NYC

The city slowly changes as the street numbers increase, like a dancer moving slowly, imperceptibly from one position to the next - past and through Central Park then at 119th Street into Harlem, the houses becoming more dilapidated, the shopfronts roller-doored. Further on and the Continental Airlines sign tells only those who understand Spanish to work hard and fly right. Across the bridge and into The Bronx, "All-America City". 

Last night I caught the subway back to the hostel on 103rd West. A quartet of young guys got on, heading home to Harlem, and sang "Under the Boardwalk" in perfect, tight harmony. Another man got on and explained that he was out of work and had a family to feed. "Money, food, anything", he said in a clear, strong voice. Then "God bless you all" as he disembarked.

Manhattan is, of course, an island. Coming in from Newark Airport a few days ago, I shared a cramped minibus with a cheery group of visitors - four of us on a three-seater bench-seat. A woman from Los Angeles chatted animatedly with a man from Portugal, perched politely forward on the edge of the seat. Waiting for the bus in the terminal, a young guy next to me said "that's a good looking sandwich". The whole airport but especially the baggage claim area smelt strongly of stale sweat. The same young guy next to me on the bus was a Pure Math major at UCD, in New York visiting friends. He talked about abstract algebra and quantum computing, which involves using the quantum effect of a single particle following multiple simultaneous paths to provide massive computing power, enough to crack RSA encryption, they think. His professor is working on this, cracking the encryption on which all internet security is based.

Manhattan, former island home of the Manhattan Lenape indigenous people, who sold the island in 1626 to the Dutch Governor Peter Minuit for goods to the value of $24. Being a society that lacked a concept of landownership and thinking that they had simply granted the settlers the right to use the land, imagine their astonishment and outrage when they were then driven off the land which now no longer belonged to them.

Opposite me on the bus are sitting a young white guy and a young black girl. They have been talking together wide-eyed and laughing a lot since boarding. He is showing her photo after photo of friends of his and the places in which his band has played gigs. Now they are starting those contact games - simulating an egg-shell breaking on his thigh, "does this tickle", he asks her as he squeezes her leg just above her knee. In the end, she holds his hand, massaging it.