A Tale of Woe

There have always been urban legends circulating about just how little Americans know about the rest of the world. I have heard stories of some South Africans telling American folk in the mid-west that we ride elephants to school and wear animal skins as clothes.
I guess when you live in the world's richest and most powerful nation who dominates everything from film (Hollywood) to finance (Wall Street) there is just no need to aknowledge life beyond the Atlantic. I have always been a little skeptical about just how ill-informed they were until I had this experience in a grocery store on Saturday morning.....

A Tale of Woe- by Kate Ashley Walters

a brief insght into the US-centricity of The American People

Characters: Kate Walters (playing herself)
                    Ricky Bobby (store attendant) with a real New Yaaker's drawl

Setting: Deli on 2nd Ave, Mid-town NYC, Saturday morning-roughly 10am.

Kate: Good morning, could you please show me where the jams are?

RB: Oh, the jelly. Yes ma'am that is right on aisle 1, over there.

Kate: Excellent, thank you.

RB:  I hope you don't mind my asking, but is that is real English accent you have there ma'am? Cause I love the sound of a real British English accent

Kate: No actually, I am a South African, but I live in London.

RB: (slightly confused look on his face) A South African huh? So that's French right?

Kate: well, I imagine that someone in South Africa speaks french, but it's not the main language. There are a number of native languages and our European languages are English and a dialect of Dutch.

RB: (silence- processing this information) Oh right...... well that's strange cause I had a friend who came from Africa and he said it were french over there. So it's not french in the South of Africa???

Kate: (now thinking uh-oh) Well he might have come from West Africa, say the Congo, they speak French over there.

RB: Oh right (more silence, more thinking) I saw one of 'em films about africa, "Hotel Rwanda" was that Southern Africa?

Kate: (with some irony in my voice now) Oh no, that was probably Rwanda.

RB: So what's it like anyway? Living in Africa?

Kate: Well, it's tough. 3rd world country, very little social security ( I am guessing he will understand this term) very high rates of unemployment......

RB: Well, I betya it aint as tough as living here in New York City. They say that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. (He starts humming Frank Sinatra's New New York and starts doing the can can) What's the name of that guy who sang this song, you know, New York New York?

Kate: Frank Sinatra. (moron!!)

RB: So what you doing in the big apple then?

Kate: Not much to be honest. My boyfriend has been transferred over here for a few months for work and I'm just hanging out with him.

RB: Oh cool. So is your boyfriend also English?

Kate: (wait a second- I just told you that I am south african!!!) No he is Australian.

RB: Wow- how far is it a plane from London to Australia.

Kate: Hmmmm... not too sure, like 23 hours or something.

RB: NO WAY!!! It must be tough trying to see your boyfriend

Kate: (OK- time to abort- this is  clearly an exercise in futility) Yip, real tough! (BIG SMILE) Sorry where did you say that jam was?

RB: Jelly, aisle 1 on the right.

The Legacy of Burritos

I have exercised more here in the last 5 days than I have in the past 3 months.

This is probably a good thing. I guess there is no better opportunity than this one to shed the legacy of Coronas, Burritos and Fajitas that has gathered around my waistline since our trip to Mexico. With all this time on my hands, if I don't shake 'em extra kg's, I will be a failure unto the Society of Kept Women.
I now understand why "the kept woman" is a reknowned slim creature.... She uses her ample free time exercising for hours in the gym or dabbling in little extra-marital affairs (both of which have been known to work up a sweat)
Gym, of course was my less preferred option, but seeing as it was only the (not-so-sultry) construction workers on the building site opposite our apartment that offered any hope of seduction, I have decided to beat the Burritos the honest way.
I did think also of posting pictures as part of my weight loss blog- but they couldn't shrink to fit and besides, I wasn't going to risk being reported to the Internet Police for obscene and unlawful imagery.

The Frick Collection

The Frick is an opulent mansion which houses one of the world's most extensive private art collections. It originally belonged to Henry Clay Frick who was one of the great American industrialists and art collectors. Frick was born in Pennsylvania, US in 1849 and by the age of 21 was well on his way to becoming one of America's richest men. With the help of his life-long friend and financier extraordinaire, Andrew Mellon http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_W._Mellon Frick established the Frick Coke Company which supplied and was in partnership with Carnegie Steel Company.

Carnegie Steel Company was founded by Andrew Carnegie, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Carnegie a penniless Scot who arrived with a wave of immigrants to the US in the early 1800's. Carnegie's was the epitome of a "rags to riches" story and by the 1890's, Carnegie steel was the biggest and most profitable industrial enterprise in the world. His huge entrepreneurial success made Andrew Carnegie the second richest man in human history (after John D. Rockefeller) and many public buildings Pennsylvania and NY still carry his name.

Frick's partnership with Carnegie rendered him the title of "The World's 60th richest man of all time" and vast sums of Frick's fortune were spent on acquiring fine pieces of art.


Interestingly, just before Carnegie died, he sold his steel empire to renowned banker, J.P. Morgan and after J.P. Morgan's death, parts of his private art collection were bought by Henry Frick. These special paintings, were originally commissioned by Louis XV's mistress, Madame du Barry and Frick appreciated them so much that decided to build a special room to display them http://www.frick.org/virtual/fragonard.htm




In the early 1900's, Frick moved from Pennsylvania to NYC, bought an enormous piece of land (one whole block to be exact) between 70th St and 5th Ave and built an 18th Century- inspired mansion to house his formidable collection. Some of the Masters include Vermeer, Degas, Renoir, Van Dyk, Turner and Gainsborough.




The museum today resembles much of what the residence was like over 100 years ago. The furniture has been expertly preserved and many rooms have been left exactly as though they were still lived in. The sheer size and grandeur is dazzling, even by today's standards and it seems almost an impossible luxury that anyone could have had just that much space in New York City. One recurring theme which I certainly felt when standing in everyone of the richly decorated rooms, was that Frick must have been an extremely powerful and magnanimous man whose imposing spirit to this day, still presides throughout.


VERDICT: THE FRICK IS A MUST!!  Check it out.... http://www.frick.org/,

CHING CHONG CHA!

My first "official" excursion alone was right down the very guts of the city beast towards its derriere... or certainly what smelled like its derriere, China Town. Slowly but surely all semblance of Western culture disappears as Lafayette mutates into Centre Street. The air is buzzing with the bustle of business as vendors, restaurant owners and herbal doctors peddle their wares. This place is so authentic that I had to keep reminding myself that was actually in America. In fact, the only thing that alluded to my true location were the $USD being used in every transaction. 

My theory that China is taking over the world was fully confirmed when I noticed that half of Little Italy (which proudly displays the Italian paraphenalia on every street light) is nothing more than a row of Chinese shops.

After much wandering around, I noticed my precious little feet started to feel tired and achey, so  I promptly treated myself to a foot massge whiched turned out to be every bit as rewarding as I had hoped, though sadly did not include a happy ending.  See below

It was a happy ending for me though as I spent the rest of my afternoon at The Golden Bridge resaturant gobbling up the most delicious dimsum that I have ever tasted, all for $9. The pastry was light, the ingredients were superior and best of all- didn't taste anything like dog. YUMO!

First weekend..

The American dream was soon shattered when I arrived on 240 East 27th Str (Mid-town NY for you first-timers) ascended 20 floors in an elevator and had my first taste of corporate housing.  Bright blue wall, brown sofa, IKEA wood... that "safe" yet sort of mass produced, impersonal feel and I could only imagine that every other apartment this company owns is decorated in exactly the same way. So this is the happy little cage where I am going to be passing my days. Goody!

The cage abaondoned, we headed for the great outdoors and spent much of the weekend walking the streets of New York, soaking in every bit of the life around us and sampling some of the finest junk food America has to offer.

We were invited out on Saturday night for drinks and there was even promise of having some of our very own New Yorker friends (who are all actually Australians working here that grew up with Steve in Melbourne). By Sunday night, in a haze of jet-lag and hangover, I was convinced that I could spend an eternity in this city alone and never feel bored or lonely.

By 8am Monday morning, once Steve had vanished to 11 Madison Ave and I was left staring at the blue corporate wall, alone, my thoughts were of another nature altogether. I was being swept about in a wave of panic. What the hell was I thinking agreeing to come to NYC alone (in  reality) for 7 weeks??? I needed a plan of action, a strategy, a modus operandi, if you will, to keep my mind stimulated enough ultimately, to  PREVENT the decay of my cerebrum. And so, with this urgent matter at the forefront of my grey matter, I decided to  make another cup of tea, get back into bed and worry about it the next day.

How it all began....

Firstly, let me start this blog by saying that I have always secretly despised people who write blogs. Since its inception, the art of blogging has been an anomaly to me and I have always wondered what matter of arrogance or sheer stupidity possesses those who decide to publicly splurge the contents of their lives on the WORLD WIDE WEB. And now... oh dear... despite my prejudices and increasing sense of self-loathing, I am tackling the keyboard and prostituting my life to anyone with Internet access who can read.

The reason for my sudden pro-blog status is a 7 week trip to the Big Apple, sans employment and a subsequent surplus amount of time on my hands with nothing to do.

Now, you must know that I am not not well practiced in the art of being "a kept woman". Unfortunately, I currently cannot justify long hours in bed (without an impending sense of guilt), while my other half slaves to right the wrongs of the Credit Crunch and pay the bills. So, albeit that I am not officially working, my work here is of a different nature and aside from picking up dirty underwear off the floor and washing dishing, I will be working hard on seeing as much as NY has to offer!! And I will endeavour to share the fruits of my labour with you on this blog, right from the "Epicentre of the Free world"

"Free World" , my ass. For migrants like me travelling on a south african passport (a.k.a the Green Mamba), the USA is not an easy place to access. Getting a visa is a pretty terrifying process. there are very strict instructions on what to bring: passport, pictures, paperwork and even stricter instructions on what not to bring: mobile phones, magnetic devices, muslims. it is worth bringing a book to read (so long as it is not anti-Semitic in nature) as it is a long and arduous morning at Grosvenor House. Luckily, mine turned out to be a successful one and I was given 10 years ( sounds rather reminiscent of a jail sentence). Being given 10 years in the old GM was a particularly happy moment in my life as Steve and I, had no plan B had I been denied a visa and that would have entailed many weeks of moping and moaning.

When travelling on the mamba, one is quite used to "Customs and Immigration" being a rather demoralizing affair. Having a customs official stare at me as though I am a scum of the earth, amnesty seeking, blood sucking parasitic tick is all but new to me- however the amount of sheer disgust oozing from every pore of the US customs official who fingerprinted me, elevated 3rd- world- tourist- antagonism to a whole new level. One bad look and I was going straight to hell with Osama. After much interrogation (though luckily avoiding an anal probe) I was allowed through the Golden gates.

It was only 30 minutes later, once i was being driven over Brooklyn Bridge by the world's friendliest cab driver, staring at the skyline of the world's most famous city on a most perfect late summer's day, did I fully understand just why the Americanos are so protective of their homeland. At first glance NY was every bit as impressive as I had imagined. It all felt like something out of a movie set and I could feel myself getting well and truly sucked into the American Dream......