The New York sky-scrapers stretched high into the blue. I admired them while our host, MB (JG’s husband), started to load our bags into his car. As a result I missed the moment when a mugger grabbed one of the cases and charged up the hill. MB took chase. The last we saw of him before he disappeared forever was a huddle of fists and feet grappling on the ground. We considered taking a taxi to MB’s address, but the women on the airport information desk explained that it was $25 for the car, then $18 per passenger. This was a sum that we could not afford. Instead we joined a choir of British tourists and, at the tops of our voices, sang our way through Robbie Williams’ entire repertoire.