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Yesterday I entered the United States for the first time in about 10 years. I had various political and safety concerns and never had pressing personal reading for visiting.

Crossing the border was not pleasant. I travelled by Trailways Bus and probably the agent had seen his share of gormless, nervous, people who didn’t look much like him( a large white male) and so he herded us. He scolded us. He hustled us back onto the bus. I had forgotten how beautiful the Adirondack Mountains are. They form a buffer between Canada and the intensely populated, highway laced lands around New York.

The excitement I used to feel on coming out of Port Authority bus terminal was dampened by the oppressive weather. I decided to walk to Grand Central Station, a distance of about ten blocks. I needed to get to my friend’s place in Bronxville, a suburb about 30 Km from Manhattan. A commuter train soon delivered me to a quiet groomed community. I had never taken a train from Grand Central Station.

Today we went for two walks, one beside a lovely rushing stream in the steamy heat of early morning and one a leisurely stroll around the little “ village “ shopping area close to my friend’s home.

Many miles out of town, the river runs out to sea. I was a little bewildered by the seeming chaos of the city. I was so relieved that the train conductor, obviously immediately aware of my “ hick” status, reassured me that I was on the right train, told me the name of the station before mine, and smiled down indulgently at me.

Visiting New York City is like a wrestling match with a huge and mighty opponent. No matter how I tell myself I am here to squeeze the lemon of excitement, of culture, wealth, of power that is this symbol of the western world, I have a sneaking apprehension that New York could instead flatten me.