quizinfopedia.com GK Where Am I?!

Where Am I?!

Where am I? I asked myself.

Thanks to GPS—and a still-functioning brain—I knew the answer in a spatial sense.

The question I was posing, you could say, was of the rhetorical variety.

The striking Olmsted park—that I had known about.

But I was stunned by the neoclassical, modern, and contemporary architecture.

And inside—that’s where the jaw hit the floor.

It started with Jackson Pollock’s Convergence, drip technique and all.

Next came Andy Warhol. Who can’t get behind Campbell’s Condensed Beef Noodle Soup?

As I roamed around, I stumbled upon some sculptures, one by Edgar Degas and another by Auguste Rodin.

Then came more paintings—and more artists.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir.

Camille Pissarro.

Some guy named Claude Monet.

The dude with the ear, aka Vincent van Gogh.

Paul Gauguin.

Paul Cézanne.

The man obsessed with Cubism—Pablo Picasso.

A lady named Georgia O’Keeffe.

Another lady named Frida Kahlo.

Henri Matisse.

And Salvador Dalí.

Still shaking my head, I walked outside and found the pedestrian bridge.

There was another neoclassical gem to see, one built to resemble the Parthenon.

It was on a lake, and if I was being honest, that was the real draw.

Because next to the lake was the Japanese Garden, inspired by a relationship with Kanazawa, Japan.

And in the garden were cherry blossoms—they happened to be in full bloom.

Where am I? I asked myself again.

Time, as always, was short, and after a couple pictures, I headed to the hotel.

There, in the lobby, I marveled at the light rail, visible just outside the oversized windows.

As I kept looking, I noticed a few rain drops, followed by a few more.

Soon, it was an outright downpour.

Then, I felt a drop—and another.

I looked at my feet and noted a developing puddle.

April showers, needless to say, were not particularly noteworthy.

The only surprise was experiencing them indoors.

Where am I? I asked myself one final time.

The answer, of course, was the Rust Belt.*

*Thank you, Buffalo, for being a majestic cultural powerhouse—and not totally put together.

The Essence of Buffalo, New York

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