I am convinced that no one on earth hates sitting in planes more than I do. I find sitting in these small upright prisons with all their right angles and draconian seat belts unnatural; and I hate them with a passion. I'm not sure who designed economy airline seats, but, I suspect that he is a direct descendent of the Marquis de Sade.
Therefore, one would be entirely correct if they assumed that I didn't take the news of the two hour runway delay with grace and acceptance. I hadn't done that much heaving and sighing since I pushed my first child out of my birth canal many years ago. I spared my fellow passengers the screaming that also accompanied that birth... but just barely.
When they announced that during this crawl to the runway (where we were 29th in line to takeoff), that no one was allowed to remove their seat belts or use the rest room, I fleetingly thought of organizing an economy passenger revolution to overtake the plane. One look at the overweight, menopausal, why- aren't- you -retired-by-now flight attendants and I knew it would be easy to wrest control.
I do not pretend that I am an expert in aviation, hell, I don't even know any air traffic controllers - but even my pea brain knows that a 29 plane wait list would mean the passengers could board at least 60 minutes later rather than 45 minutes EARLY.
The 10hr and 30 minutes that I was chained to my seat was fairly uneventful, if you consider extreme turbulence the entire time uneventful. For once I was glad for those god awful seat belts that cut off my circulation... and for the airsick bags. I, and everyone around me, was glad I didn't hurl and I have confess that I have never experienced this kind of nausea before on any flight.
After a VERY long flight on the Airbus 330, where I was unable to sleep a wink, I was dying to get to my apartment and catch some zzzs. The shared water taxi was a wonderful experience and my first sight of the Grand Canal was almost spiritual. But, I was so tired I knew that I couldn't fully appreciate it.
I was able to "appreciate" it much better as I stood there on a dock of that famed canal, far from where I thought I would be dropped off. After crawling over another boat that was actually tied to the dock (mine was not) I finally landed on terra firm.. or as firm as land can be that is suspended in water over a bunch of stacked trees.
The directions to the apartment were perfect and I only had to ask once where a street was. The number of the house, however was less than perfect. I knocked on several doors without success before hearing my name called from a window.
I had arrived at 11:00 a.m. and was told by the greeter that I could leave my bags but, that I could not enter or use the bathroom until 4 p.m. because the cleaners were there. In my estimation, the term "greeter" is an outrageous misnomer in this particular case. I walked around a bit and found a lovely restaurant on the lagoon, to have 2 prosecco and 5 lobster and black truffle ravioli for 39 euros. I would have gladly have paid 50 euros just to use their clean modern bathroom since I had been "holding it" since Philly!
More walking in hot, uncomfortable clothes and another 2 prosecco later the call finally came! I could go back to the apartment - the cleaner had finished. Now mind you the last renters left on the 27th and I arrived on the 30th, but, I guess they must do a VERY thorough cleaning.
After a 45 minute welcome and indoctrination about how to use the apartment, but, did not include where the washer is hiding- the greeter left. I am happy to report, the bed is wonderful and finally I was able to sleep.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
Venice, Italy: Get Lost!
The Number 21...
The number 21 is special to me today because in exactly 21 days I will be:
There are 21 days until I reach... heaven on earth.
- Crossing the Venetian lagoon on the Alilaguna water bus heading for the Fondamenta Nuove Stop
- Wending my way through the confusing, tiny alleys to my Rio Terra Barba Frutterol canalside apartment
- Having my first authentic prosecco, spritz and grappa... yes, all in one day
- Snapping countless pictures with my yet undecided upon camera
- Searching for the closest gelateria
- Finding the shop where they fill any bottle you bring with 2 euro very drinkable wine
- Deciding at which charming little trattoria I will be having my first Venetian meal
- Having my first glimpse of the Grand Canal, a gondola and St Mark's Square
- And getting utterly, hopelessly, enjoyably lost.
There are 21 days until I reach... heaven on earth.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)