New Yorkers: an Impression

So one thing I've heard a lot of over the years is that New Yorkers aren't very friendly.

I beg to differ.  Or at least, put some rather large qualifiers on the statement.

The day after I arrived I was doing my usual city orientation rituals, the primary one being the get-a-transit-pass one.  I'm standing in line at the manned ticket booth and the fellow behind me strikes up a conversation.  He's from New York, just got back in town (hence the reason he was in line) and we had a brief discussion about traffic, tourists, and lines before he left.  The next day, the fellow at St. John the Divine had several good recommendations for where to go for lunch, and the guy at the Y did too.  These were just the first of several moments that stuck in my head.

Something that kind of made me sit up and notice was the street people and beggars.  All big cities have them.  That's not surprising to me.  And I don't know if it's a case of "familiarity breeds contempt" for me back in Vancouver, though I sincerely hope not.  However it falls, it seemed to me that the New York street folks were more willing to come right up and ask than anywhere else I'd been (again, I don't know if this was just a change of scenery making me more aware or if that is the case), and after the first couple of days I'd decided that I was going to have a certain amount of money every day that was set aside for giving to some of them.  Partly because I thought it was a good mindset for me to get into or to practise getting into, and partly because some of the people I saw and the things they said made my heart hurt.  

One of the ones that stuck most in my head was early on in the UN week.  It was rather cold at this point.  There was a blizzard that was supposed to hit sometime that night, and it was consistently below freezing after dark at that point of the trip.  

I was walking to the venue for the next panel when a fellow came up to me to ask for money to get a hot meal that night.  He spoke fairly quickly, probably trying to gt as much in as possible before I'd lose interest, and basically was him telling me he was going to head for a shelter that night but they didn't serve hot food, and he'd been outside the night before and wanted something warm to eat that night.  
I thought that "makes sense to me," and I gave him $5.
His whole face lit up.  You could practically see something in his eyes lift, and he said "I can buy a soup!" in a tone of voice I'd be hard put to describe.

And I honestly hadn't been expecting that.  I mean, I also don't know what, if anything I was (might have been?) expecting but I also remember the very distinct feeling of surprise at his reaction and the almost shocked pleasure that he was so happy (excited? Surprised? Something).  It was good for me, and I'm probably still parsing out why.

Another one was in the second week there.  
I was walking over to the Northern tip of the High Line from 45th and 7th, exploring New York on foot (like you do), and I was passing a rather large construction site with all the usual detours and dodges.  Right as I was going by a guy opened up one of the fences and came out onto the sidewalk with a smile and said "Hello!  It's a pretty good Monday, isn't it?"  I had just come from a matinee show of Come From Away (which is flippin' brilliant.  If you're in new York anytime soon you should see it), it was sunny, and I was having a very nice walk, so I smiled back and said "It is a very good Monday!"  Next thing I know he's stopped walking, gives me an even bigger smile and said "That was so happy.  You've inspired me!"
Again, I wasn't sure how to respond, or what to make of it other than I thought it was very nice, so I said thanks and we waved at each other and continued on with our days.

It was something of a theme throughout the trip, really.  I had another compliment on my smile a couple nights later, and the Saturday night I managed to hit the Metropolitan museum of art for their late opening and music at the bar (which was also brilliant.  Go check out ETHEL string quartet on youtube) it was crowded enough that they asked if I'd mind sharing a table.  When I said no I ended up having a very enjoyable conversation with a local woman about what I'd been doing, what I should see next, the best place to get Broadway tickets, and why Vancouver would be a good destination for a vacation.  Walking through Central Park a fellow stopped me to ask what I thought about a couple of new buildings and if they ruined the view.  When I said I was a tourist I got a run down of some of the local goings on and a comparison of tourist behaviours.  And how could I forget the truly entertaining shouted conversation with an older man leaning out his window in Little Italy about the effectiveness of hot water dumped out the window to melt sidewalk ice.  In fact, I had more random conversations with people in New York than I think I've had anywhere else.

That's not to say that the stereotype is unfounded.  I had several interactions with people that would fit right in, though funnily enough (from my perspective) it was always with people who's job required they interact with me, and likely dozens of other people too.  And they weren't necessarily rude, just surly.  
It was actually rather interesting to compare notes with some of the other ladies on my trip.  It seemed to tally with what I'd seen, though I think my favourite story was when one of the girls asked a security guard to take her picture with something and she said the guard sighed and grumped a yes, but then got really into taking the picture and was trying to find the perfect angle.  This basically sums up my experience of New Yorkers nicely.  

If they're paid to deal with the general public, they're twice as likely to be a bit sour.  If, however, you're asking for directions or are open to random conversations in the middle of the sidewalk, they are an extremely cheerful and friendly bunch of people.  

It was something I appreciated a lot and I find I rather miss it.

Christa

I just realized I haven't written anything about the Cathedral of St. John the Divine or the Christa Project yet.  

Whoops.  Time to remedy that.

A bit of background for the Christa Project before I go in to further details about it and the cathedral.  

Holy Week of 1984, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine put on display a bronze crucifix designed and made by artist Edwina Sandys.  The crucifix was what I would call a medium large (4x5, 250 pounds apparently) size for an Altar placement, and it looks much like any other crucifix.  Cross with human figure.  Human figure portraying suffering, mortality, and the promise of hope (depending on your own interpretation of the piece, I suppose) in a stylized and artistic method.  All round a very good piece of art.  The main difference? 

 The human figure on the cross is female.

Now, Ms Sandys first showed it in London 1975 so by the time we hit 1984 it had already been finished and displayed for a number of years, but if I were to hazard a guess it may have been the first time it was displayed in a church.  I don't know that as a fact though (Google has been singularly unhelpful).  Either way, it got mostly positive reviews when it hit New York, but the ones who didn't like it were very, very vocal (doesn't that sound familiar?) and it ended up being taken down.  Church leaders being some of the loudest.  In fact, if I remember correctly the Bishop of New York ordered it be taken down.  Fast forward a little over thirty years to October 2016 and Christa is going back on display at the cathedral as the centrepiece of the Christa Project: Manifesting Divine Bodies which, as I discovered about a month before I arrived in New York, was set to close about three days after I arrived (also, thirty odd years is apparently enough time for people to stop screaming quite so loudly about being "shocked and outraged" that there's such a thing as art depicting the Divine Feminine.  Maybe).

 Considering the fact that I was in New York to attend a great big discussion about gender equality (among other things) and I myself am a feminist who also happens to be an Anglican, I thought it would be a huge shame if I missed this particular exhibition.  Also, I like old churches and art is always cool.  So the first day I woke up in New York I pulled up Google maps and headed for St. John the Divine.

Now a bit about the cathedral itself.  
The Cathedral of St. John the Divine Is one of two possibilities for largest Anglican/Episcopalian place of worship in the world (it's apparently a toss up between it and Liverpool cathedral) and it's the fourth largest place of Christian worship in the world.
So pretty damn big.  
It was first designed in 1888, construction began in 1892, and it's still unfinished, which has led to the nickname of St. John the Unfinished (according to Wikipedia, anyway.  Check out the page here.  It's an interesting read from a historical perspective as well as architectural).  It's a Gothic Revival style, and it's a funky and beautiful building.  Literally.

The inside is absolutely fascinating.  There's the Poet's Corner which from the perspective of this particular reader, writer, and amateur historian is AWESOME to see.  There's the pipe organ, which I like because y'know, that's my paying job, and it's biiiig!  There's the AIDS memorial, with at least three big ledgers with the names of people who died due to AIDS.  There's the firefighters memorial.  There's the absolutely adorable (and weirdly creepy) little spherical, cartoonish figures doing various things (like fishing, or holding a giant $ sign) that climb their way up ledges built into the pillars on either side of the crossing between the Nave and the Choir (and for the life of me I cannot remember who the artist is...).  There's the chapels of the Tongues, seven chapels that go in a fan around and behind the Altar that I (having finally sat down and actually read the foldout I got there) discovered represent seven groups of immigrants that arrived on Ellis Island during the late 19th century.  St. Ansgar for Denmark, St. Boniface for Germany, St. Columba for Ireland and Scotland, St. Saviour for Africa and Asia, St. Martin of Tours for France (I went to noon mass in this chapel), St. Ambrose for Italy, and St. James for Spain, which I find interesting.  Probably one of my favourites though was the carvings about chest height on either side of the High altar.  One side has prominent figures from church history, the other side from 19th-20th century history, with an American slant.  Those figures include Abraham Lincoln, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and Ghandi among others.  Oh, and Albert Einstein.  

Then, of course, you've got things like the Barberini tapestries, centuries old icons and prayer books, and a few other pieces that are gifts from foreign dignitaries.  Plus the fact that the Choir stalls are on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of art.  Also, the Baptistry is gorgeous.  I could probably go on at great length about how cool the architecture is, and the pieces they have on display or in some of the other buildings on the grounds, but realistically I'm never going to do it justice.  Some of these things you have to go see for yourself, and believe me it's worth it.  

And I haven't even mentioned the outside.  Leaving aside the giant sculpture which, if you look closely, has the severed head of Satan hanging from a crab claw (it still makes me giggle), the outside is pretty darned impressive, and the signs for "keep off the lawn!" are hilarious.

So.  That's the building.  Now for the art exhibit (or more about it as the case may be).

There was a lot of powerful pieces.  I'm going to stick mainly to the ones that hit me hardest, but I want to at least mention some of the others.  
Nona Faustine's White Shoes photo series (don't click the link if you have an issue with naked bodies) they are photos taken, often of herself, in historical locations of the slave trade in the States.  
Ted Meyer's Scarred For Life where the photographer turns takes a person's view of a scar and turns it into art and a story.  It was really beautiful.
Eiko Otake and William Johnston's A Body in Fukushima which, holy cow, was powerful.
Three Jackie Fawn pieces I've seen make the rounds on social media, and are still awesome.  Justice for All, Safety for my Sisters, and Protect Mauna Kea. 

There were more, but other than the last two I'm going to talk about, these are the ones I remember best and keep going back to.

Now the last two.  Aaah, the last two!

The Nave is a long, open space.  

The building is huge so the space is huge.  And right in the middle, (as you can see) is the tiny circle of easels.  The picture doesn't really do justice to the almost humbling feeling you get being there, especially when you get closer and actually see the pictures displayed.  The other thing about that particular location is that it's a combination of electrical and natural light, which gives it a whole other layer of beauty and (I think) significance.  
The exhibit was Queer Icons by Gabriel Garcia Roman.  Roman grew up Catholic, and using inspiration from Flemish, Orthodox, and Renaissance portraits and iconography styles he's created a truly stunning series of icons of Queer activists of colour.  Some of them have stylistic themes in the background, some have poems written by the one in the icon.  All have halos.  It is very beautiful and extremely powerful.

The last one.  I think this one is the one that's going to stay with me in a way the rest might not, or differently than the rest anyway.  It has so much to say about our past, our present, and likely our future, though I pray not. 

It's called Five Wounds by Bettina WitteVeen, a German artist.  It's made up of five crosses, each of which holds six pictures which include a portrait of the woman the crucifix is for and a picture of their grave, their murder site, or where their body was found.
The five women are Petra Kelly,

Anna Mae Aquash,

Sophie Scholl,

Rosa Luxemburg,

and Viola Liuzzo.

It was...  Hard to describe.  Very hard.  It's not quite shivers down the spine, but it's heavy.  And it's a deep, not-quite-sinking feeling in the gut. 

It's thinking about the world as it was in history and realizing exactly how much hasn't changed when it damn well should have, God damn it!

It's looking at the pictures and thinking that there are women in the world who this is likely to happen to, heck who it probably is happening to right now and that's so wrong, and why are these things still happening?!!  Why?!  And sometimes you feel like you're screaming it into the void, but you keep doing it.  It needs to be asked.

It's feeling that deep well of sorrow open up, and you kind of fall back into it, and sometimes you let yourself cry, and sometimes you try to stomp it down, and sometimes you let the anger rise too and the sorrow and the anger blend.

And you look at the pictures, the crucifixes, and you think about how there's still so much work that has to be done to try and keep these things from happening again.  How every time it seems like the world (or your part of the world at least) takes a step forward something happens and it's like you moved back again, or part way back and all you can think is "Wow, people are dumb", and "I don't understand how they can think like that.  It  doesn't make sense to me."  

And you look at them again.  You look at them, and you study them, and you try to stick them in your brain so you remember and then you turn away.  You go out, back into the rest of your day, the rest of your week, you leave that place and that feeling behind (but not forgotten.  Never, ever, forgotten).  And it's always strange, coming away from an experience like that.  Very strange.  But you take it away to process, and ponder.  

And I, at least, carry it with me and think, this has to change.  It needs to change.  

And I am damn well going to be there when it does.

Food reminiscences

I miss the salads. 

Honest to god, when I'm thinking about the food I ate in New York, the first thing that leaps to mind is the salads I had at two specific locations.  

And one burger, I suppose, but mostly the salads.

The first one I got at the Amish Market near the UN, which of course was also only about two blocks from where I was staying.  I'd been eyeing make your own salad bar for the better part of a week, but the group kept going out for dinner, (not that that was a bad thing!) so I kept putting it off.  Finally we get to Thursday.  Everyone is off at there own thing, there's no meet and greet or other reception of any sort, I've just finished my last panel of the day, and I am also very done.  With everything.  People, listening, everything.  So done I almost burst in to tears when one of the group messaged the rest of us asking if we were supposed to go to a reception that was happening that night (we weren't, thank god.  It was optional.)  This was all exacerbated by the fact that by that time of the evening I was also very hungry, and boy do I get bitchy (and useless) when I'm hungry!  (Just ask any of my siblings.  I'm pretty sure they'd have a fair bit to say about it.)

So having figured out that there was nothing I was required to attend and that my decision making skills were rapidly going downhill, I decided it was a good time to finally try the make your own salad thing and headed to the Amish market.

First, a bit about the Amish market (and markets in general in New York.)  New York is stuffed full of these deli/grocery/snack shops.  Basically, if it's gonna sell you snacks it's likely to have a hot lunch buffet or counter, a sandwich counter, and a smoothie counter as well.  There's tons of them.  Some are chains like Bread and Butter, and some are the local one that you aren't going to find elsewhere in the city.  The Amish market has three locations in Manhattan (I think) and it's a slightly more upscale grocery store which, of course, has the requisite food options.  The salad bar shares a counter with the make your own brick oven pizza section.  That should tell you bit about the Amish market in general.

Anyway, the salads.  You start off with three options for the leafy greens part of the salad, and then pick your other ingredients with varying prices, so you can make it as full and expensive or simple and cheap as you want.  As per usual, it kinda depends on how many proteins or schmancy toppings you want.  Everything gets tossed into one of those big, metal mixing bowls drizzled with the dressing of your choice, shaken and mixed (quite thoroughly) and then decanted into a good sized plastic container.  It ain't a small salad.  
I ended up getting spinach with grilled chicken, goat cheese, dried cranberries, avocado, and sun-dried tomatoes with an Italian dressing.

Good gad it was good.  

I mean, I'd picked stuff I knew I liked and should go well together, so no surprise on the basic taste factor, but the ingredients were a good quality and there was just the right amount of everything.  Texture worked, flavour was reeeeally good, and I was very very satisfied with dinner.  I really want another one.

The Amish market in general was nice to poke around in.  They had interesting selections and very good ready made food which is always worthwhile.  Plus, I always enjoy seeing what grocery stores in different parts of the continent have, and seeing what their favourite fancy coffee or chocolate brands are and which ones are the same on the different coasts.  Ah, the fun you can have as a casual foodie!

The second salad was had on the second half of the New York adventure.  When I finished at the UN, I relocated to the North tip of Greenwich Village, just South of the Chelsea Market and the Whitney Museum.  So, needless to say, I ended up at Chelsea Market for various meals more often than not.  

As above I'm going to stop talking about salad for a minute to talk about the Chelsea market.  The building started life as a Nabisco factory and, as often happens with old factory buildings, has since been repurposed.  It's now got offices, tv studios, the High Line going right by it's upper story windows, and shopping and food on the bottom two floors.  The building itself is still largely the old timber and brick, and the floors are delightfully uneven (I mean it when I say delightful.  I like old floors.)  I only ever wandered around the bottom floor if I'm being honest.  That was where the food was, and that's the important part to my mind.  
The interior is a long, twisty hallway with various art and sculpture pieces (most to do with the history of the area) scattered about, some shops, and lots of restaurants, cafes, food hall, and the ubiquitous New York  grocery/deli/cafe combos I mentioned earlier.  The main theme seems to be good quality, organic, and/or local food (fitting, considering the Food Network is one of the companies with office space on the upper floors).  

The place I went to for salad was a called The Lobster Place.  as may seem obvious, it specialized in seafood.  One corner was a fishmongers, one just sold lobster (ready to eat and take home to cook), one had the kitchen, and the centre was dominated by a sushi counter.  And bar, of course (they're much more civilized about where it's allowable to sell booze in the States than they are in Canada.  It's one of the things I like when I'm visiting).  The kitchen corner is where they had the salads.  

My preferred one was the grilled salmon with kale, mustard greens, grapefruit, endive, and a mustard vinaigrette.  The salmon was consistently melt in your mouth good.  Like, perfect temperature, not too soft or chewy, beautiful flavouring good, and everything else in the salad just made it better.  It was my go to when I needed something light on the stomach, and it was worth it.  Mmmmm, that salmon.... 

They also had a selection of soups that I never got around to trying, but looked really good.  Next time.

And now, the burger.  This was another Chelsea Market find, at a place called Creamline.  As you might guess, they specialized in food products you could get from a cow and sides that went with those.  Milkshakes, grilled cheese, and burgers being the most obvious.
I got a milkshake that reminded me why I like being picky about where I get my shakes.  It was goood.  Cookies and cream, and the ice cream was taaasty.  Made the splurge worthwhile.  It also gave me something to occupy my taste buds while I waited for the cheeseburger and yam fries, both of which were worth the wait.  
The yam fries were possibly not the absolute best I've had but they were pretty good, and the chipotle mayo dip was just the right amount of smoky flavour to burn balance, which is much harder to find than you might think.  Not recommended for those of you with not spicy friendly taste buds (and if I'm being honest I'm probably more attached to the dip than I am to the fries.  That dip was tasty).  
Now the burger.
Do you know how hard it is to get a good, medium rare burger?  Do you really?  Because unless your someone who can afford to eat regularly at places where the price reflects the fact that they're not only willing to cook your burger to order, but will in fact ask when you order it, and your sure it's going to be made from flavourful beef?  It's practically impossible (at least in my experience. I could be just be going to the wrong places, but still.)  
This is literally only the second place I've been to where I took the first bite of a burger and immediately had a mouthgasm followed by the thought "This was so totally worth the money and wait!" (a mouthgasm, for those of you who don't know, is when the food is good enough that I do what my family and friends call a 'full body melt' right there at the table, and I generally can't talk for a minute because I'm quite literally moaning wordlessly over the very very good food my tongue is currently wallowing in).  
The first place this happened at was Lombardos in Amsterdam (seriously, if you are ever in that city, go try their lamb burger.  Medium rare.  It's incredible), and I was so very happy to finally have a repeat.  Obviously the tastes are different, as beef and lamb have quite different flavours, but I'm not sure I can accurately explain what an absolute treat it is to bite in to a burger and realize that not only have they done the cooking right, and it's cooked exactly to the point that you asked for, but the meat is also of a quality that it makes the medium rare requirement so totally worth it!

I have more observations, fond memories, and opinions about what I ate and drank in New York, but right now I think I'm gonna go and sit with the thought of these particular flavours for a while.

I kinda want another burger now...

Peace out, y'all

Hello from the UN

And so we have arrived.  The reason I came to New York in the first place, the UN Commission on the Status of Women.  At the time of writing, we've had Saturday and Sunday for orientation and the Youth Forum.  Monday was the official opening and it has been an experience, to say the least.

I'll start with Saturday.  The orientation for the Ecumenical women was an all day event, with worship, a panel, and a meet and greet.  It was also the first time it sort of started to sink in that you were going to be spending the next week with people from all over the world around you (it didn't quite sink in totally.  That happened on Saturday.)  There were at least a couple hundred women at the orientation day, from a variety of Christian denominations, and it was the first glimpse I got of the colour pop the ladies from different parts of Africa were going to provide for the next week.  I obviously didn't get to talk to every one, but from accents, clothes, and looks, I know there were people from Ghana, South Africa, Mexico, Guatemala, Chile, China, Japan, and numerous States, to name but a few.  

Music, of course, is the great unifier.  Once people had a tune down, they joined in, whether their English was perfect or otherwise.  That was pretty darn cool.  Also, there is something very cool about singing with that many Black American women.  They are far more willing to get straight into the music, and it's infectious.  

There was a panel that was quite interesting, with some very articulate speakers, and I got to hear the first of the several speeches from Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, the Executive Director of UN Women.  She's pretty darned cool.

Other than that, Saturday was much like any other orientation day.  That or I was tired and not appreciating things as much as I could/should have (I can't decide which one is more appropriate).  


On to Sunday.  Sunday, well.  Sunday was very interesting.  Sunday was the second day of the Youth Forum, combined with the Working Group on Girls orientation.  It was held in the UN, which was rather awesome.  There were some very good panels and speakers, but if I'm being honest that wasn't the main takeaway from the day for me.

This was the day where it hit home how global this was.  How many people in the room were from completely different continents and from cultures with very different realities than mine and the people in my group.  And yet, how similar other parts of our lives were.  The sheer diversity was astounding.  And there really isn't anything quite like realizing, in the middle of clapping and hollering after a particularly good talk, that the ladies from Africa are trilling and it's carrying over the rest of the noise in a high counterpoint.

Another thing that really sunk in, and this was specifically because it was the Youth Forum, was a sort of sparkling, effervescent feeling of hope.  Like if there were this many of us (most of whom were under thirty) who felt this way, then maybe we weren't all as screwed as it sometimes feels like we are.  There was a feeling of energy and not quite excitement that seemed to permeate everything about Sunday.


That's the good stuff.  Now for the stuff that was either not so brilliant, or made me feel conflicted.  The opening of the forum was, quite literally, a table full of men.  One woman, and about seven men.  All the men seemed like lovely people, and most of them were involved with or running organizations that are promoting women and girl's rights and freedoms, but it was still a very jarring thing to see and me twitchy.  The following panel had something of the same problem.  It was a He for She panel, and all the panelists had interesting things to say and were doing good work, but it was two men, one woman, and one non binary person.  Also a bit jarring.  

Now, the part that had me having literal mental arguments with myself at this point is something which is entirely on me and my own issue.  Jacob Thomas, the non-binary person, is a lot of fun to listen to and had some very important things to say about representation of all genders, among other things.  Look them up.  Now for the shit that is my own.  They look male, because that was the body they were born in, but they aren't.  I get that.  The cause of the arguments with self was when I was watching the panelists one part of my brain kept saying "that's three men and a woman, that's uncomfortably skewed one way" at which point the other part of my brain would give the first part a mental smack and say, "One woman, one non-binary, two men!  Still skewed, but get it right for god's sake!"  And then the worrying part of my brain would start being concerned about the fact that I kept classing them as he cause that was the wrong thing and "why do I keep doing that...?"  I still haven't quite figured it out, it's still bothering me, and I have a feeling I could write a whole separate post about that topic.  But I also thought I should at least mention it as it was a not insignificant part of the day.

Then there were some workshops. I liked the self defense one! http://the-purepoint.com/ though I remember feeling rather resigned when it got full.  Most of the people participating were under nineteen, and most had very good questions.  "What do I do if I'm being choked, what if they're a lot bigger/stronger than me, what do I do if they grab my ponytail?"  It makes you sad.  Very useful information though.

Last thing that happened (mostly, anyway) was the Canadians in the room were asked to head out to the all so we could all meet the Canadian Minister for Status of Women, Mariam Monsef and a few others.  So we went out, most of us got to have at least a brief chat with her, (she actively sought out one of our younger group members, which was cool for A) and somewhere there is a group picture of all the Canadians with the minister.  Then we went back in, there was a lot more talking and at a certain point I zoned out.  It was a reaaaally long day.  The last two things that stuck in my head though, were when one of the ladies speaking called up a twelve year old girl she'd been chatting with earlier to join them at the table.  The twelve year old had some of the best quotes of the day.  
"Love is like a doughnut.  You want to share it.  And if you aren't gonna eat it, what's the point of having it in your hand?"


Last but not least, A was one of the people asked to hand over the Youth declaration to the ministers present, which was rather exciting for her (and her mother).

Also, I am apparently "A's second mum" now.  This is not the first time I have been mistaken as someone's parent.  I should probably embrace it.

CSW61, the highlights (short version)

So I wrote this up for a report for some of the church groups that helped pay for the trip, but I figured I'd share it with all of you lot too. 

This was my first time going to UNCSW, and it was a truly unforgettable experience.

There were many things that happened over the course of the week that were thought provoking, or inspiring, or in some cases both at once.  I’m going to do my best to hit the highlights, but there was a lot.

The first that leaps to mind is the scale of the internationality.  There really isn’t anything quite like sitting in a worship space or conference room at the UN and realising that the sound you hear in the midst of the clapping and cheering is the sound of the women and girls from various African countries trilling, or looking around you and actually seeing the variety of clothing styles and colours, and the colours of the people you are surrounded by.

It gives what you’re there for a whole new impact and meaning, especially if you allow yourself to engage with the various realizations that hit you, one after the other, throughout the time spent there.

The panels were certainly varied and some were more engaging than others, and it became something of a learned skill to figure out which ones you were more likely to engage fully with and go to those.  All were good, but two stuck with me more than others.  

The first was in a panel dealing with the arts as activism.  One of the panelists, Noorjahan Akbar, is one of the founders of the Free Women Writers of Afghanistan.  She spoke of why she started the movement and shared two poems written by Afghan women in response to stoning.  I can’t describe how powerful they were or the impact, but the title’s spoke loudly as well.  “My Laughter is the Sound of Rebellion”.

The second one that stuck was a panel on ending violence against Indigenous women as a step towards empowerment.  The panelists were all Indigenous women who were activists in their own communities and states.  Most were from native peoples in the USA, one was Mayan.  That one hit home.  There were far too many parallels between Canadian and American movements looking for justice for missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls.  The Canadian TRC came up, and it is a truly strange feeling to hear people say they are watching what happens in your country to see if there is a way forward that might work for them as well, especially when you are so aware of what still has not been done in the land you call home.  

The third thing that made a definite impact and has stuck with me very strongly was really two things, but they have to be taken together to understand them properly.  

We, the Canadian Anglican Youth delegation, and the other older Anglican delegates had a meeting scheduled with a member from Canada’s permanent mission to the UN.  There had been some discussion about what all of us had heard that we thought was important to talk about, but the Youth delegation, after some thought, decided that we wanted to make sure we were heard and that we said what we thought needed to be said in a way that was unified and well thought out.  Claiming our voices, I suppose.

We spent the night before the meeting sitting in the common area of the YMCA, talking about the subjects we’d decided to highlight and how to word it.  We ended up staying there until midnight, in large part because we cared so much about the topics we were writing about that whenever we started on the next one we ended up talking about said topic for a good hour (at least) before remembering to move on to the next one.  Some of the best conversations I’d had in a month happened that evening, and those conversations are going to stick with me for years.

The next day, we read out the document we’d prepared in the meeting.  The people who read it did a brilliant job, the response we got was very positive, and I’d say most of us left the room feeling rather elated.  It was very good experience, one I think would be hard to repeat, and well worth staying up late for.

The last thing I want to mention is perhaps the most important, and that is the other people in the delegation.  I’ve been on several group trips before and I think it’s safe to say it’s rare to end up with a group that gets along and enjoys each other’s company without any big hiccups or personality clashes for a full week, especially in close quarters.  This is the second trip I’ve been on where that was the case. (Interestingly, both were church groups)  We were all passionate about what we were there for, but we also all had something to talk about and interests in common.  Some of us went on tourist and exploratory adventures in New York with each other in our free time.  Pictures were taken, meals were eaten, and fun was had by all!  But the most powerful ones, and the ones where I was so glad I was there with that particular collection of people, were the ones about why we were there.  The different perspectives and opinion, the willingness to have a debate, the patience in the explanations.  It added up to a truly incredible, life altering experience.  

It was a privilege to be able to go to UNCSW, especially with that group of people, and I am very grateful for the opportunity.

A brief update

Hey all

I'm terribly sorry about the radio silence.  I came to the conclusion (fairly quickly) that it was basically impossible to experience the UNCSW, New York, write a blog, and stay reasonably sane all at once.  

So I took notes.  Lots of notes.  I'm going to sort through them all, and decide whether I'm going to try and write posts chronologically, topics that leap out at me, or some combination.  We'll see what happens!

I'm currently relaxing and re-calibrating with family in Ontario, so I'm hoping I can get some posts started and the already started ones finished sometime in the next week.  I will definitely get the whole trip written out over the next month! (I think :P)

Talk to y'all later

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the Frick is so delightful!

I have a bit of backlog when it comes to "things I want to babble about" but we'll start with this and I'll see about filling in blanks.

So.  To start, an observation about weather and city humans behaviour in it.

I'm from Vancouver Canada, and this Winter has dumped far more snow on the city than Winter usually does.  This, of course, has lead to a whole bunch of memes along the lines of "welcome to the rest of the country" which is fine and dandy (except for the fact that weather is one reason in particular that I don't live elsewhere in Canada, thank you very much).  The other thing that it lead to was a series of short articles about how silly Vancouverites were for using umbrellas in the snow.

That I had issues with.  As far as I'm concerned, if it's water falling out of clouds then umbrellas are perfectly fine.  I like having something to keep snow or rain from scouring my eyeballs out of their sockets and keep my glasses from getting too hard to see through (yes, that happens), so as long as it's not too windy to do so I shall keep using umbrellas in snow and rain thanks all the same.

This is quite a long way around to come to this particular observation, but I've arrived.  The other day in New York it decided to have a good dump of snow, complete with strong wind and all the other things that go with weather.  

And I noticed something.  There were a couple of different types of clothing I saw.  There were a lot who were simply bundled up in cold weather appropriate coats with gloves and hoods (myself included.  I was more than half blind with all the water on my glasses by the time I got where I was going), and the other?  

People bundled up, but also carrying an umbrella.

My first thought was "HA!  Stuff that in your pipe and smoke it, umbrella haters!"  Followed by, "well, they might not be local, I suppose."  But I saw a few too many for them all to have been out of towners.  So I have decided that the only people who are allowed to make cracks about umbrellas and snow are people who don't use them when it's raining, either.  Those who go through life in (hopefully) weather appropriate coats and shoes over their clothes (like my brother) and regularly look down on the rest of us mere mortals, and that's it.  The rest of you can stuff it.

So that's the weather.  On to the second half.

My destination on this particular snow skip was the Frick collection.  And hooooly Mary was it worth it!

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Frick collection, (I was until about two months ago) it was the private art, furniture, and curio collection of Henry Clay Frick, an American industrialist and avid art collector who died in 1919.  The house the collection is housed in is the Frick house that he had built when the family moved to New York from Pittsburgh, and it's quite interesting all on it's own.  When his wife, Adelaide, died in 1931 the house was turned into a museum in order to showcase the extensive, and beautiful, collection he'd acquired over his life (one thing I find particularly cool about that is I'm pretty sure he planned it that way).

The collection, oh, the collection!  

To start off, I'm a history nut.  I love finding out what happened centuries ago and trying to piece out why.  I like going to ruins, or preserved buildings and poking about imagining what it would have looked like when it was still in use.  I like living history museums, where they've either restored or rebuilt and people dress up.  And god, do I love old art and artifacts!

I've also found, through trips to several different museums and galleries, that I'm particularly enamoured of oil paintings.  The Frick has them in abundance.  There were medieval icons, (tempera on wood panels) portraits, (most all oil on canvas or wood) Chinese porcelain, (always impressive) old clocks, (gilt, metal, gorgeous things) and quite a lot more.  

There were several pieces that particularly caught my eye.  
One was by Thomas Gainsbrough of Grace Dalrymple Elliott, a well known courtesan, and I loved it.  It caught and encapsulated one face of the courtesan and displayed it beautifully, and I'm not actually explaining this as well as I'd like.  It's a gorgeous piece and it shows a side of the society at the time that we don't get to see in beautifully done portraits very often.
Two other incredible portraits of truly remarkable women that the Frick has are the portrait of Mary Edwards by Hogarth and the portrait of the Comtesse d'Haussonville by Ingres.  If you don't know who these ladies are go look them up.

Then there were the portraits of Sir Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell by Holbein set on either side of a fireplace, facing each other, a large portrait of the seventh Earl of Derby and his wife and daughter by Van Dyck where the impish mischief that the little girl seem to radiate captures your attention, Arrangement in Black and Gold by Whistler which is such a study in dark and light it was hard to look away, and so much more.

And the special exhibit?  Turner's ports.  With some pieces on loan from the Tate.

It was such an awesome day