So, it’s my last full day in New York City and I still have a wish list as long as my arm. I’d love to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and see the Rockefeller Collection. I think going to the Guggenheim and MOMA would be great. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Instead, I get on the train and go to New Jersey!
I don’t know Daisy. I don’t know her parents. But I do know Grandpa and I’d walk to the ends of the earth for Deb, so what’s a christening. I’d bought my very special gift for Daisy at Macy’s earlier in the week. I’d brought one of my favorite dresses to wear. I was ready to go.
Thanks to our trial run, the whole subway and train thing happened without a lot of fuss. We arrived on time and her brother was prompt in picking us up. There was some time to kill before the christening, which was great for Deb, because she was able to spend time with family.
Everyone was very nice to me and appreciative of me coming with Deb. I think one or two of them thought we might be closer than we actually are, but that’s the way things are these days. I tried to let them know they were on the wrong track by talking about my HUSBAND Bill.
It was a beautiful ceremony with a very nice priest. Afterwards we went to a lovely restaurant down the street. It was a little crazy, because there were three or four special events going on, but it was apparent how much effort went into making things nice. Daisy is a delightful little girl and her Great Aunt Deborah enjoyed the time she was able to spend with her.
Time to Head Home
The train ride back to New York was the first leg of our return home. From there we rode the subway to our hotel. The next morning Lyft came to pick us up and deliver us to LaGuardia. Southwest Airlines delivered us to Love Field. Bill was there to bring us home.
What an absolutely spectacular trip. It ranks right up there with Egypt, the Danube Waltz and our Anniversary Cruise. All that was missing was Bill, but he would have been miserable for most of the trip, so for his sake, it was good it was a girl’s trip.
But my traveling days are not over. Just a few weeks from getting home from New York, Bill and I were heading out to Club Med’s Sandpiper Bay. Come back next week and we’ll head to Florida.
Dressing up and going to the Opera had been one of the things Deb and I had fantasized about most as we looked forward to this trip. When we made it back from our trial run for Penn station, I was still raring to go. Deb was done in. She laid on the bed and said she was going to wear what she had on.
Now if you recall, her feet were in serious pain and had been ever since Tuesday night, yet we’d been walking all day, every day. The only shoes she could wear at this point was a pair of kitten printed canvas slippers. She was a little rung out from the train station episode and I’m not sure how much fun it would be to get all dressed up and finish the look with kitten shoes.
Here’s what’s so great about our friendship, I still wanted to get dressed up, so I did and she thought that was great. I pulled out all my finery and as I did, I also started prepping for the next morning, when we’d be going to the christening. That’s when I figured out I had no hosiery for the next day. In Dallas in May, that would be OK. In New York, I figured I would freeze to death.
So, I finished up getting cute and had time to spare to go to our drug store. I have no idea what we would have done without it. We’d gotten foot remedies, new skin for my finger, super glue for my sunglasses, late night snacks, numerous Diet Dr Peppers and now I was going for nude colored hose and something to treat a fever blister. Yep, it’s always something.
We were such pros on the subway now, that we probably could have made it just fine to Lincoln Center, but just to be sure we used Lyft. I could get used to this. Our driver dropped us off right in front and we didn’t even have to think about parking.
I do not have enough superlatives in my vocabulary to describe how wonderful it was to see the Franco Zeffirelli production and sets for Turandot at the Metropolitan Opera House. It is one of my favorite operas of all time and I have seen it a number of times at my beloved Dallas Opera, but there’s a reason The Met is The Met.
Turandot was the Ukranian, Luidmyla Ariltato and she did a remarkable job, but her Calaf was a South Korean, Yonghoon Lee. It was so fitting to see an Asian in this role and he knocked it out of the park, vocally. It really was special in my mind. Deb kept talking about how amazing the entire chorus was. “They were actually moving and acting,” she said, “not just standing around singing.”
Then there were the costumes. They were the perfect compliment to the outrageously wonderful sets created for each scene. If there is perfection in this world, short of heaven, then this production of Turandot is it. I can die happy.
Remember the grand nephew we visited across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Well, we made plans to join him for a bite after the show. We had a little difficulty finding his favorite sushi restaurant, even though it was close by. Lyft let us off at Columbus Circle and it was supposed to be right there, only we couldn’t find it. They were just about to quit serving when we finally got there, but we weren’t all that hungry after our feast at the Tavern on the Green earlier in the day.
Then he escorted us to the right subway station and sent us on our way. We made it back to the hotel just fine and felt very New Yorkish to be trotting around so late at night. I know horrible things happen to people on the streets of New York, but we never had a moment’s trouble.
The fun is almost over, but we have one more big event. Come back next week and we’ll take a little train ride.
My mom left me with a long list of travel must-do’s. Never mind I’d managed to go places she never saw. She wanted me to be sure and see the things she had seen or things she had wanted to see, but never made it. Like the Tower of London. She went to England twice and never made it to the Tower to see the Crown Jewels. I’ve done that. She loved Windsor Castle. I still haven’t been there. The list goes on.
Last year I knocked off a biggie – the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. Now I was in New York, ticking more things off her list. Certainly, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was high on her list, but so was Tavern on the Green. For many years I despaired of ever getting to Tavern on the Green, because it closed down for a while. Not as in a pandemic casualty, but long before that. Various New Yorkers and the City of New York were squabbling over everything from trademarks to vendor’s licenses. According to Wikipedia, Trump (yes, that Trump) came in and made the necessary renovation happen and now the Tavern is back in all its glory.
While I wanted to tick as many items off Mom’s New York list as I could, I also had my own preferences to consider. So, I chose the Frick over the Guggenheim or MOMA and I had the Tavern on the Green as a possibility, instead of a must. Part of me wanted to go ahead and make reservations for that Saturday afternoon, but the other part didn’t want the pressure of rushing through the Frick.
So, with the Frick behind me, we strolled across Central Park (a treat in itself) and made our way to the Tavern. Something I had read told me to go ask for a seat in the bar. Reservations are hard to come by and expensive if you don’t show up, but apparently you could always just ask to sit at the bar.
When the girl looked up and said, “Do you have reservations?”, with a smirk that said, “You out of towners never have a reservation,” I smiled and said, “We’d like to sit in the bar.” We were seated immediately.
I’d like to say we were waited on immediately, also, but that did not happen. We were virtually there forever. I ordered a burger, the most expensive one I’ve ever had and proceeded to enjoy our time in the Tavern.
As we sat there, waiting first for a drink, then for a menu, then for another drink, then to place our order and then the decade to get our food, we watched the entire bar area fill up. The patio outside had been full when we got there and stayed full the whole time. The rest of the restaurant was full, also.
When I finally got the most expensive hamburger I’d ever ordered, it was delicious. I wouldn’t say the best I’d ever had, but certainly a good one. Deborah also liked whatever it was that she ordered, but we agreed the price was prohibitive. Maybe if Mr. Trump invited me to be his guest, I’d go back, but probably, I won’t be back.
The Subway Challenges Us
We had tickets to the other Met this evening – The Metropolitan Opera – but the next day we would be venturing into New Jersey via the train. Deborah was a little anxious about how all that was going to come down, so we decided to make a trial run.
For once, the Subway and its app were not our friends. Apparently, a lot of maintenance happens on Saturdays, when the traffic on the subway is lighter than weekdays. When we’d visited Grand Central Station the day before, Deborah had gotten some information that should have helped us find our way, but that information did not take into account the Saturday maintenance and the app, wasn’t really helpful.
With a little difficulty, Deborah was able to find Penn Station, which is where we needed to catch the train. She found a very helpful agent that walked her through the whole process and relieved her mind. Then we tried to return to our hotel. That did not go as well.
The Metro app and the construction signs were taking us around in circles. We finally left the underground and hit the sidewalk to figure out where we were. That’s when my handy dandy analog maps came in very handily. I’d been referring to them all week, but when electronics failed us, what a blessing those little books were. They helped us get to another part of the subway system not being worked on and then back to our hotel.
It was time to go to the Opera. Come back next week and enjoy the highlight of our trip. We did save the best for last!!
While it would have been very easy to spend every waking hour of my New York week at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, I didn’t, because I want to feel as if I know any city I visit, not just hit the top site. That’s why we stomped all over Mid-Town and Lower Manhattan, as well as taking advantage of the subway. Hopefully, some day, I will get back to The Met, but I needed more than one museum to know New York.
You could museum into perpetuity in New York. They have a little of everything. Museums like MOMA and Guggenheim are better known, but once I’d read about the Frick Mansion overlooking Central Park, I knew it was the choice for me. My choice was tested when I discovered they were renovating the mansion and a selection of the best items had been moved to a temporary home called Frick Madison, but reading through a list of items in the collection, I kept the Frick on my list.
While the Frick was no further away than our stroll to the Met, at this point of the vacation, less steps are better. As we ate meal bars in our hotel room (we were dead tired of their breakfasts and I could not face another egg) Deb pulled out her handy dandy Metro app and discovered we’d need bus service to get close to the Frick. So with the help of the app, we took the bus. It dropped us into a completely different world a few blocks from our destination.
This was residential New York, the Upper East Side and plenty swanky I will let you know. This was a quiet Saturday morning. We saw a few joggers. There were mommies and daddies out with the latest style of preambulars. We were on hallowed ground.
Coming to Madison Avenue, we made a left and continued to enjoy our surroundings. We arrived on the doorstep of the Frick with time to kill, so I backtracked to a small convenience store I’d seen along the way. You know those movies where someone steps into a small crowded bodega and is suddenly swept up in a robbery or a mugging? Yeah, well this wasn’t that place. The proprietors were oriental. Everything was neat, nothing was crowded and yet the space seemed to have a little of anything you might need.
I was in dire need of caffeine and I was ready to take it in whatever form I could get it, but to my absolute delight, they had my beloved Diet Dr Pepper in a screw top bottle. I could drink what I needed and save the rest for later. I was jubilant. I don’t think anyone had ever been jubilant in their store. They smiled and nodded, but I could tell they wanted the crazy person to leave and return them to their previously quiet and neat atmosphere.
Then it was Frick time. The first floor is a functional floor with offices, ticket sales and a store. We walked into the first gallery on the second floor. Holbiens, Hals and other fabulous painters from Holland and the Netherlands. Then BAM, the Rembrandt self portrait we all know. We may not even know it is a Rembrandt self portrait, but we’ve all seen the guy with a mustache in a funny hat, washed in golden light. A roomful of Van Dykes and three of the only 34 Vermeers which exist in the world today. We’re only in the first set of galleries and we’ve already seem more Old Master paintings than most bigger museums have in their entire collection!
The third floor has many of the decorative arts, which many of you will recall is my absolute favorite thing in a museum. Carpets, porcelain (so much Meissan) and of all things, clocks. There was a lot of Italian art of all varieties and in the Spanish section, several El Greco’s, which I love.
The decorative arts also filled the fourth floor and these were French – oooh la la! Not in necessarily in manufacture, but taste – think Sèvres and Meissan. Continuing on the fourth floor was a gallery filled with Frangonard’s Progress of Love. Like the Rembrandt self-portrait, these are paintings you’ve seen reproductions of all your life. To see them in person and all together was stunning.
Then, as if you are not already gob-smocked from all you’ve seen, there is a room of Impressionist paintings, finishes out the floor. Not a comprehensive collection, but stunning nonetheless. At that point, I just wanted to go back to the second floor and do it all over, but other entertainments beckoned and we were hungry!
If I went back to New York tomorrow, I would first go to The Met and then back to the Frick – and hopefully, the renovation of the mansion would be over and I could see these masterworks in their usual venue, placed in his gorgeous home, just as Mr. Frick thought they should be. Then I would go to the Guggenheim and MOMA. The Frick is just that good.
But it’s lunch time! Come back next week and we’ll cross Central Park to the Tavern on the Green.
“Best calamari I’ve ever had!” That statement, from a Facebook friend is what got us to Carmine’s. I was looking for an authentic Italian restaurant to enjoy during our stay. The reviews on Google were also overwhelmingly good. Why wouldn’t we go?
So, after our Rock Pass Extravaganza, we returned to the hotel for a little cocktail time, before our dinner. We visited with a nice couple from Shreveport on the sofa across from us. One of them was a music teacher, so Deb, my friend the opera undergrad and ballroom dancer, had plenty of fodder for conversation.
I have to say, I’ve always considered myself the chatty one, but in my old age something has happened. I seem to spend more time listening to other conversations than making them myself. Am I just lazy or have I suddenly gotten boring? I’m not sure, but even when I am out with my husband, who is certainly not loquacious, I find myself not saying much. Perhaps having a platform, like this blog and my Facebook feed, where I can write what I want to say uses up most of my words. I like being able to edit before I hit the send button.
I asked above why we wouldn’t go to Carmine’s. Well, one reason might be because it was Friday night on Times Square. What a zoo! The photo above was actually taken on an earlier stroll up Broadway. On this night, the marijuana fumes were thick, the knockoff bag sellers were everywhere and it was crowded. Crowded yes, but not as crowded at Carmine’s. We had reservations – even so, we had to wait.
By the time we sat down, we were just happy to get a table, any table, but we certainly didn’t have a good table. We were tucked into a nook at the top of a stairway. It was hectic and loud. As all the reviews warn, the servings are huge, well more like ginormous. While it may be an amazing experience for a large group, we felt both overwhelmed and lost in the shuffle. I wouldn’t recommend it for couples.
It was not the best calamari I had ever had. It was probably the most calamari I’ve seen on one table, if size counts, but I didn’t give it any extra points. It was also not the worst calamari I’d ever had. It was the real thing, not those plastic rings they sometime claim are calamari, and certainly good, but not the best.
What was incredible was the garlic bread. I know, we were carbing out, but we’re eating Italian, right! That stuff was made in heaven. The wine was OK. I think we had some Chianti for a bit of a change.
When it was over, we left behind enough food for four people, and we hadn’t even had an entree. After yet another long day of walking, we were exhausted, so back to the hotel and ready for another day.
Next week we’re headed to the Frick and a bucket list item I hadn’t actually hoped we’d manage to tick off my list, but we did! Come find out what it was.
Travel There – Libraries, a Cathedral, an Architectural Tour and The Top of the Rock
There was only one thing wrong with our plan for the day and that was Deborah’s feet. Her shoes tore them up on that first afternoon, when we strolled Broadway and since then, all we’d done was walk – all over Liberty Island, Ellis Island, Lower Manhattan, Central Park and The Met, as well as a trip back up and down Broadway. Still, she is a trooper. She medicated her blisters, put on bandages, wore thick socks, pulled on shoes and kept on walking. I don’t know if I would have been so tough. I’ve had days ruined by a paper cut.
The Morgan Library
We had breakfast at the hotel since it was included, took a quick subway ride to save Deb’s feet a few steps and made our way to the Morgan Library. Our admission time was 10:30 and that’s all you get, admission. I sort of assumed someone would take us around and point out the highlights. I was wrong. They pinned a tag on each of us and set us free.
There is an audio tour available on their website and we did listen to some of that, but I like people. Yes, I know I am a dinosaur, but it is what it is. In the absence of a tour guide, it is still an amazing place. They were very serious about masks and overtly politically correct, but I can ignore almost anything.
There is the historical building from JP Morgan’s time, standing as a testimony to his taste and erudition, with a very, very modern building added as a sign they are keeping up with the times. By far, my favorite things were those in the historical part of the museum complex. Several interesting exhibitions were on view in the newer part when we visited – Hans Holbein, Gwendolyn Brooks and Woody Guthie. Of the three, I found Woody Guthrie’s the most compelling. I had known of him, but little about him until I saw this exhibit.
Then we went inside got our tickets for the Rose Main Reading Room, which is the main attraction for tourists. We had an hour to kill, oooohing and aaaaaahing at all there was to see, while we waited to get into their very special space. It was totally worth it. Gorgeous. My photos are awful, so browse the websites I’ve linked to.
From there we checked out Grand Central Station. First, because it is a landmark everyone should see, but also we thought that’s where we’d catch the train to New Jersey for the christening, but it wasn’t.
I’d seen several hints that I should go to The Lott New York Palace which was once the Villard Mansion. It’s located right behind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, so I didn’t see any reason not to check it out. Totally worth the side trip, even if you wouldn’t have guessed it from the outside. Serious construction was going on, but inside, yes, it was worth the side trip. Several really amazing things to see, including the Gold Room, which all by itself was worth the visit. You’ve seen it in so many movies!
St. Patrick’s Cathedral
Next up, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where the travel gods once again smiled on me. A wedding was going on which included an ethereal voice singing Ave Maria. It meant I could not walk up close to the famous altar and such, but it was a great trade off!
We surprised Deb’s great nephew who was working at a store across the street, which I will not mention, because he no longer works there. That’s when we decided to be spontaneous and have a little break, because resting our dogs while sipping a little wine sounded like just the thing. NYC did not cooperate.
I thought standing right next to Rockefeller’s famous rink, darling little wine bars would be all over the place, but in spite of further irritating Deb’s feet by walking all over the place, the only thing we could find was fast food. Saks had a coffee bar, but it was not an inviting place to rest, there was no alcohol and I don’t do coffee. We killed all the time we had stomping around to find a place to relax, instead of relaxing.
Architectural Tour and Top of the Rock
Having used up all our break time trying to find a place to take a break, it was time to go on the Architectural WALKING Tour of Rockefeller Center. I heartily recommend this to anyone. On the tour, we were introduced to many beautiful works of art we’d passed in oblivion in our search for a glass of wine. We learned a lot about Rockefeller himself and were pleased to learn he was a little rebel, purchasing and displaying works of art thought scandalous at the time, in part because the artists weren’t nice white people, but also because they displayed hitherto covered parts of the body.
After the walking tour we finally found an outdoor wine bar, which was exactly what we’d wanted before the tour. The area was shaded by the surrounding buildings, so it was a little chilly and the wine was downright bad, but we didn’t sweat it. We chatted with some eccentric old woman who would have us believe she was the antique maven of the entire city, and she might have been, but mostly what we liked was not walking for a while and taking an edge off the stress of walking around NYC via maps and our wits.
While it would be nice to say we could have spent more time there, the wine really was bad and it was entirely too chilly to be comfortable, so when it came time for our Top of the Rock tour, we were ready to go. We walked a couple of blocks back to the elevator, took a couple of escalators and there we were at the Top of the Rock.
Deborah told me the Top of the Rock tour had been her sons’ favorite thing about their visit to New York. I am glad I went, but I did not have that kind of enthusiasm for it. It was one of the most expensive things we did (except for the shows we went to) and I thought all of them were more my cup of tea.
I did the Hancock Building in Chicago and I have to say I thought that was a better experience. They have decals on the window to let you know what you’re looking at. There are more exhibits explaining the city and the building to you. I also felt less like a member of a cattle herd. To boot, Chicago is one beautiful city, while New York is overwhelmingly big.
But wait! The day is not over!! Come back next week and we’ll have dinner at Carmine’s a famous and much recommended Italian restaurant in Times Square.
It was supposed to be Joe Allen’s and Moulin Rouge, but I had a little planning hiccup, so we ate at Sardi’s instead. All of my life I’d heard of Sardi’s, so I wasn’t too upset, until I got there. BORING!! There is no longer any sizzle, only a very tired restaurant, mediocre food and a zombie waitstaff. Let’s move on to more exciting things.
So, while Sardi’s was a real disappointment, Moulin Rouge was not. There was frisson in the air as we approached the Al Hirshfield Theater. Everything was under construction along the street, which added it’s own chaos to the gathering crowd, wearing their masks and whipping out their phones for entrance into the theater. Apparently, actual paper tickets are a thing of the past.
Once inside the theater, we were all Bohemians, but you’d better not be carefree enough to take off your mask. All around me I heard stories of a show being stopped while an usher beamed a light at unmasked people. Someone else said they’d seen people thrown out of the theater for taking off their masks. A flyer warned us of all the things we were not supposed to do and just in case we missed it, an usher explained the seriousness of the crime of masklessness.
The musical was everything you’d want a Broadway production to be. The set, as you can see above, was amazing. The costumes were great. And the voices? WOW!! We were in the balcony, but we could see and hear everything with ease. We loved it.
I’ll be honest though, I did not love the music of the musical as much as I did the music of the movie. It wasn’t the singers. It was the songs. What I didn’t know is that the show was written in a way to include current music in the story. I’d especially loved some of the songs in the movie and was waiting eagerly to hear them. One of the first songs belted out was Lourde’s Royals. It fit in perfectly and it’s a song I like, but it was my first clue that I’d be hearing different music that night than I had anticipated.
It’s a great show and very much like the movie, but not exactly like the movie, even beyond the music. Logistics was part of it. You just can’t fit the movie set of Moulin Rough into a Broadway theater, so you saw only the inside of Satine’s dressing room, not the huge elephant it was on. While absinthe, the dangerous green spirit, plays a role in the live show, it is somewhat different than the movie. In the movie it was almost exalted, while in the show it is more clearly a villain.
Should you go? Absolutely! It was one of the highlights of the trip, but don’t eat at Sardi’s. All in all this was a red letter day. To go to the Met and a spectacular Broadway show, all in one day, was pretty amazing.
We trotted back up Broadway to our hotel, doctored our various ailments and got ready for the next day. Getting old really does suck, but it is better than the alternative.
Next up, a walking tour of Mid-Town, so be sure to come back next week for the Morgan Library, the New York Public Library, St. Patrick’s and Top of the Rock.
So far in NYC, our days have started with a long list of attractions. On this day the list narrowed down to the one thing I’d been wanting to do for as long as I could remember – visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. No aimless wandering for this Museum Girl. I’d read everything I could get my hands on. I had my tickets in hand. I had also printed out a map from the internet, highlighting the most important areas and numbering the order we should see them in.
I know sometimes you look forward to something for a long, long time and when you get there it is a disappointment. That was not the case in this situation. I loved every minute of it and would go back again tomorrow – but my map would look different.
Getting There was Part of the Fun
I’ve mentioned before how perfect the Sheraton New York Times Square hotel was as the headquarters of this vacation, but I’m going to say it again. If I ever get back, I’ll stay there again.
Excited about the day to come I woke up at 1:30, 3 and 5. At six I finally got out of bed and made myself ready for the day. We had our breakfast and set out on the sidewalk towards Central Park.
It was a glorious day, crisp and clear. Other tourists and New Yorkers went about their business. Something that surprised me about the city it was the lack of crowds. I thought the sidewalks would be shoulder to shoulder and the streets, bumper to bumper, but it was oddly sedate. Since I’d never been there before, I can’t tell you whether this was the result of the pandemic or I’d just over-imagined it.
I cannot tell you the joy I felt strolling through Central Park. It’s a beautiful place and the city is so lucky to have it. Even though I’d never been there, it felt familiar, because so many movies and TV shows are filmed here. I kept saying to myself, “I’m here! I’m really here!”
We took a turn to the east at the famous Bethesda Fountain and made our way to the Met. If I’d been wanting a crowd, here it was. A line snaked around the front of the building and down the sidewalk. Unfortunately, those were the people with tickets. It really didn’t take long, because it was just a security check and then we were in. We’d entered on some lower level and I’d planned my tour to begin on the main floor, so getting oriented was a bit disorienting, but soon I was gawking at all the things I’d dreamed of.
Galleries of Heaven
Our day at the Met began with European Sculpture and Decorative Arts. We saw the Robert Lehman Collection and visited the European Paintings. I was in heaven. I love it all. I really couldn’t believe I was really there.
We enjoyed the break and headed towards the American Wing. Those Europeans might have been around longer than us, but we caught up fast. I wandered around just as amazed in this wing as I had been during the morning. As much as I love paintings and sculpture, decorative arts are my passion. I can look at vases, cups and spoons until the cows come home. The Met delivered. Deb and I wandered into a section which held case after case after case of humble items made beautiful. These are not the showstoppers of the museums, more like the pantry, but I loved them.
I’d saved ancient history for the end of the day and we saw as much as we could, but we were pooped. I wish I’d had time to go back the next day and start filling in the blanks, because I know there were many, but there’s just so much that a brain can digest on a single day. We walked across Central Park to catch the subway, which delivered our weary bodies almost at the doorstep of our hotel.
But the day is not yet over! Come back next week for a taste of Broadway. We’ll go to the All Hirshfield Theater for Moulin Rouge.
Travel There – Happy Hour and Dinner in Lower Manhattan
What a day Deb and I had! It was just the kind of day we love, running from early until late and seeing things we’ve never seen before. We rode the New York subway from Mid-Town to Downtown. We visited the sculptures around Battery Park. We island hopped on ferries. We climbed to the crown of the Statue of Liberty and connected with our ancestors. We saw museums, historical gravesites, a church and a famous sculpture.
Now it was time to slow down. Deb, my co-conspirator and best bestie ever, thought we should find The Dead Rabbit. The same person who suggested Fraunces Tavern ( a real winner in our book) had also said his friends and family enjoyed The Dead Rabbit. So, out came the phones and we googled it up. (See, I’m flexible. I don’t always have to have a map.)
If you googled it up today, it says it is “The World’s Most Awarded Pub.” Last year it said the bar was Manhattan’s best kept secret. Personally, I’m glad I was there when it was a secret. The name of the pub is loosely related to a historical Irish gang that ran in the area back in the days when Ellis Island was busy. Personally, I think the founders of the pub heard about the gang and decided it would be cool to name the pub after it.
The founders also couldn’t quite decide what kind of establishment they wanted to have, so they have three – The Taproom, The Parlor and The Occasional Room. Though all three are part of the same place, they are three distinct destinations with three different audiences.
Deb and I just wanted a drink, so we went to The Taproom. Deb does cocktails. She loves to browse the drink menu, discuss things like bitters and ryes and then try new things. My cocktail is a Margarita and the rest of the time I drink white wine. I love red wine, but the histamines make me miserable, so I stick to white.
I think she either had an Old Fashioned or a Manhattan and I had either a Margarita or a Pinot Grigio – or we both had one of each. I don’t think it matters. Deb struck up one of her conversations about bitters and ryes with the bartendress which resulted in some ideas she wanted to try as soon as she got home. I mainly stared off into space and was so happy to be there. I was not working and it was blissful.
If you remember, we’d made dinner reservations at Fraunces while we were there and we were still just around the corner from it. Lower Manhattan is actually a pretty small place. After our two drinks at The Dead Rabbit Taproom, whatever they were, we struck out to follow up on our dinner plans.
The place was virtually empty, which was a crying shame. Not only do I want the restaurant to support the museum upstairs, but oh my goodness, did they ever have good food. We shared a ginormous porkchop with mac & cheese. It was time to get back to Mid-Town, so we headed to the subway and did a fine job of getting back to our hotel.
After our very active day, we needed a little patching up. Deb’s heels had been rubbed raw. I’d broken my prescription sunglasses and a finger I’d banged up back in Dallas needed further attention. We found a Walgreen’s and bought up what we needed to keep going – moleskin, super glue and New Skin. Oh, and they had Diet Dr Pepper!! Happy day!!
One might think we couldn’t top a day like we’d had, but that one wouldn’t know we had the Metropolitan Museum of Art on our schedule, something I’d been wanting to see my whole life – even more than I’d wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. The only reason we didn’t go to it on this day, the first full day in NYC, was because it was closed on Wednesdays.
On a random Wednesday afternoon in Lower Manhattan, when we’d had Fraunces Tavern Museum and Trinity Church virtually to ourselves, people were lined up to have their picture taken with the Bull. Both of the empty attractions were ever so much more interesting and meaningful than the Bull, but the Bull was getting all the attention.
What you can’t see in the picture above is that there are actually two lines. One for the front of the bull and one for the back, where Gen Xer’s, Z’s and Millennials waited in a much longer line to have their photo made with the Bull’s genitals.
This made me sad. With so much to see, it seemed silly to me to wait around to get my picture made with a bull, even if it was THE bull. But as sad as it was for people to spend time waiting to get the picture with the front of the bull, when there was so much else of great interest around them, I thought the genitalia crowd was really missing the point. But that’s me.
Experiential Public Spaces
A few years ago I sat in a lecture at the University of Dallas, my alma mater. An influential lecturer was touting the importance of the new trend towards experiential art and monuments. I thought I knew what she was talking about, because I’ve always been about experiencing art. I will wait in long lines to see a Vincent Van Gogh painting up close, but that’s not it.
She was talking about those little boxes they put on the walls these days so kids can smell or touch something in relation to an exhibit. It’s a table set up so you can color or play a game next to a sculpture. It’s a sheet of paper with pictures on it that you are supposed to match to things you see around a museum. These are all well and good, but to me they are more often a distraction from what’s there, not a help to understand it.
I remember the first time I went to a museum with all these helpful boxes and games. It was the Bullock Texas State History Museum. The place was overrun with squealing kids hanging off various displays and they were having fun. They may remember the experience until today, but I ask you, did they actually learn anything about Texas history they could repeat to you now? Believe me! I’m not against fun. I just think in the big scheme of things it is overrated.
But back to that lecture! One of the things the lecturer presented was a slide taken at an experiential exhibit of Van Gogh’s art, somewhere over in Europe. At the time I thought it looked kind of like an Impressionistic disco. Then the exhibit came to Dallas as Immersive Van Gogh and I couldn’t wait to go, because I thought I must have misunderstood what I was seeing at the lecture.
Only I hadn’t. They played music and projected Van Gogh’s art onto the walls, ceiling and floor. You had the option of standing, utilizing a seating area in one of the rooms or sitting on the floor. It was an Impressionistic disco. You learned nothing about Van Gogh and even the music wasn’t in context.
I confess, I have good friends who loved it, who said they could spend all day there or plan on going back over and over. If you like it, that’s great, but don’t stop there. Find the art on the walls of museums and look at in person. Learn about the artist, his friends, the reasons people hated his work then but love it now, read his letters to his brother, listen to the music popular at the time, the fashions, the homes – know what you are looking at.
To me, whether you are looking at something on a website or being immersed in a audio/visual “experience”, you are being cheated. If these virtual experiences were catalysts for deeper exploration, that would be a good thing, but they aren’t. People are using them as replacements. Why spend the money to go to Paris and explore the Louvre? The Mona Lisa is on the internet. And the people who do go to Paris spend more time taking selfies at the Eiffel Tower than they do in the Louvre!!
This has been a concern of mine for a long time. Almost thirty years ago Bill and I went to Six Flags. Instead of one of the Broadway-quality shows I had seen in past, they showed me a video in the Southern Palace theater. It was sad to me. I thought of the DFW area talent that was going to waste and regretted I had spent my time watching a video. I just looked at their current entertainment schedule and it’s Looney Tunes. REALLY?
As we stare into our phones and post pictures with the newest filter we are loosing touch with the value of reality. When we are looking reality in the face (or the genitalia) we’re more interested in the entertainment factor than we are exploration. As soon as we post our selfie, we move on to the next experience. We are losing the ability to store up information we can reflect on over time and the opportunity to apply what we observe to our lives to make them better. We just get entertained and then we get bored.
OK, now I will step away from my hobby horse, climb off my soap box, quit my rant – whichever phrase you prefer. Come back next week and I will tell you about a bar around the corner where we went next and had fun. I will not mention experiential public spaces.
jane sadek 