My time in Sierra Leone was up. My time doing this thing, being this person, is to end in one single week. I am slightly disbelieving that it is over. The future holds with it a silent dread. Of returning to work and giving over my head which has been so free of the associated thought and stress. Of the potential of the things I have found, the things I wish to do. Of how the me who exits this last year fares, compared to the me who entered it.
But I have one final fling yet to embrace. Three nights back in New York City, with sister and the occasion of her 30th year.
Being once more in the States brought recent memories flooding back: the sights, the sounds; the people and the towns; the long lonely roads. What is this? Another desire to add to the list I have collated over the past twelve months. To once again drive these highways? The urge is stronger than I had expected. I may have to find myself an aging millionairess and relieve her of her life's worth.
For an age the plane pauses before taxiing; the queues at passport control file slower than any I encountered in this whole year; the subway trains drag their heels. (I note, with some humour, the inclusion of a Canadian glacial lake in the JFK "Welcome to the United States" showreel.) Emerging onto Broadway at 34th Street I am instantly up to pace with the locals; Africa-time a memory; an urgency to walk the five blocks to the hotel.
And there there is sister, looking every bit the extra from a Sex and the City party scene, not-diamond encrusted shoes sparkling in the chic lighting of the bar. She has no ideas for the evening, so I take her to the East Village, to a cocktail bar called Elsa where the beer taps are housed within a Singer sewing machine. And then it is time to eat, so we make our way under the East River into Brooklyn, to Williamsburg, home of 'loads of amazing restaurants' according to my new New York acquaintances with more than a finger in the pie of the local food scene. There we find The Guru Burger, and thoroughly feast. It is really quite late, and raining, so we hastily conclude the evening on the banks of the river looking back across to the many lights of Manhattan.
This visit is short. Two whole days and two halves. The list of things to do is extensive, and I have intentions to slip in one or two additional stops on our whirlwind tour. Whole Day One starts with a leisurely breakfast before we hit the Guggenheim. Becky is impressed with the materials of the John Chamberlain sculptures which fill the spiralled interior. I am drawn to the Francesca Woodman installation; photographs juxtaposing her female form with nature.
We criss-cross Central Park for a couple of hours, then stop for late lunch at its southwest corner. The evening's entertainment is to be provided by Broadway, so we swing by Times Square to get some cheap tickets. A stroll round the shops and a coffee fills the time before the performance: the blue muppets - not of colour - of Avenue Q. It is a technically superb musical, the players operating the muppets in full view of the audience. Everyone is a little bit racist.
Whole Day Two features an early start. The trick to scaling a skyscraper is to do it at 8:30am on a Monday, a Tuesday or a Wednesday. We make our way to the Rockerfeller Centre and are upon its' roof before 9am. It offers the best views: north over the park and south covering the whole of downtown Manhattan, the congruence of the rivers, and the full flank of the Empire State Building front and centre. Today is jam-packed. Nine things to do. But first, breakfast.
Afterwards it is north to Natural History, dinosaurs, deep sea creatures and dead and preserved relatives of the species I have seen about the world. Greenwich Village is the next stop. My surprises are less surprise and more additional-things-to-fit-into-an-already-busy-enough day: a short walk down the High Line with its differing perspective of the city, and a birthday cake from a renowned cupcakery. Becky wants to photograph a location from Sex and the City and Gay Street, which are in very close proximity. Lunch is next, taken at John's Pizzeria just another five minute walk away. Then it is south. All the way south to South Ferry and the free ferry ride to Staten Island, past the Statue of Liberty and back again.
Straight back on the subway, we head to City Hall and the footbridge over Brooklyn Bridge. The views here rival those we saw from the top of the Rockerfeller. Monday is just about complete. We pause at the hotel to drop off items collected throughout the day before making our way to Madison Square Garden to watch the American equivalent of Becky's sport of netball: basketball. The home crowd see their team, the Knicks, take a ten point lead which they promptly throw away to trail by nine. But some raucous support and some bizarre in-game entertainment during the many breaks in play see the team turn it around and they end up the victors.
All too soon it is ended. The next morning brings with it my final re-pack of the year. We fly early evening and both have a desire to see what we can see in the boutiques before setting off. We split up. A few hours to browse before the commute to JFK and the seven hour flight. Back to the UK.
Back to the future...
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