Day Trip to the Frick Museum in New York
Last Thursday brought a quite unexpected treat. Business activity was polarised by an 8am conference call and a 5pm meeting and I suddenly realised that I had the perfect opportunity to wander around a museum at my leisure and, simultaneously, find sanctuary from the stifling city. New York was literally a city in heat, sweating profusely as the lank humidity enveloped it.
The subway was a revelation, however. That the station was clean and the train punctual was satisfying enough but, on stepping into the compartment, Sony CyberShot DSC-T500 I was transported in more ways than one. The air conditioning was so cooling and so calming that I felt mildly disappointed that my rendezvous was only two stops uptown. Momentarily refreshed, I alighted and wandered in the vague direction of the museum. Having comprehensively proved to myself that I still had not mastered the city grid, I retired to an excellent cafй for lunch, enjoyed both sandwich and view, flirted with my book and marvelled at the sight of New Yorkers in various states of undress. I marvelled even more at the preponderance of large men walking small dogs and young men walking old women.
It was one of those rare days when there is a perfect symmetry in all one does. The subway trip was brief but invigorating, my initial walk aimless but diverting, lunch both fulfilling and illuminating. These were all themes that would be encapsulated at my destination and so it was, after getting lost again in a suitably agreeable way, I found myself standing outside that pintsized firecracker of Jacksonville Homes a museum, the порох наркотик Frick Collection.
I could remember very little about my last visit except that I knew I had to come again. I certainly didn’t remember the sloppy customer care, epitomised by one long queue which grew ever longer until I pointed it out to the oblivious society matron ensconced at the front desk. Worse still was the surly security guard who was adamant that I could not bring my bottle of water inside but then waved me through without even a cursory frisk. Lucky nobody came armed with a penknife that day. Cultural terrorism takes many forms and I find it unbelievable that the custodians of such a collection could be so casual in this regard.
Once inside the main body of the building, my mood changed markedly. I was invited to take an audio guide about the collection and its contents, introduced by Samuel Sacks, the museum director, with further contrib
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