3/11 Back to Manhattan, with an unexpected variant of the wheelchair procedure in Amsterdam: We are picked up by a service bus on the tarmac, but after getting off at the terminal, J is not allowed to use the wheelchair, she first has to walk 60 meters up a ramp. Hours of anger about that humiliation over the Atlantic. The Uber driver from JFK plays dancefloor covers with pimped up beats. I smell partly like airplane and partly like the cologne from the morning in Gothenburg, twenty hours earlier.