The Statue of Liberty

           Last time I checked, the red, white, and blue didn’t mean waiting on lines for an hour and a half for something that wasn’t worth my time.

           I spent at least forty-five times longer waiting to reach the Statue of Liberty on roped-off sections of the grounds than we did on the observation deck of the pedestal. Apparently, some who registered a long time in advance were able to skip the lines, but the process seems to be selective. A Dutch woman we met in line had bought her tickets six months in advance and had to wait as long as we did. We were checked by security two times while in line, and held up each time because the metal detectors recognized my grandmother’s knee replacement as metal. Not so much of a monument as it is a bother.

           The museum at the foot of the pedestal is fine, befitting a national park, but don’t trouble yourself with “The New Colossus” as Emma Lazarus, the poet whose engraved sonnet is displayed within, termed it. (Surprisingly enough, the plaque on which it’s written contains a typo - saying “Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp” instead of the actual “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp.”

           It is beautiful, certainly, but that’s thanks to the French architects who built it, not thanks to the park rangers of Liberty Island and their interminable lines. Observing it from a distance will probably be enough to satisfy your patriotism. Do not waste a morning, or, for that matter, an afternoon, at the Statue. Choose instead to read a good book, or have a cup of coffee. You know… Just relax for a while.