Saturday March 25

This would have been my father’s 98th birthday. I thought fond thoughts of him. However, notwithstanding that he lived in the US for 5 years as a child, he basically disapproved of America so he probably would have thought I was daft to go to New York. So wrong. I mean, I haven’t yet had the chance to mention the extensive public toilet provision in NY which he even he would have had to concede is admirable.

However, New York did not entirely cooperate in my desire to live it large as it was absolutely lashing rain. I took my friend J to the Pain Quotidien I had been in the other day and found that it had closed down in the interim. What am I? Death to the PQ? Anyway we waded up to Union Square where we found another one and had a very satisfactory breakfast.

We went up to the New York museum. My friend knows New York pretty well and I have a fondness for a city museum as you may recall. It did not disappoint. We had a grand old time wandering around and did the tour which was enjoyable.

We had a cup of tea and a sandwich looking out over a slightly sodden Central Park. Much more satisfactory than you might imagine from this description.

On the way back to the hotel, very annoyingly, I felt a migraine coming on. I took two paracetemol and lay down on my bed and was surprisingly perky by the time we were due to go to our Broadway show. We got the subway up to Broadway. My friend pointing out resignedly that we appeared to be the only two people actually paying for the subway (seems largely true).

I had booked the show in a slightly last minute panic. It was “The Book of Mormon”. I knew nothing about it other than it was due to come to Dublin just before the pandemic and for the duration of the pandemic the buses carried advertisements for it as they weren’t getting any updated ads. So I was a bit curious. I mean, not curious enough to find out anything about it other than it was supposed to be funny and slag off the misfortunate Mormons. When I tell you that it was written by the guys who did South Park you will get an idea of how it was funny. Did it appeal to two middle-aged matrons? Perhaps not enormously.

I quite enjoyed the singing and dancing though I am still baffled by the insult to all Ugandans which came somewhat from left field. My sister tells me that the Mormons are now using this as a proselytising opportunity, they await you outside the theatre and say, “Now you’ve seen the funny parody, come to Jesus.” Or words to that effect. I am quite impressed by this but we did not in fact actually meet any Mormon missionaries. Look, it was an experience. And the way the Americans manage their bathroom queues is truly inspiring. They had two marshals in the bathroom and it was a revelation. I have never seen a queue progress so quickly. Genius.

Sunday, March 26

We went for breakfast in a hipster joint called, appropriately enough, “Sunday in Brooklyn”. We liked it. I got a large stack of pancakes which I could not finish. Unprecedented.

To make up for the previous day, the weather was amazing. We decided to walk to the Brooklyn Bridge. I mean, it was quite far but we had lots to talk about and there were some nice views. We talked a bit about American health care costs. My friend said, “I always treat the excess like an addition to the premium because we always need it.” I was surprised as they are all very healthy. “On what?” I asked. “Well,” she said, “For example, I had a mammogram this week.” “Oh so did I,” I said surprised. “Isn’t it free here?” I asked astonished. “Oh you poor innocent soul,” she said patting me gently on the arm.”

I was mildly surprised to see a school bus marked in Hebrew which serves the United Talmudical Academy. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

I liked walking across the bridge very much and thought it was well worth the effort of finding it. Would 100% do again.

We went for a restorative cup of tea and then had a look at the outside of the 9/11 memorial. My friend said her children were really upset when they visited but I was surprised how upsetting I found it myself. It was my first trip to New York since 9/11 and I kept thinking about the day and listening to the harrowing coverage on the radio as I drove to a former colleague’s funeral. My friend was already living in America and she said it was so strange that all the planes were grounded. She lived near an air force base and heard planes taking off in the night and really thought World War III was starting. I remember how scary it was and how we really didn’t know what would be next.

After a re-group in the hotel, we went out to walk the quaint streets of the old town. I recommend Grove Street where we duly inspected the “Friends” house. We skipped the coffee shop downstairs and got takeaway coffee and tea nearby and took ourselves to Washington Square where it was warm enough to sit outside and drink it.

Sadly, my friend then had to go back to Vermont where people were waiting for her to fix their hearts (literal not metaphorical) and her husband was exhausted from holding the fort with the children at home (the 18 year old and the the 16 year old were ok – in fact the 16 year old had driven with her friend to upstate New York to inspect colleges – but the 14 and 12 year olds still need some minding). We agreed that we’d try to do it again. It was super-enjoyable to get away just the two of us.

Monday, March 27

Another beautiful day. I took myself to Chelsea Market which was nice (but not as good as the market in Cork, she said loyally).

On the way I stopped off for breakfast. A man left a NY hire bike outside with a bag in it while he went in to get his coffee. It was unmolested. I was astonished. My brother left a Dublin bike unlocked for a couple of minutes on the quays when he went into the Spar and when he came out it was gone. Conclusion, New York is actually safer than Dublin?

I was curious about the High Line Park of which I (like everyone on the planet, I assume) have heard much. I was surprised how pleased I was. It’s a linear park built on an old elevated railway track (lest you are the one person who hasn’t heard all about it). It’s charming and the views are novel. It’s a short walk from one end to the other. Truly recommended.

It must have been hard to sleep here when this was actually a railway line.

I appreciate that a prairie is coming but at the moment it looks like the grass in my back garden.

I then took myself to Grand Central Station. For a nation that is not in love with the train, America has the most impressive railway station I have ever been to.

I had lunch nearby with a friend who has recently moved to New York with her family. It was funny to meet her three daughters – all grown up – who were little girls last time I saw them. The eldest girl is 16 and she was impressively articulate and charming with the random stranger who turned up in her house. The younger girls were suitably polite but scampered away as soon as they could and who would blame them? Her husband who I hadn’t seen in ages turned up as well so it was all very pleasant. I was very curious to have a good nosy around her enormous flat and she was most obliging (Me: I’m dying to see the flat. Her: Of course you are. A woman after my own heart). V entertaining. They were off to Canada for Spring Break but were having to come home early to watch a GAA match (Leitrim v NY – New York won). Like me she is a martyr to the GAA (only much, much worse) all four of her children (her son is in Ireland in college) and her husband are very keen. The local GAA club is in Yonkers which is…not convenient. She thought she would put her GAA scheduling woes behind her by moving to New York (extreme) but not so.

I can’t tell you how sophisticated I felt lunching in this enormous apartment (every child has her own room) with views out over the skyscrapers. Delightful.

Like all Irish people, I have a several cousins in New York including a first cousin but sadly I could not see her and her (family lore has it) enormous flat on the Upper West Side as shortly before my visit she had tripped over her dog and broken her hip. Alas for her. Alas for me that my first cousin is of an age to break a hip. She’s recovering well, thanks for asking.

The weather was beautiful in the morning but it started to rain after lunch. I took refuge in the NY public library which is free to enter and has a super exhibition.

A dress Isadora Duncan (probably) wore:

Christopher Robin’s actual toys. The real ones that he played with that spawned an empire.

TWO Ulysses first editions, one bearing an inscription from the author:

Charles Dickens’s writing desk:

A Gutenberg bible:

Some quite hair-raising skyscraper building photos (a big favourite in New York):

All in an absolutely delightful setting:

My friend called from Vermont: “I miss our life together,” said she. Too right. I was still living it large of course.

That evening I went to Times Square. My NY friend suggested I go, “It looks just like Times Square,” she said. A good description. I found it quite impressive but difficult to photograph.

Tuesday, March 28

This was my last day in the city. In my quest for authenticity I went to a diner. It was fine but €50 for eggs and tea? Ouch.

I’d been searching for stamps for days but it was now or never so I went on a determined hunt for a post office allegedly around the corner from the hotel. No sign. I approached a respectable middle aged man passing by, “Are you from here?” His whole life seemed to flash before him, I could see that he had moved to NY but was from somewhere else. “For the purpose of directions,” I clarified. “Then yes,” he conceded. “Do you know where the post office is?” I asked. He looked surprised, “It’s behind you.” It was. Seriously, how could I have known? Are the days of US post offices numbered?

I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my last day. I decided to go to MoMA where I have never been before as I tend to like my art a bit older but I was really pleased. It broke my record for art museum full of people only set the other day by the Met. It was heaving. Any pictures that may give the impression that the rooms were not full to the brim are due to the genius of the photographer. There were some really nice pictures from the late 19th and early 20th century.

More obligatory photos of unsafe work practices.

A large Rousseau:

Loads of Picasso

Starry night by Van Gogh, if you could fight your way to the front of the crowd:

A whole room of waterlilies by Monet, it’s not just the Orangerie, it turns out. I nearly keeled over in surprise:

So many more great, well-known paintings, a gasp of surprise and delight around every corner: Chagall, Klimt, Matisse, Léger, Mondrian (whose works I have never before thought much of but which I found surprisingly engaging in this setting), De Chirico, Klee, Dalí, Magritte, Warhol, Gauguin, Cézanne, Kahlo, Rivera, Rothko, Jasper Johns and, as they say, many more. Honestly, all the hits were there (including a film called “Bottoms” by Yoko Ono, it does what it says on the tin). It is so worth a visit and to think, I nearly didn’t go.

There were a couple of paintings unknown to me which I really liked. This one by Kirchner, an artist I did not know, of a street in Berlin:

This Boccioni sculpture is spectacular in the flesh, as it were:

I loved this picture by Dickinson, an American artist I had never heard of:

I liked this self-portrait by Käthe Kollwitz who I discovered for the first time when I was in Berlin last year:

I truly enjoyed this picture by Otto Dix whose pictures I usually find a bit tortured. I am not sure that the sitter – a renowned throat specialist – can have been entirely delighted.

I loved the shapes and the quiet feeling in this picture by Gabriele Münter, again, previously unknown to me.

I don’t much care for Signac normally, but I liked this one:

It was nice to see Eileen Gray represented:

Although, I have to say that some of the punters appeared to have views about the (accurate) description of her as Anglo-Irish:

There was also an exhibition on Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio which was a bit creepy but interesting and the detailed work that went into it was extraordinary. As my sister-in-law once said, “They’re not called the creative industries for nothing”.

And, honestly, not to be sneezed at, the cafe in MoMA was truly terrific. And not too expensive either. It’s a bright airy room and the food is good. What is not to love? The elderly New Yorker with (possibly) a nephew sitting next to me speculated on what the lactation pods had been used for in their time and like many overheard NY conversations, it was worth a listen.

And then it was back to the hotel for me. I passed by the Rockefeller centre on my way and picked up a book for the plane in a nice independent bookshop. Then, on to the subway and out to the airport which, at one level, was seamless. The trains came regularly, I was able to get to the airport no bother but a couple came on to my carriage and he proceeded to lie on the floor just in front of the doors. She yelled at him and stormed off. He was a young man. Was he drunk, high, sulking? People just stepped over him. I was relieved when a young man asked him whether he was ok. He briefly opened his eyes, raised his head and said that he was. But I didn’t really feel we were all being our best selves leaving him lying on the floor there. I was relieved when a grumpy, woman with a badge of authority proclaiming her to be a subway employee marched into the carriage. I was less pleased when she stepped over the man lying diagonally across the floor and proceeded on her way down the carriage.

The flight home was long but uneventful. Kind Mr. Waffle met me at the airport and whisked me off to Avoca Malahide for breakfast. Avoca is notoriously expensive by Dublin standards. What was my first thought when I saw the prices? I can’t believe how cheap this is. Still, would I go back? In a New York minute.

This is much delayed and so many things have happened since (all of which will be offered up in due course – something to look forward to), but I have had blog problems and I have been slightly dejected by same. However, all may now be well, so we struggle onwards.

Wednesday, March 22, 2022

As covered previously, I have not been to America since 2007. You know what, it’s a long way away. However my journey was without incident and I arrived safely at my hotel where I had what I think of as a typical New York hotel room view.

I was just off Washington Square and I went out for a wander and to find somewhere for dinner. I thought New York was pretty grubby. When I go to other European cities, I think how filthy Dublin is but in New York I found myself thinking Dublin was sparkling clean.

I went to a nice Italian for dinner. The food arrived with a speed that seemed positively alarming. This appears to be a feature of New York dining, they must think waiting times in Europe are extraordinarily lengthy. It was good but expensive. I had been warned that New York is expensive and, of course, the dollar is strong against the euro at the moment, but still and all €100 (including the sales tax and mandatory 20% tip) for a plate of pasta, a dessert and two cups of tea struck me as…excessive. Alas, not untypical.

Feeling obliged to get full value from my trip, I walked uptown for a look at the skyscrapers. Very exotic to someone from low-rise Ireland.

Look, a grating with steam escaping. The thrills. Also, what is a plow and why does it need to be raised? Foreign mysteries.

Thursday March 23

I decided that I would go to the Pain Quotidien for breakfast. New York is swimming in them. I know I ought to have gone to an authentic American diner but I have been pining for the PQ since it shut up shop in Ireland during the pandemic.

I thought I would read the New York Times over breakfast. Well, I could think again. I went into loads of places looking for a newspaper – any newspaper really – but nowhere had them. New Yorkers sympathised but could only direct me to a closed news stall. I actually asked a woman I saw reading the paper where she got it and she told me, apologetically, that she got it delivered. This is the future and I do not like it.

There was a PQ very close to my hotel but when I got there after my futile newspaper quest, was I feeling lucky? No.

I found one of the other ones and it was open and I was delighted. I paid, if not gladly, then resignedly, the hefty bill for breakfast. On the bill they give as standard suggested percentages for the tip and the options are 18%, 20% and 25%. I was psychologically prepared for it this time and coughed up with barely a whimper.

I very much enjoyed overhearing New Yorkers speaking on their phones as I went about my touristy business. There was a lady on the on subway platform bellowing into her phone “install the thing so the rats don’t get into the commercial space”- surely something you might have thought merited an indoor voice. A quite elderly lady with a turban was walking briskly along the street saying loudly and, understandably, gleefully “the doctor says I have the heart of a fifty year old”. Meanwhile, a young woman was shouting to her friend down the phone, “So I told him, ‘hire me!'”. She was so forceful, it is hard to know who would gainsay her.

Off I went to the Met ($30 in, I’ll have you know). I made it just as the rain was starting, very gratifying. I think I have been here before but humiliatingly, I am unsure, look it was a long time ago. It is enormous and extraordinarily busy. Mercifully a number of rooms were closed.

I liked this picture of Irish actress Elizabeth Farren (later Countess of Derby which is an impressive example of social climbing for someone both Irish and an actress) by Lawrence. Seriously, check out the muff.

And look at these adorable little girls, also by Lawrence. Apparently he was very pleased with them and I am not surprised.

Very enjoyable reaction shot of the unveiling of David’s famous coronation of Bonaparte by an artist called Boilly with whom I was previously unfamiliar.

There was also a wonderful picture of Lavoisier and his wife by David. When I was a child my mother used to tell me about how after his head was chopped off by the Revolutionaries he told his assistant that he would continue to blink as long as he could and that the assistant was to observe and count. She was a chemist herself and obviously admired his dedication to science. Sadly, I can’t see any reference to the blinking incident on his wikipedia page. But the story does have a life elsewhere.

Big clock made by an Irishman makes its way to the Met.

I would say importing this from Valladolid was a big job.

I enjoy the American vision of importing large things bag and baggage into their museums like, for example, this former bank building.

Or this room from a house in Bordeaux. In fairness, I have seen rooms reconstructed in museums before but generally not from quite so far away.

Exhausted from my preliminary efforts, I went for lunch in the absolutely vile eatery in the basement of the the Met. Windowless and with dull and, in the case of the pizza, unpleasant food. I would not be rushing back. But fueled up, I went back on my art odyssey.

Sculpture of St Margaret of Antioch, unsurprisingly says the label, patron saint of pregnant women. I think it’s a bit surprising given that her feat was emerging unscathed from the innards of the dragon. Anyway, I always thought that the the patron saint of pregnant women was St. Gerard Majella which explains the numbers of men and women of a certain age in Ireland called Gerard and Majella.

I do enjoy sculpture and this one by Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux is a good one.

This one is not particularly remarkable.

But the back story does make it worth a closer look.

The Met has a good line of Chinese camels. For example, take this late 7th century guy from the Tang dynasty and his friend below (also Tang dynasty).

I thought that the Fabergé things were delightful.

They had some of those painted Greek sculptures which I have seen in the Ashmolean as well, apparently, all the sculptures from antiquity that we thought were white were actually brightly painted. I dunno, it looks a bit odd.

It was the busiest museum I’d ever been to. Sure, if you go to the Grand Gallery in the Louvre or the big hits in the Prado or the National Gallery in London, it will be busy but you can go to lots of parts of these galleries where you will have rooms and rooms to yourself. Here, however, even the dullest rooms are full, full, full.

I have been to many regional museums in Brittany where the pardon was a theme and I feel I have seen many, many variants on this theme. While not at all meaning to diss the artist (Pascal-Adophe-Jean Dagnan-Bouveret, if you’re asking), I have stood alone in rooms with very similar offerings. Not so here where enthusiastic crowds were gathering. Good, I suppose.

I staggered out into Central Park, having, I felt, got full value for my $30 entry fee. The rain had stopped so I had a wander around. Spring is much further forward in Ireland but Central Park had its charms.

I noticed that although the weather was pretty similar to at home far more people were wearing shorts. Pioneer hardiness, I suppose.

For dinner, I went to a place called Lafayette near my hotel. My (very much recommended) guide book, “New York Like a Local” which I picked up in the library recommended it.

I did enjoy that when booking, you don’t have to give your credit card details which you always do in Ireland now. The restaurant was good although service was again alarmingly fast. And it was expensive, plus ça change etc.

In Ireland I am always the loudest person but this is not the case in New York. An annoyingly loud person with a large group next to me humble bragged about never taking holidays. Anathema.

Friday, March 24

I took myself to “Russ and daughter” on the Lower East Side for breakfast. It was unbookable so I strolled in. It was very authentic and I felt like a proper New Yorker (reader, I definitely was not).

I was amazed that the Lower East Side on the island of Manhattan is, well, seedy and a bit rough. How is this even possible?

I proceeded to the tip of Manhattan where I explored the lovely area near the docks. This sounds like sarcasm but it is not. I went into this super bookshop and bought a couple of books. They had a big display of books by Irish authors and I told the polite, though entirely uninterested, shop assistant that one was going to be made into a film with my niece. It clearly requires more to impress a New Yorker.

I proceeded on and hired a bicycle. I set off up the West Side on the greenway. Was it easy? Oh yes it was. I felt to the manor born. I was delighted with myself. I saw the Statue of Liberty in the distance from Battery Park.

I stopped off at city island to have a look around. It is charming.

I cut inland and went to Central Park. It was a bit difficult getting out of my greenway. I hadn’t really understood before that Manhattan is more focussed inwards than outwards and there are big boulevards/motorways around Manhattan which can be difficult to get across, but that problem negotiated with some assistance from dog walkers, I found the roads into Central Park on the Upper West Side laughably easy to negotiate and far more straightforward than cycling in Dublin.

I then cycled around the park for a bit which was lovely. God, I was thrilled with myself.

One thing which really surprised me was the cavalier attitude to traffic lights. I expected Americans to be really strict (did they not invent the jay walk?) but in fact everyone (motorists, cyclists, pedestrians) regards them as advisory. I felt like an idiot stopping in Central Park but look there were red lights. Definitely more observed in the breach.

After my cycle around the park, I pushed on to the Upper East Side with a view to coming back by the East River Greenway. Again the East-West streets were fine, really safe and grand to cycle. My only knowledge of the East River was that it was where gangsters dispatched their enemies having first encased them in concrete. I was keen to see it for myself. Well, I will tell you this, they are building an amazing East River Greenway but it is almost entirely closed and unavailable to cycle along. Signs pointed to it and then other signs said it was closed. I would drop down hopefully only to find no dice and once to find myself almost run over by traffic on a very busy road/not quite motorway. There is the East River Greenway shining and awaiting its new riders but crucially not yet.

This was, of course, hubris following my earlier smugness. I stopped off for lunch near the UN. Fine but a long way from home which was preoccupying me a bit.

I finally started cycling down 2nd Avenue which in fairness was safe though profoundly unattractive.

Notwithstanding that I really should have known better, I kept going down to gaze longingly at the definitely closed greenway.

Lying sign.

More truthful sign.

I was ecstatic to get back to the tip of Manhattan and on to a greenway. One or more of these pictures is of Brooklyn Bridge. Thrilling. Pretty sure not the one with me looking cross in a selfie though.

I got my bike back to the shop before closing time having cycled, oh yes, about 30kms which, I can tell you, is a lot on a hired bike which is not precisely made for speed, with the books you bought that morning in the carrier (sigh). Was I pleased with myself? Oh yes indeed.

I’d been pretty surprised at how many very poor, mentally ill, high and otherwise distressed people were walking the streets. I know America doesn’t have a safety net like us but I just don’t remember this so much from when I was last in New York. Maybe it was me, I was younger and less noticing or was it a post-pandemic thing? On my way back to the hotel there was a man lying comatose (drink, drugs, a fight?) on the path wearing handcuffs. There were two policemen sitting on the steps beside his prone body chatting. It was quite disturbing. I don’t think that the Guards would do that in Ireland; not with someone unconscious but maybe I am just not going to the kinds of places where this would happen (though I do live in a place which can be…edgy).

My friend arrived from Vermont. Oh hurrah. We have been friends since secondary school. She married an American and has four American children but she has a house in Cork and travels here reasonably regularly so we see a lot more of each other than you might expect.

We went for dinner in Alta recommended by my guidebook. Good but pricey. Even my friend was surprised. But I suppose Vermont is not New York. Although she did say that when they go to Kinsale her American children run around the supermarket saying “Everything is so cheap and no sales tax!”. So it looks like even Vermont is expensive compared to Ireland.

Stay tuned for part two of my New York adventures. Ah do.