Newark

Today my Airbnb in NYC fell through. No communication - just cancelled. So, I put in a few requests, and it looks like I'll be staying way uptown in the University Heights area of the Bronx.

I got from Malvern the Philly airport in record time, and then had hours to kill before my flight. I drank a beer and ate a salad, but there was still time to spare. A lot of it. I got changed. I struck up conversations with random strangers. I listened to the Now Show.

Finally we board, a tiny plane, not propellors, but with small overhead bins that can't take a standard carry on bag. Mine fits - by design ;)

Once at JFK, I wait for the bus, but it doesn't come. I change to the train - and get a return to Penn Station. Then I switch to the subway, purchasing an unlimited 7 day public transport extravaganza ticket for an exorbitant $32. Never mind.

I make it to Grand Central and change onto the 4, which I ride to Burnside Avenue. The walk to my digs is engrossing and unnerving by turn. Not a white face anywhere, and barely any English spoken. Colourful lights on storefronts flashing Spanish words that I vaguely recognise. All the grocery stores proudly proclaim that they accept welfare stamps.

Then I arrive. The welcome is genuine, the room is absolutely fine, but the mattress is wrapped in polythene. I applaud the sentiment but deplore the crinkly sweatiness of a night on plastic. Nevertheless, I pass out promptly and am not unduly disturbed by the rustling of my petroleum based bedding.