(Almost) 48 hours in NYC

Calling all enthusiasts: I found the perfect mug in NYC

After my labs on Tuesday, I boarded the Acela out of Boston for Penn Station in New York City. My good friends (and Pete’s godmothers) Wendy and Cristina were renting an apartment for two weeks and I was invited to join them for three nights.

On our first evening, we went out for thin crust pizza and then to the Campbell Apartment for a round of drinks (make that a $14 martini!). It is tucked into a corner of the refurbished Grand Central Station; which now bears little resemblance to my drab memories of it from the early eighties.

Day two started with bagels and coffee in, before a stroll and an impromptu stop at Sara Japanese Pottery, an exceptional gallery not far from the rental. Cristina and I shared thoughts of befriending the charming director and she purchased the two of us matching iron bottle openers.

We then made our way to the Frick museum where an exhibition of  Picasso’s drawings was on display. Perusing his renderings was a splendid opportunity, but I was even more taken with Goivanni Bellini’s St. Francis in the Desert. As I always do after a good dose of art, I came away from the museum with renewed enthusiasm ( see photo) for my own creative pursuits.

By this time we were famished, and stopped for lunch at a deli. There was a  fellow standing in line behind me, and after I ordered he said to me “What sandwich did you get?”. I responded that I was having a salad and a cheese popover. And then he asked, “Are you Canadian?”.  Made sense to me.

By late afternoon it became apparent that Cristina was not feeling very well; in fact, she suspected a case of bronchitis was coming on. This led to a discussion as to my own susceptibility and whether as a precautionary measure, I should cut my visit short. Cristina phoned her doctor in California, and Wendy and I went for a quick snack and then to a concert at The Morgan Library & Museum.

To my great delight, it was a presentation of Jordi Savall on the lira da gamba and bass viol with his son Ferran Savall, voice and theorbo. I’ve been a huge fan of the viole da gamba and Jordi  Savall since the early nineties, when I first viewed the Gerard Depardieu movie Tous les matins du monde. The duo performed a piece from the soundtrack, and I had tears streaming down my face from start to finish (because I was so happy!).

The next morning, after a delicious breakfast, W & C hailed a cab and sent me packing. Happily, Cristina was able to fill a prescription for antibiotics and soon felt better, and my immune system fulfilled its job description beautifully.

It was a brief but lovely visit.