Here and There

Traveling takes its toll, for sure. If you've done it, you know that too. By three pm, I notice my eyelids creeping down and my arms start to feel heavy. Probably from all those things that make it fun to be away from home -- strange food, new bed, unfamiliar streets. Plus, we've had a heavy day of rain here in New York City. Lines of yellow cabs inched their wet way down 5th Avenue all afternoon, and tourists -- on line for the Moma -- crammed closed against the building in a totally vain effort to keep dry.

After bowls of scrambled egg whites with spinach and red peppers at Urban Rustic this morning, Adam and I headed to Manhattan on a busy subway system that, on rainy days, is known for steaming up like a hot shower stall. I have become more aggressive with each ride -- pushing my way through the scrum to be one of the first on board, sliding quickly into the blue plastic seats, and speeding past lesser and larger mortals up several flights of stairs to street level.

Once in Midtown, we joined the end of the long line of chipper American tourists waiting to take in the collections of one of the most famous contemporary art galleries in the world.

My surprising nonchalance over the floors Adam and I visited could have been due to the crushing crowds in nearly every room in every room or perhaps it was the let-down that must inevitably follow the build-up of any major tourist attraction. Still, I'm quite glad I went. I was satisfied with the experience, if slightly nonplussed over all the fuss.

Chief among my favorite pieces were computer-generated origami shapes, painted sculptures of pastries and an impressive rack of ribs by Claus Oldenburg, a contemporary take on still life by Tom Wesselman, and a tiny glassed-in display of vintage Tupperware.

The day ended as it began -- with a healthy, vegetarian meal, this time in the Lower East Village at Angelica's Kitchen, which is a New York institution recommended to me by my friend Tsia, a one-time Maritimer and now a long-time New Yorker. Ordering and eating here -- and lingering afterward over a piece of silky coffee layer cake -- felt as comfortable and familiar as eating in our own kitchen.

Thus, I am confirmed in my belief that people go on vacation to do what they normally do, but in another location. Displacing (or re-placing) one's sense of home -- but engaging in what are still mostly predictable outcomes -- seems to be oddly rejuvenating.