going, going, back, back...

Ready for the summer, but I know I’ll get restless soon as the charm and newness has worn and I realize I no longer feel the African sun.

On the plane ride across the pond I sat next to Mamadou Ndiaye, one of the few Senegalese men on our South African Airways flight. Mamadou, who is somewhere in his 70s, doesn’t speak English and the South African flight attendants were not particularly adept to parle france. I helped him via Wolof and found later that Mamadou is traveling to Greensboro, like he does every nine months or so to sell Senegalese goods at a market. He has some family in New York, some in North Carolina, and he spends about 3 months traveling around to visit and to restock the café touba, the spices, the African fabrics and emblems.

When I exit the plane I spot a large group of masked Asians – maybe Chinese. They ask in accented English which stop off the Airtran will take them to the car rental services. An airport employee responds. She comes from Sudan, but most recently Egypt. She fled Sudan with her parents some 23 years ago because of the janjaweed and spent most of her childhood in Cairo. Now, she lives in Queens and works at JFK. She says Sudanese food is like Ethiopian.

I finally reach the A train, headed to the L, to transfer to the 4,5,6, to catch the Metro North. As we near Manhattan, the subway cars become filled with Puerto Rican flag holding Boricuas of all ages. They are venturing to the PR day parade.

I finally reach Poughkeepsie and we settle to eat lunch at the River Station restaurant, just off the Hudson River. The sky is blue, the beer is flowin’, and the band – The Differents – led by a female percussionist, plays Sheryl Crow.

All in a day’s travel…I’m exhausted, but excited for summer and slightly buzzed off the Coronas.