On Sunday I made the trek to Brooklyn to check out the Brooklyn Flea Market. Three trains and a detour through Williamsburg and I arrived, scorching under the sun, and headed straight for the limonade stand.
Fresh limonade in hand I took a stroll around the market, stopping to rummage though trunks of stuff - huge safety pins, historic maps of almost every city in the world, and old scrabble tiles - and chat to local artists.
The flea is held at the East River Skate Park, and at the end of the park is a tiny beach littered with debris from hurricane sandy. I stood on a big old wooden sleeper and look out across the river at Manhattan, remembering the last couple of beaches that I'd stood on - Beach Number 5 in The Andaman Islands and Largs Bay, at home - and it made me smile.
When I think back to my trip, or about home, I get incredibly happy, cry, or wonder if it's all a dream. I seriously can't believe that I stood on that beach on Havelock Island (even though I have a scar to remind me), saw sunrise at the Taj Mahal (almost!), and drank tea in Darjeeling (and mum would be drinking if too if the package we sent back hadn't been returned to India again!). And I can't believe that I'm now living in New York.
It kinda scares me that my dreams are coming true.