Three hours on the clock. One plain bagel and an apple. A tatty subway map. Absolutely no understanding of the tatty subway map. One camera. I was somewhat equipped and ready to be let loose on my own in a slightly bigger apple than the one I was holding. The sprawling metropolis that’s so good they named it twice… the land of that famous t-shirt… the city of dreams… the home of, er, Matisse’s Goldfish and Palette.

That there, for the uninitiated, is modern art, and there’s plenty more of it housed inside the Museum of Modern Art, or MoMA for short. I’d done the tourist traps, I’d got vertigo up the Empire State, I’d been Torvill and Dean in Central Park, I’d even tried to have breakfast at Tiffany’s but slightly misinterpreted the song… But on my final day in New York I felt like I’d better do something to set myself apart from my sandal and sock-wearing counterparts.

Having navigated lines, colours and my A, B, C on the subway, I joined the early morning queue at the MoMA entrance. Situated just below Central Park, the exterior is no where near as grandiose as the famous spiralled walls of the Guggenheim, and the only thing that stops you from walking straight past are the gigantic MoMA signs hanging outside. Eye-catching yes, but certainly no clue to the gems that lie inside.

Walking into the MoMA is close to capturing the enchantment of the Never Ending Story, as the pages of that art student’s classic The Art Book simply spring to life inches before your eyes. There are more Picassos, Cézannes and Van Goghs than you can shake an ear at, and your skin will shiver with excitement at being able to take in every brush stroke and paint mark.

The museum’s architecture is just as fabulous as the 150,000 items of artwork that it holds – the strong angular walls with their intermittent gaps breathe with the comings and goings of visitors. Don’t let the $20 entrance fee put you off – this place is like the Tate Modern. Only better. And three hours is certainly not long enough to relish in this gallery’s gems.