Four Hours, Five Thousand Years, and One Very Confused Tourist
Well, here we are.
Our last full day in New York City.
Seven days ago, we arrived with a ridiculously ambitious list of things we wanted to see, places we wanted to visit, and food we wanted to eat.
Somehow, we’ve managed to accomplish an astonishing amount of it.
We’ve also walked enough miles to qualify for some sort of endurance medal, made a few spectacular navigational errors, and discovered that Matt’s feet have a very definite opinion about my vacation planning.
But we weren’t finished yet.
And as it turns out, New York had saved a pretty spectacular day for us.
We started our morning at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
And let me tell you something.
The Met absolutely blew me away.
Now, we’ve visited some extraordinary museums over the years, including quite a few in Washington, D.C., earlier this year.
And I have to say, the Met puts them all to shame.
That’s not a criticism of the Smithsonian. Washington has some spectacular museums.
But the Met?
Good Lord.
It’s in an entirely different league.
Calling it an art museum almost feels inadequate. It’s more like someone gathered up several thousand years of human civilization, packed it into an enormous building on Fifth Avenue, and said, “Here you go. Have a look around.”
One minute you’re wandering through ancient Egypt, surrounded by artifacts that predate practically everything we recognize as modern civilization.
Turn a corner and you’re standing among Greek and Roman sculptures.
A few rooms later, there are medieval suits of armor, magnificent European paintings, and entire architectural spaces transported from other parts of the world.
The sheer scale of it is staggering.
And beautiful.
And overwhelming.
And occasionally rather confusing.
Our first mistake was thinking we’d allowed ourselves plenty of time.
Four hours.
Four. Hours.
How charmingly naive of us.
You could easily spend two or three days exploring this place and still not see everything.
The Met is an enormous labyrinth of galleries, hallways, staircases, and entire civilizations.
Every time you think you’ve figured out where you are, you turn a corner and discover another few thousand years of human history.
I swear the building must rearrange itself when nobody’s looking.
At one point, I was convinced we’d already walked through a particular gallery.
At another, I had absolutely no idea which century we were in.
By the end, I had successfully located the Van Goghs and found a bathroom.
I’m calling that progress.
But what an experience.
To stand in front of paintings you’ve seen reproduced in books, on television, and in museums around the world is something special.
There’s a difference between recognizing a famous painting and actually standing in front of it.
You begin noticing the brushstrokes, the colors, the details, and the incredible fact that someone stood before that very canvas and created something that people are still traveling across the world to see.
Hundreds of years later.
That’s pretty extraordinary.
Of course, not every work of art inspires quite the same reaction.
Which brings me to Jackson Pollock.
Now, I understand that Pollock is considered a genius.
I know his work revolutionized modern art, and I’m sure there are people with advanced degrees who could spend several hours explaining its importance.
But I look at some of those paintings and think…
Really?
I mean, really?
Maybe I’m missing something.
Maybe I need an art history degree.
Or perhaps I simply prefer my paint to look as though someone put it somewhere on purpose.
I’m sure that statement will horrify art historians everywhere.
But that’s fine.
They can appreciate Pollock, and I’ll spend a little more time with Van Gogh.
We all have our gifts.
And that’s part of what makes the Met so wonderful.
You don’t have to love everything.
Some pieces leave you speechless.
Others make you curious.
And a few make you wonder whether you should have kept that painting you made in third grade.
But every room offers something different, and the sheer variety of human creativity on display is astonishing.
We left feeling as though we’d barely scratched the surface.
Which, after four hours, is a slightly ridiculous feeling.
We absolutely have to come back.
Next time, I’m allowing several days.
And possibly bringing a compass.
Fine Art and Questionable Nutrition
After four hours surrounded by some of humanity’s greatest artistic achievements, we emerged from the Met into the afternoon sunshine.
And naturally, after all that culture, sophistication, and artistic enlightenment, we decided it was time for something equally refined.
Hot dogs.
From a street vendor.
Right outside the museum.
Because nothing says you’ve spent the morning appreciating the finest achievements of Western civilization quite like standing on a New York sidewalk ordering a hot dog.
We found ourselves a spot on the grand steps of the Met, sat down, and enjoyed our lunch in the sunshine.
And you know what?
It was perfect.
There we were, sitting on the steps of one of the greatest museums in the world, eating hot dogs and watching New York City go about its business.
People coming and going.
Tourists taking pictures.
New Yorkers doing whatever it is New Yorkers do on a Monday afternoon.
The traffic, the noise, the conversations, the constant movement of the city.
And us, sitting there with our hot dogs, soaking it all in.
No reservations.
No elaborate plans.
No need to rush off somewhere.
Just a couple of hot dogs, a little sunshine, and the wonderful chaos of Manhattan.
Sometimes the best travel moments aren’t the ones you spend months planning.
Sometimes they’re the ones that happen when you sit down, take a bite of a hot dog, and realize you’re exactly where you want to be.
Although I do wonder what the ancient Egyptians would have thought of our lunch.
And Now, for Our Grand Finale…
Now, tonight was something I’d been quietly plotting since July.
Long before we ever boarded the plane for New York, I’d been researching how to get tickets to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
I’ve been a fan of Jon Stewart for years, and the opportunity to see him in person, doing what he does best, was something I really wanted to experience.
The problem, of course, was getting tickets.
These things don’t exactly grow on trees.
So I researched.
I checked.
I waited.
I checked some more.
And somewhere along the way, my determination to attend a television taping probably crossed the line into a minor obsession.
But eventually, after months of scheming and a little strategic persistence…
We got in!
And even better, we got to share the experience with Amos.
For those who haven’t been following along, Amos and I have been best friends since I was two years old.
He’s a year older than me, and after fifty years of friendship, he’s really more of a brother than a friend.
So getting to experience this with Amos and Matt made an already special evening even better.
We arrived at the studio, joined the audience, and settled in for what I expected would be a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at a television production.
What I didn’t expect was just how much time Jon Stewart would spend with us.
Before the cameras even started rolling, Jon came out and spent nearly thirty minutes talking with the audience.
Not performing for television.
Not reading from a script.
Just talking.
Answering questions, telling stories, cracking jokes, and engaging with the people who’d come to see the show.
And he was absolutely hilarious.
Quick, sharp, spontaneous, and seemingly able to turn almost any question into something funny.
But what impressed me just as much was how gracious he was.
He seemed genuinely interested in connecting with the audience.
There was no sense that he was simply going through the motions before getting down to the real business of making television.
He was relaxed, personable, and generous with his time.
And then something fascinating happened.
After nearly half an hour of casual conversation, it was time to begin the show.
And Jon Stewart flipped a switch.
Not literally, of course.
Although given the transformation, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone backstage had one.
One moment he was casually chatting with us.
The next, he was Jon Stewart, host of The Daily Show.
The timing.
The delivery.
The precision.
Everything suddenly clicked into place.
Watching someone transition so effortlessly from an informal conversation to a polished television performance was remarkable.
You could immediately see the experience of someone who’s spent decades mastering his craft.
On television, it all looks so natural.
So effortless.
But sitting there in the studio, you realize just how much coordination, timing, and preparation goes into making it happen.
The cameras, the crew, the audience, the production staff, the lighting, the transitions.
It’s a carefully orchestrated machine.
And at the center of it all is a man who makes it look like he’s just having a conversation with a few million friends.
And yes, he was every bit as funny in person as he is on television.
Possibly funnier.
There’s something about being in the room, hearing the jokes live, and watching the reactions that television simply can’t reproduce.
But what impressed me most happened after the show ended.
When the cameras stopped rolling, Jon didn’t disappear backstage.
He stayed.
For another twenty minutes.
More questions.
More stories.
More laughs.
And more of that same relaxed, gracious interaction with the audience.
Think about that.
Nearly thirty minutes before the show.
Another twenty minutes afterward.
That’s almost an additional hour of his time, simply spent talking with the people who’d come to see him.
He certainly didn’t have to do that.
And I think that’s what made it so memorable.
For someone who’s been such a prominent figure in American television and political commentary for so many years, he came across as remarkably approachable and genuine.
The entire staff was fantastic, too.
Friendly, organized, professional, and clearly proud of what they do.
Everything ran smoothly, but without making the audience feel like we were simply being shuffled through a television production.
They made us feel welcome.
Like we were part of something special.
And we were.
We walked out of that studio absolutely delighted.
After months of planning, checking, waiting, and hoping, I can confidently say it was worth every bit of effort.
Jon Stewart, you did not disappoint.
From Jon Stewart to John’s Pizza
After the show, the three of us had one final important piece of New York business to attend to.
Dinner.
And really, how else should we end a week in New York?
Pizza.
We headed to John’s of Times Square, a sprawling pizzeria housed inside a former church.
Yes, another church.
Apparently, Sunday wasn’t enough.
Although this one had traded its pews for pizza tables.
The building is wonderful, with beautiful stained glass, soaring ceilings, and a coal-fired pizza oven.
Only in New York could you spend the evening watching Jon Stewart, then head off to eat pizza inside an old church.
And somehow, it all makes perfect sense.
The pizza was excellent, the atmosphere was terrific, and after the excitement of the television taping, it felt wonderful to sit down with Matt and Amos and enjoy one last New York dinner together.
No elaborate sightseeing agenda.
No race against the clock.
Just good pizza, good conversation, and a chance to enjoy the final evening of our trip.
And for once, I wasn’t trying to figure out how many additional landmarks we could squeeze in before bedtime.
Personal growth.
From the Appalachian Trail to the Big Apple
After pizza, it was time to say goodbye to Amos.
Now, there’s another part of this story I haven’t mentioned.
Amos has been hiking the Appalachian Trail.
Yes, the Appalachian Trail.
While Matt and I have been complaining about walking ten miles a day through Manhattan, Amos has been trekking through the wilderness, climbing mountains, sleeping outdoors, and generally doing things that make our little New York walking adventures look like a stroll through the mall.
And somehow, he literally crawled out of the woods to spend a little time with us in the Big Apple.
Talk about friendship.
One minute he’s living the life of a rugged outdoorsman, and the next he’s sitting in a television studio watching Jon Stewart and eating coal-fired pizza in a former church.
Quite the change of scenery.
Tomorrow, he’s heading back to continue his journey along the Appalachian Trail, while we’re heading home to Washington.
It was hard saying goodbye, as it always is with someone who’s been part of your life for fifty years.
But what a wonderful couple of days we’ve had together.
And I couldn’t help appreciating the contrast.
Amos is heading back into the wilderness to walk hundreds more miles.
Matt and I are heading home, where I fully intend to avoid walking any unnecessary distance between the couch and the refrigerator.
Clearly, one of us has a very different idea of what constitutes a vacation.
Safe travels, brother. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And thank you for coming out of the woods to spend a little time with us.
Not a Bad Monday
And just like that, our last full day in New York was coming to an end.
We’d spent the morning standing in front of priceless works of art, wandered through thousands of years of human history, and discovered that four hours at the Met is roughly equivalent to reading the first three pages of War and Peace and declaring the book finished.
We’d eaten hot dogs on the museum steps, basked in the afternoon sunshine, and enjoyed one of those wonderfully simple New York moments that no amount of planning could improve.
We’d spent the evening laughing with Jon Stewart, watched the fascinating machinery of television come to life, and finished with pizza inside a former church.
And we’d shared it all with Amos, who had temporarily traded the Appalachian wilderness for the concrete jungle.
Not a bad Monday.
Not bad at all.
Tomorrow, Matt and I head home, while Amos returns to his adventure on the Appalachian Trail.
I’ll save my grand reflections on New York for one final post, once we’ve made it home and I’ve had a chance to think about everything we’ve experienced.
Because there’s quite a lot to think about.
For tonight, though, I’m content to call this a spectacular last full day.
And I’m going to bed with a smile on my face.
New York, you certainly know how to put on a show.