Back here

That is to say, here:

Yes, ye good oldë Carlton Armës in Manhattan, this time in a room more trippy than titty (sorry, best I could do).  We phoned them from Wilmington this morning after handing back our faithful car, and they welcomed us back at a special rate of $80, I think simply because they liked William so much.

So, this morning started in the splendour of Annapolis and a very odd (but presumably authentic American) breakfast: fresh orange juice, fruit salad, muesli, omelette, tomato (and sausage for William), finished off with a waffle smothered in cream and jam.  All served up by a lovely lady from El Salvador with whom I only had one word in common in any language: caliente (sadly, I think, not so much a description of me as of the crockery).  Then 3 hours to cover the hundred or so miles to Wilmington which, once we had crossed another tremendous bridge:

the Chesapeake Bay one this time, began to look like a forlorn hope as we sat in endless stationary traffic.  Fortunately, they were all going to the beach, so once our route had divided from theirs, we whizzed along the usual empty freeways.  We still didn’t have too many minutes to spare at Wilmington.

Then we were dumped, carless and weighed down by the luggage of the world, at Wilmington bus station:

from where one of us had the bright idea of phoning the Carlton Arms, after which we hopped on the Greyhound and three hours later were here.  It felt so much like home, it amazed even us.  So we had a walk uptown to Toys Я Us at Times Square and admired the Lego:

 

followed by dinner in our favourite Irish brewhouse.  And so to bed.