Macy’s. Fleeting madness on their One Day Sale to search for the elusive wide fitting shoes that only seem to be available in America. The assistance as knowledgable and useful as I’ve previously experienced. A special visitors discount. Grateful escape to the tranquility of Bryant Park behind the Library.

My moment of fame on NY1 TV, as I passed the protest outside the Embassy of Nigeria for the abducted girls.

Central Park. The Boating Pond. Cherry blossoms in the wind. Music and sunshine. Spring blooms. Impossibly green grass. Blisters and bruised feet. Knee complaining. Achilles wondering what it’s been put through? Brooklyn pale ale. Breeze cooling pink faces. Graceful white yacht sails.

With images from The Goldfinch in my mind, I made my way up the staircase at the Met, turning left at the top to take me through to the Impressionists. In a daze of wonder I moved between Van Gogh, Renoir, Manet. The collection, overwhelming. Tried the William Kenridge exhibit. Couldn’t sit still watching what seemed like a badly made Charlie Chaplin movie with broken sprocket, lurching images.

Grand Central food market. Amazing how what seemed incredibly exotic a dozen years ago, has become normal. Still special, but not exotic. Underwood Pinot Noir a great companion wine to the seared salmon.

I’m sure the cleaning people at the hotel will think they have arrived at the home of street person. Broken shoes, old clothing, empty boxes and shopping bags piled in the corner. Some I’m sure still with Juba dust!

Breakfast at the all American Andrews Coffee Shop. Stewed, brown coffee. Formica table tops. Booth seating. Heinz ketchup. Frenetic. Bright. Noisy. Subway rumble. Far too much. NYC.