Last full day and night in Manhattan.
We are about to take the 104 bus to 58th. We’ll do some midtown shopping, then catch a movie, and wrap up our stay with a dinner at one of our fave restaurants on Amsterdam.
So what have I learned on this trip?
You really can’t go home again.
As my 7-month trip to El Gouna helped me finally overcome any mooning over the long lost Egypt, where I emigrated from as a boy, now this trip has removed any desire whatsoever to move back to NYC — where I lived for 25 years.
My wife and I stopped at Sothy’s, where she went for a Zen facial. They have us a nice bag as a present, as we left to hang out by The Pond at Central Park.
We go back to Fla on Monday to be back amidst the geezer Neanderthal creeps who infest that twisted place.
But not for long.
I figure we’ll book our trip to Portugal before next Friday rolls around.
By mid September, we will spend about a month in Tavira; this trip shall be a precursor to restarting my life in a part of Europe where the Moors once ruled.
I have no desire to live in this country any more, and I have a feeling that the Eastern Algarve may be it for us — a place that is affordable, run by social-democrats, hip, beautiful, and far away from crap America.
I’ll be leaving, as I did almost exactly a year ago; and this time it may not be only for 7 months.