I tried to pay attention to the things outside the bus's windows. We were riding a coach bus from the staging hotel outside Philadelphia to JFK International Airport. For some unknown reason, the bus driver had decided to drive us right through downtown Brooklyn to get there. Inside the bus there was too-chilly air conditioning, but outside people sweated on the sidewalk.
I watched the intense crush of humanity that is New York City with more attention than I usually would have. This was, after all, going to be my last glimpse of America before starting my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I saw men and women walking along the sidewalks carrying grocery bags. Families in the park. A few homeless people drinking out of bottles covered by paper bags. I saw a group of children playing baseball on the sidewalk in front of their stoop. We passed the Brooklyn Public Library and the Botanical Gardens. We passed bodegas and apartment complexes. As we passed through the city, I tried to take it all in and bring it with me. I wanted t obe able to remember this city thrumming with the heartbeats of its inhabitants and explain it to Armenia. I wanted to be able to recall this cityscape and be able to say "This is America".
Too quickly, it seems, we arrived at the airport. The group was able to get our bags checked and get through security without incident- although Sam was randomly selected to receive a pat-down at the security checkpoint. The flight, transfer at Charles De Gaulle, and subsequent connection were neither particularly pleasant nor unpleasant, It took almost 30 hours total, but at the end of the (very long) day, we were in Armenia.
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