It was with great excitement that I woke up at the rather early hour of 5:45 on this Thursday past. I was to adventure with my beloved sister into Town, and take in an exhibit, the sights, and whatever fare we desired. The drive to New Haven was pleasant, as the roads were dry and well maintained. Upon arrival at the railroad station, Mrs. Winslow and I got our tickets from a rather surly gentleman, and boarded our train. Our sense of timing was most apt, for as we were taking our seats, several large parties boarded the train as well. The two hour ride was quite pleasant for my first train experience, and was filled with many opportunities to observe those around me.
Upon arrival in New York City, my excitement grew threefold. Here I was, in a place so full of people and life! As someone who enjoys being surrounded by people, noise, and bustle, this seemed a perfect place for me. Mrs. Winslow was kind enough to point out the beauty of the ceiling of Grand Central Station, which led me to forget my place and stare open mouthed at the signs of the zodiac painted on the ceiling. After convincing all around me that I was indeed from the country, Mrs. Winslow and I found our way out of the building. As we exited we happened upon a man who smiled and offered to assist us. He was dressed like an employee of Grand Central Station, so we graciously accepted his offer to point us in the correct direction towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Setting off in the direction pointed, Mrs. Winslow and I took in the sights and sounds of the city for several blocks, until it was clear that we had been had. We consulted the map we had gotten in the station, and came to the sorry conclusion that we had walked five blocks in the wrong direction and that the gentleman who had helped us had given us the wrong directions. We got ourselves some refreshment and determined the proper route towards the Met. As we were discussing this, a gentlewoman in front of us offered her help, but was taken by surprise by our insistence upon walking. She assured us that the Met 'wasn't worth it'. It, I suppose, is the trouble we took to walk there. We managed to find the proper route, after another five or so blocks of walking, only to realize we had circled the station! Imagine our surprise when we crossed a street only to see the back side of the station! But we persevered and with the aid of strawberry popsicles, we arrived at the Met.
Upon arriving at our destination, we were quite famished. Mrs. Winslow and I planned first to find sustenance and then enjoy the exhibit we had come expressly to see. However, upon entering the museum it was clear we were not the only ones excited to see Savage Beauty. Although it would have been wiser to eat first, we made our way to the exhibit to join the many others in line. It was a peculiar experience walking along the line to reach the end. As I walked, I could feel many eyes on my person, taking in and analyzing my dress. I was doing the very same, all while resenting their actions that so mirrored my own. Truly, it was an uncomfortable experience, for as I looked it was clear that I was certainly not as fabulously dressed as these other visitors. As Miss Dashwood and Maryann experience in Sense and Sensibility at the looks of Miss Grey, so too did I feel quite out of place here in my "country fashions". The weather forbade any of my more interesting outfits, and sense kept my shoes flat and comfortable. But I am getting away from the point.
Upon entering the Savage Beauty exhibit, Mrs. Winslow and I were transported into a fantasy land in which all is fabulous. There was no photography allowed, most likely to keep the flow of the rooms moving. I could have stayed there for the day, absorbing every detail and committing it to memory. Hunger was forgotten in the overwhelming experience of seeing masterpieces of fashion so close I could touch them, had I the inclination to do so. The exhibit itself flowed in a stylistic manner, rather than a chronological one. If my meaning is vague, I will specify. The very first room housed his most simple items from various collections throughout Mr. McQueen's career. Each room also had its own sound and temperature. Truly, all senses were stimulated and the imagination engaged with each item. The most remarkable piece of technology was implemented as well. In the middle of the exhibit, housed against the side of the wall in a black cage and displayed as to seem trivial, was a hologram display. I am quite sure it was a hologram, but I cannot be entirely sure. The image was as nothing I had ever seen, for there was a pyramid of glass, and in a cylinder in the middle of this pyramid was the image of a woman in one of Mr. McQueen's dresses, and she was twirling about so that the flow of the fabric of the dress could be displayed. But it was this image alone, there was no background. There was a look of transparency to the image itself that reminded me strongly of Zordon.
As moving as the exhibit was, hunger overtook Mrs. Winslow and myself and we exited to find the cafe and wine bar. After a few missteps and some lallygagging we managed to locate the cafe. The wait for a table was short, but the menu was quite limited. Assuming that the item I ordered was a pasta dish, I originally contested what the waiter brought once we had ordered. I did not realize that "fritatta" was not a kind of sauce that went over a pasta dish. Mrs. Winslow insists that I was quite surprised when my plate was placed before me containing what looked to me like a piece of quiche, when I was expecting a bowl of pasta! I had once again demonstrated my lack of worldly culture. Happily, the couple seated to our left was quite a handful for our waiter and my faux pas was overlooked. Once my beloved sister and I had finished, we went to explore the Egyptian exhibit until my cousin, Miss Gauthier, joined us at 4. When in the Egyptian exhibit, I happened upon a darling blue hippo, and was quite smitten with him. Mrs. Winslow and I ventured into the gift shop and much to our surprise discovered that the Blue Hippo was popular enough to be made into a back pack.
Upon quitting the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Mrs. Winslow and I met with Miss Gauthier and made our way to find a tavern. After some indecision, we found a lovely spot named Cilantro which had the most delightful calamari I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Visiting with Miss Gauthier was quite enjoyable, and it was a shame when our time had run short, as she had a previous engagement. Miss Gauthier led Mrs. Winslow and myself to the subway station and my first experience with the New York Subway was quick and enjoyable. Upon our arrival at Columbus Circle, the rain that had been threatening for several hours finally fell. Miss Gauthier bid us adieu and made her way to her next appointment. Mrs. Winslow and I, quite at our leisure, entered the Time Warner mall to wait out what we hoped would be the worst of the storm. A desire to shop at the local H&M and the impatience of youth led us back out into the open air, and we chose to walk the five or so blocks to our goal. The rain held until we got to the store, which was most lucky for us. The store was lovely and the displays were compelling, but being voluptuous in size and shape, it was proved impossible to find anything to try on, let alone purchase. Disheartened, Mrs. Winslow and I exited onto the street, only to be caught unawares in a downpour. Determined to enjoy the rest of the day, we soldiered on, walking back to Grand Central Station.
Once in the dry safety of the train station, Mrs. Winslow and I celebrated our day with cheesecake. Once done, we boarded the train and set off back to New Haven and eventually Mystic. The small pauses in conversation allowed for introspection, and I came to the conclusion that New York City, although exciting in all its diversity and activity, is not the place for me. Mrs. Winslow, Miss Gauthier and I spoke of another visit in the fall, which would be most agreeable to me, but I find it difficult to imagine myself residing there for any period of time. In a place so full of people, it seems particularly void of manners and a feeling of pleasure in life. Perhaps that is due to the lack of trees.
<3
MeggyB
p.s: I hope this isn't a tl;dr type post. I had a fun time writing in a sort of Jane Austen style, although obviously the language and style isn't quite right. I hope it's at least fun for whoever reads it :)
