an ancestor arrived.

You reach her by ferry from the southern tip of Manhattan, and the boat ride across the harbour, with the skyline behind and the statue growing ahead, is a large part of the experience. The same ferry usually stops at Ellis Island and its museum of immigration.

Tickets come in levels. Simple ones let you walk the island around her base; others let you climb into the pedestal, and a limited number, booked far ahead, allow the long climb up inside to the crown, with its small windows and view out over the harbour.

Security is airport-style, and the crown climb is steep and tight, up a narrow spiral with no lift near the top, so it does not suit everyone. Even from the island, though, standing beneath her and looking up is the heart of the visit.

The setting is part of the meaning. From the island the whole sweep of the harbour opens out, with the towers of Manhattan on one side and the open water on the other, the same view that greeted arrivals for more than a century.

A few practical notes. Book ferry tickets in advance, especially for the pedestal or crown; arrive early for shorter security lines; and allow a half day to include Ellis Island. Bring water and sun cover, as the island is exposed.

Stand at the rail of the ferry as the statue comes closer and try to imagine seeing her after weeks at sea, with everything you owned in a bag and a new life ahead. That is what she has meant to millions. When the boat turns back to the city, she stays behind, still facing the sea.