Smile

I'm a nice lady.

Last November, I was walking around The Cloisters with a friend, enjoying the last nice day of autumn. It was a spontaneous decision; we were taking a walk near a lake that quickly turned into a hike, and neither of us wanted to walk uphill. This is a quality I look for in a friend—someone who will give up when unplanned sweating is suddenly on the menu.

If you’ve never been to The Cloisters, they’re kind of hard to explain. Yes, it’s a museum. Yes, it’s technically in Manhattan even though a city bus or subway ride from midtown will make it feel like you are taking a trek to Connecticut. Yes, it seems kind of church-y, since most people only hear the word “cloister” in association with nuns in early 19^th century novels. It is all of this, ensconced in a beautiful, sprawling park set high on a hill with well-tended gardens that overlook Washington Heights. It’s only an hour away from where I live, and you can park at the top of the hill, ruling out any hiking. We abandoned the lake, hopped in my car, and set out for the city.