Sunday 18th April. A train trip to Grand Central Station in New York - just under two hours from New Haven. Straight to MoMA. The star attraction at the moment is Marina Abramovic's show - part of which consists of the artist herself (dressed in a long, flowing, blood-red robe) sitting at a table in a large floodlit space, very still - and you can queue to take a turn sitting opposite her to stare back; part of her show also consists of completely nude actors standing very close together so that you have to squeeze (really squeeze) between the very narrow gap between them in order to get from one gallery to the next. I observed it all from a comfortable distance. Then headed off to see the permanent collection - just the usual motley bunch of Picassos and Matisses - plus an enormous exhibition of Henri Cartier-Bresson photographs. There was time for meatballs in one of MoMA's achingly trendy cafes (run, incidentally, by the same person who runs the Shake Shack - see earlier blog posting). Afterwards, I decided to be brave and take the lift to the 67th floor of the Rockefeller Centre - the 'Top of the Rocks', which, post 9-11 is, I think, the highest viewing platform in NYC and has the advantage of allowing you to look at the Empire State Building. I didn't throw-up. Though that might be partly because I stood well back from the edge. In fact, it was difficult to get a sense of how high up you actually were until you noticed how very, very far below the streets were and how very, very small the yellow taxis were. After the Top of the Rocks, I thought my tourist trail wouldn't be complete unless I faced Times Square - which is glamourously brash and 'electric' above head height and pretty tacky and unpleasant at ground level. By then, it was getting dark, so time to head back to Grand Central Station and a train back home. Packed - a Yankees game apparently. Tomorrow, the start of another working week. It's already difficult to believe that a few hours ago I was actually in New York and experiencing the iconic stuff there for myself. How do you 'fix' that kind of experience in your mind? (Post-script: woken last night by the loo making funny grinding noises again, even though it's been 'fixed').
