And finally. We hop, skip across to Brooklyn for the Brooklyn flea, never have I wanted to buy so many things. Luggage restrictions apply though so I leave with a glass cocktail shaker, the less elaborate $5 one as opposed to the cut glass $35 dollar one which might break my heart if it shatters in transit, and a couple of lovely milk glass vases which I have been searching for in vain in English charity shops. Crinkled poppies in sunrise colours, crepe paper petals. Worn leather cowboy boots, coloured glass cake stands, boxes of fabric, patterned tea towels. Brunch with mimosas, bacon donuts, sliders, eggs in a nest. A walk through Williamsburg, vintage shopping, just like being in London's East End, hipsters not trendies, but what's in a name? Music on the subway. Dinner with an old family friend, reminiscing about a childhood holiday when we visited them in Connecticut, sailing, grilled cheese sandwiches on the beach, sweets that turn your tongue blue, a couple of much loved dogs. She takes us for pizza in the East Village, sparkling red wine from tumblers, blistered dough, molten cheese as the rain pours down outside, again. Hurrying under inadequate umbrellas to a basement bar, sitting on stools drinking Hendrick's based cocktails, slivers of cucumber, floating. Brunch at Prune, we arrive early, get in on the first set of covers, but if we hadn't, it would have been worth the wait. A Dutch style pancake, thick, pear studded, toasted English muffin, scrambled eggs, bacon. We are blessed with a gloriously sunny final day. Wander round Central Park with my Diana Instant, wander and wander. People watching, boat watching (life size and model), dog watching. Dive out to buy a deli lunch, take it back to the park to eat. The Neue Galerie, a first time visit for me, but I love it, small and elegant, Klimt, Schiele, other Secessionist artists and designers, wonderful. Drinks, later, at another Speakeasy style bar, through a metal gate, down a dark alley, up some metal stairs, door opened by a huge bouncer. Inside, chandeliers and oil paintings, cocktails served in teacups (admittedly rather chunky), music that prompts a pair of fellow drinkers to rise, clasp hands and dance gently round the room. Honey vodka / basil / grapefruit juice, elderflower liqueur / champagne / lemon. Afterwards, walking a few blocks North, almost missing an Italian restaurant that had been recommended by a friend, entering its dimly lit interior, ordering plates of pasta, fresh spinach and ricotta ravioli, simple tomato sauce. Last morning and we squeeze in pancakes, the Guggenheim, a couple of slices of New York pizza, paper plates, napkins to mop up the grease, so good.
