Today, I received una bonita regalo.
The day started misty, wet, raw and capricious like the Hudson River, silent yet speechless.
We met at the Natural History Museum. I was greeted with a big hug and a beautiful smile, a smile that made me melt to the core.
I enjoyed a personal tour, a moment-by-moment narration of the fascinating and vibrant Inca culture -- a wonderful civilization that is so rich and ever relevant. I was deeply inspired and left with a insatiable yearning to hear and learn more.
Some day, I will visit the Amazon Rainforest. It is one of the Nature Seven Wonders of the World, and I am sure it will inspire me.
Because we wanted to visit the Statue of Liberty and climb up to the top of the pedestal, we decided to make that visit the next day when we had more time. (Before 9-11, I remembered climbing up to the top of the crown, all 350 steps through a cramped spiral staircase -- now this opportunity is more restricted, through the issuing of tickets).
So, the Whitney Museum was a pleasant surprise like a strawberry creme-filled truffle wrapped in an opulent hand-made box with gold and silver wire. Unlike the Smithsonian American Art Museum, Whitney focuses on living and lesser-known American artists -- artists who I consider Avante Garde --pushing the boundary more and more until experimental becomes mainstream.
My new friend, Justine, who I met on the Bolt Bus gave us a free pass. It was a nice gift -- something I couldn't resist and a testimony to being friendly to strangers, especially those who you sit next to.
Whitney was no MOMA (Metropolitan Musem of Art), but I felt the personal touch of artists showcasing their biennials. What was amazing floor by floor was that the exhibits embodied a diverse cross section of contemporary art rather than a specific theme. I left feeling like I've seen something interesting, exciting unexpected. I knew that this experience would move me again and again, for many more years.
The rest of the evening at the East End Bar (where Bday drinks were on the house) and then in the West Village (where the sound of Blues rolled from the Bayou of Nawlins) was loud, fun and evocative, and yes, oh so priceless.
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