It's been over a week since we went to NYC and nearly a week since we got back. I'm starting to forget the sequences of events.
Saturday we watched a hip-hop group perform at Central Park. They had matching yellow-green outfits with "Oakland" in block letters. We had to stop and watch. I don't know if anyone of them had ever been to Oakland, but nice that they were giving props out to the west side! They were really excellent and I cheered loudly for them. The other tourists either couldn't really fathom what good hip hop dance is or were so overwhelmed with the sensations of NYC that these guys were just another thing with flashy moves to try to get their attention. They had the routine down including the jokes to get people to fill their donation bucket.
It was 30 blocks to the Metropolitan Museum which was a bit laboring for the SO cuz he had the backpack and everything. But we got to take some nice pictures of us and the trees in full blossom. Quite lovely. Picked up a brownie for my no C.A.R.B (Cheney/Ashcroft/Rumsfeld/Bush) diet at the MoveOn.Org table.
Got to the museum, picked up a dipped softie ice cream cone before going in. The SO had been to the Met before but missed the Egyptian exhibit. Ever the romantic he wanted to see the location for a scene in "When Harry Met Sally." A lovely exhibit with a large still pool surrounding the structure. You can see the engraved scratches from the people who dug up the pieces in the 1890s, how they "graffittied" the stones with their names and year to lay claim to these ancient pieces.
We spent most of our time in the South Asian exhibit and some of the Japanese and Chinese exhibits. We walked passed numerous statues of Vishnu and Uma and various Boddhavistas. All the women had of course voluptuous curves. There was something comforting about seeing the statues and carvings. It made me think that I might have been South Asian in a past life or something. Or perhaps I was instinctively making the connections between the various cultures. The SO takes pictures of many of the displays mostly because he says, these pieces never make it to the museum catalog.
Afterwards we follow the sound of a piano and string quartet, to the balcony area overlooking the main entrance hall. Order a couple of glasses of wine and some light snacks. The arches of the domed ceiling repeat in triplicate in descending size. One day is certainly not enough for any of the museums. No wonder people return over and over again.
It's evening. We attempt to try to take the bus back, but don't have change nor a metro card yet, so we check the map and walk over to the line on Lexington to head back to 59th to ride the horse buggies through Central Park. It's a perfect evening for it, no need for a jacket, clear evening sky. He wasn't too keen on it (horses kind of smell a bit) but he went anyway. It's a different pace. I remember a poetry class lesson about taking a walk and writing a poem using the pace and rhythm of walking in it, as opposed to cars, buses or trains. Riding the buggy gave me another pace of NY, one that goes along the clip clop of hooves on cement and cobblestone.
We walk back to the hotel, past the hip fashion displays, and the guys selling knockoff purses and watches. It's not really about having the real thing, it's about looking like you have the real thing.
Monday, April 26, 2004