Cloistered

Sunday: By 7.30am I was back on the train and heading towards Grand Central Station. Soon after 9am I was sitting on the steps of the New York Public Library, munching on a croissant, slurping coffee and leaning back on the plinth that supports Fortitude, one of the stone lions that flank this iconic building within which I had spent many a happy day back in 2004. But this wasn’t a day for libraries. Instead I took the subway up to 86th Street and headed across to the Met where 2½ hours were mysteriously lost as I wandered through room after room of European paintings. The crowds of camera-wielding tourists were at the Met alright, but they had come for the Alexander McQueen exhibition, leaving me to enjoy the incredible art collection with only the occasional sleepy security guard for company.

I had arranged a rendez-vous at the Cloisters for 2pm (sounds dodgy, but I'll leave it in), but my carefully planned journey fell apart at the seams when, like a disoriented tourist, I was unable to find the necessary bus stop. I abandoned the bus option and legged it across Central Park to grab a subway train that would take me all the way up to 190th Street – I’d never been so high! The discomfort of melting on superhot underground platforms was quickly forgotten when I emerged from the station to magnificent views across the Hudson from this unexpected vantage point. It was nothing like the Manhattan I am familiar with, more like being suddenly transported to some tropical island. I made my way through a peaceful park until I came to The Cloisters museum. This place has to be seen to be believed. I can’t do justice to it here. Suffice to say if I'd been taken there blindfolded and then asked me to guess where I was, I would have said Tuscany. If you go to NYC, go to The Cloisters – I guarantee you will be amazed. Next time, I’m going there for the whole day.

After the museum had closed for the day, I reluctantly made my way back downtown, where I was pleased to discover the delights of the Strand Bookstore near Union Square. More time evaporated so that I managed to catch the 9pm train back to New Haven with only minutes to spare – quite fortunate given that the next one would have involved a 1½ wait and a seriously late arrival time. So that was the last New Haven/Manhattan trip, and the following day marked the beginning of my final week at Yale, a week which involved a frantic struggle to complete my research, lunches and evening drinks with curators and academic staff, and then reluctant goodbyes to new friends and to Yale. On Friday morning I was back on the train and on my way to upstate New York via Massachusetts.