The weather did not look promising this morning, so we decided to head over to MoMA for some arty tourism. We got a little lost on the way there, because apparently I am incapable of understanding the seemingly simple road layout of Manhattan. I had great difficulty in remembering which streets and avenues I was meant to be heading for – strange how it became such an issue when numbers were involved. Anyway, with the help of a businessman, we found the museum. Did I mention how friendly New Yorkers seem when you’re used to Brussels and South East England?
The museum itself was pretty interesting, and the trip passed very quickly, but by the time we got into the most modern sections I was a bit sick of it all. One room contained a piece of steel you could walk on (also known as a floor?), and another contained something which looked liked the innards of my hoover.
I was left feeling a bit confused and scared, and also a bit sad that these things were so successful, when talented artists who are actually making interesting things, which require some skill, are not recognised. But, well, each to their own. It probably took a lot of work to hoover up that amount of yuck.
I sound like my mum (actually worse, she quite likes modern art).
There was an exhibition on called A Trip from Here to There, which featured various pieces of work based on travel, including some inked in maps which I was quite taken with. The photography exhibition was also good, although I can’t for the life of me remember who the photographer was (English, portraits, some celebrity, some normal people, some nudes). Bad blogger didn’t take notes.
As we left the museum it started spitting. About five minutes along our walk to the secret Japanese restaurant where we were going for lunch, the heavens truly opened and we were left huddled under a small umbrella between us. Deciding that it would probably be quicker to continue walking than to find a subway station, we powered on, getting more and more wet with each passing second.
Eventually, soaked to the skin, we reached Sakagura. To enter, you go through what I think is an office building, past a doorman and down some stairs into a little slice of Japan. There are buddhist prayer flags lining the archways, and old sake bottles along the walls. The waitresses are friendly and the service is quick. We thawed out with a cup of green tea while perusing the menu. Ben and I both went for the Kamo Namban, a soba noodle soup with slices of roast duck and shiitake mushrooms. It was an excellent choice, and just spicy enough to ward off the chill.