Off the Coast of Newfoundland

On board Egypt Air, headed for Cairo, Bush, after a pleasant enough day in New York. Woke early and none too pleased, having inherited Ellie’s cold. Tended to the blog and a bit of email while Ellie slept in, then we took our time repacking for the different climate and emerged into the city only around noon. Strolled up toward Central Park, and stopped to enjoy a group of African American performers, a dozen of them in a team—red t-shirts, baggy jeans, and Nikes—at the southeast corner of the park. A blend of what used to be called break-dancing (stilll?) and sheer acrobatics, exquisitely timed and co-ordinated to loud rap music, funny, cheerful, a joy to watch.

Then we crossed over to the Plaza to bemoan the old lady’s imminent demise. They’re turning it into condos, so we hear. What a shame!

People were lined up at the turnstile door just waiting to get into the lobby—many with the same idea as ourselves, I guess, paying last respects. The lobby was crowded, too, with looky-loos like us. Felt a bit foolish taking a pretty silly digital picture of Ellie with the Palm Court in the background, and wandered out onto the street again with the idea of checking out the Oyster Bar. That, too, gone. Boarded up. Scuzzy. We began to feel old.

Then up to the park. A pungent odor of horse manure—I’ll resist the tempatation this time, Bush—from the horse and buggies out in full force for the tourists on the Easter weekend. We took a pleasant stroll up into the park, past the skating pond, and wandered back down Fifth Avenue where dozens of portrait artists plied their trade for sitters. Couldn’t help but notice that the samples (all celebrities—Pacino, de Niro, Marilyn, James Dean) were of much better quality than the ones being made there on the spot. Also, that the samples soon began to look identical from booth to booth…

Ended up back on 56th Street, where we found a part of the Whitney Museum’s Tim Hawkinson show installed early at the Daglesh (?) Museum on the corner of Madison: a huge piece called “Ueberorgan”—a complex of gigantic jerry-rigged bladders, tubes, and horns, all of which combine, it seems, to play a pre-scored tune, on the hour, every hour. We missed it by a quarter hour. Can’t imagine what it could sound like, but resolved to go back on the hour one day on our return to New York City on the way back home in April. Will also plan to see the work at the Whitney.

A brief stop at the hotel to pick up our bags, and a cab out to the airport, listening to the news from Haiti with our Haitian driver. Thence, of course, to the boarding gate, where we met up with the friends will be traveling with in Egypt. Took off without incident, though a half hour late. Next stop, Cairo. Have you been there, Bush? It will be strange, I think, to be for the first time in a predominantly Muslim country. A whole new world. We had a first taste of it aboard our flight: instead of the champagne you’re usually offered in business class (we had been fortunate to be able to upgrade for this long flight) we were regaled with a glass of apple juice. Much better, too. With this damn cold, the last thing I needed was to be tempted with alcohol! The apple juice went down just fine. But I did notice the difference.

(Easter Sunday in Cairo. Arrived safely. But it's as I feared, Bush. The Internet access is proving difficult. If you don't hear from me as you've come to expect, write it down to technology.)