I had decided to conquer jet lag by not sleeping for two nights before getting on the plane. Cat naps in Rome, on the train to Venice (awkward realization: I sleep with my mouth open), and in my hotel sustained me until I could start crossing all those time zones.
I was punch-drunk by the time I got on the home-bound plane. I laughed my head off with my Milanese seat-mate as we taught each other swear words in our various languages. Not wanting the party to end, I ordered both whiskey and wine from the über polite flight attendants... complements of Europe!
|The food was good, but for all |
the stress, the ten pounds I gained was
in my luggage!
Wearing my stylin' new Italian boots through customs, words settled around me in only one language; signs said, very simply, "Exit" without the words Uscita or Ausgang next to them. My guys surrounded me at the airport and whisked me home, loud rock and roll blaring in an orderly river of red lights on smooth pavement. There were roses for me in every room. I was full of kisses for my valentine, pump primed by my delicious adventure, but my mind having trouble catching up with the great leap back into the known world.
Stay tuned for the rest of the story... there are a dozen half-composed blogs in the pipeline about the beauty of Roman domesticity, my Vesuvian adventures, and Jenny's brain makeover... coming soon, now that I have electricity, internets, and computers with apostrophe keys!