Flying to Florence

Some of you may have noticed that I have not been writing for a while, the rest of you probably have lives and either didn’t notice or don’t care. Either way, the good news is I’m back at the keyboard and the bad news is that much has happened during my absence and I have a lot so say.

Several weeks ago it appeared as though my cancer might have come back and now, after several thousands of dollars worth of tests and another throat surgery, I can report that I am perfectly healthy and happily cancer free.

After determining that I was well enough to go back to work, I jumped on a plane and flew to Italy to visit my wife because I was really missing her, and it was pretty much the only excuse I had left to avoid work.

I’m writing this from a tiny fourth story apartment in historic downtown Florence, Italy. I don’t know exactly when this building was built but it’s safe to say that it is older that the United States and it’s pretty obvious that indoor plumbing and electricity were home improvements added well after the original construction.

I’m not going to bore you with stories about my time here in Europe…yet. Today I’m going to tell you about the odyssey I experienced traveling from Fallon, Nevada (Oasis of the Desert, for the uninitiated) to Florence, Italy (Firenze to the native Italians and foreign snobs who are too cool to call it Florence).

When I checked my bag at the Reno airport I had no idea if or when I would ever see it again. Sandra’s bag had been lost for a week or so when she went over, so I was figured my suitcase was in for some sort of global adventure of it’s own.

My first stop was in San Francisco where I had a couple of hours to kill before the long flight to Frankfurt, Germany. For a guy like me, who enjoys watching strange and unusual people, being stuck in the San Francisco airport for a few hours is usually a real treat. I wasn’t disappointed.

Over dinner I was entertained by an overbearing jerk talking too loud and trying too hard to impress a young lady at the end of the bar. It was pretty clear to everyone in the place that the young lady wasn’t interested but she seemed to be willing to listen as long as her meal and drinks were being paid for.

This jerk had been through just about every pick up line I’ve ever heard but I almost choked on my steak when I heard, “You know, you’d be perfect for the new sitcom I’m producing.”

When several of us laughed out loud the young lady made an excuse and walked away leaving the older lady at the bar disappointed that her pick up lines had failed.

The San Francisco airport never fails to entertain!

Luckily the plane for my flight to Frankfurt was equipped with those really cool little TVs in the seatbacks. I watched two movies, a news broadcast and read several chapters of a book during the flight but I had a terrible time trying to get some sleep.

I did finally manage to doze off at one point but I snored so loud that the lady sitting behind me reached up and snatched my pillow from behind my head to wake me. I like to think she did it to wake me but she may have intended to hold it over my face until I stopped kicking to shut me up for good like my wife always threatens to do.

People do get a bit irritable on those long flights.

When we finally arrived in Germany I had just enough time to get through customs, where I tried very hard to not to look suspicious (I’ve watched one too many Jason Bourne movies) and make it to the gate just in time for boarding.

I was thrilled when my bag was waiting in Florence but it was the death defying taxi ride across town to the apartment that really woke me up! I’ll write a column about Italian driving later but for now I’ll just say, “Holy freakin’ crap” and leave it at that.

When the taxi stopped I was exhausted, terrified and confused but when I looked out the window and saw the smiling face of my bride I knew I was where I was supposed to be and all was right with the world….until jet lag set in.