Usually I'm all excited about a trip such as this, an excitement that I have not been able to muster over the last several weeks. Perhaps it is the stuff that I am dealing with at work, or the usual anxieties about travel. Whatever it is, it is daunting my ability to rejoice in the travel to come.
Monday was spent doing errands, picking up prescriptions, having breakfast, packing, picking up a book that I needed, doing some last minute laundry - stuff like that, all covered with the fine dust of apprehension.
I use TaxiMagic to summon a cab (it's wonderful) and a Russian man delivers me safely to SFO. Check in is a breeze. Security is also quick and easy - although there is a family of four with two children. One is sedate and nice, the other, a boy, is hell on wheels - screaming, running around in the security area. The parents don't do much to change the situation. Remarkable. I mention to the TSA agent that I hope that they are not on my flight. (They are).
I look for something to eat and end up having carnets at Andalé. It is there that I figure out my reserve about this trip. The last time I was at Andalé, Arthur was sitting across from me. We were waiting for our flight to Berlin. With that memory, I determined what my apprehension was all about. In the past I have enjoyed traveling by myself, provided that Arthur and I did some traveling together. This time I am missing him. I was not looking forward to the loneliness, and missing the companionship, and Arthur's sense of adventure and curiosity - different than mine. Interesting.
The flight leaves from gate 98 which is dominated by a huge mosaic that I greatly admire. I don't take the time to note the title, or the artist and wish that I had. There is a marvelous mixture of people on this flight to Frankfurt. It's fun to people watch. My usual misanthropy only kicks in a couple of times - when people are trying to load inappropriate pieces of baggage into the overhead. The flight is uneventful - I guess one should be grateful for that. The sun doesn't really set during this time of the year on the polar route, so I close my window shade in order to have a spotty sleep.
The layover in Frankfurt is quick, and as we taxi out on our way to Rome, I notice the new gates that are just being finished there. I used to think that Frankfurt was the airport of the damned, but it's not so bad now. The new gates line up in a long row, a box like structure punctuated with larger blocks which intersect and push out onto the tarmac. Each is surmounted by a lighting structure and what could be a flagpole. It reminds me of National Socialist architecture, spare and monumental. I like totalitarian architecture, with the exception of Russian socialist architecture. I do like Mussolini architecture and comment to my driver on the Church of Saint Paul in EUR as we pass it on our way to Rome. He agrees and we talk about several examples.
Come to think of it, the French architecture that I know and love is also totalitarian. I've always maintained that you need a monarchy in order to build a great city. By the way, there are hay bales between the runways at the Rome airport.
My hotel is small and cozy and right in the middle of everything - a block or two from the Tiber and Ponte Sisto. Once I settle in, I have a walk over to Campo Fiori, and then to Navonna, and back again to Fiori. I have dinner there - Carciofi alla Giudia (artichokes Jewish style - pounded together to open up their leaves, the choke is removed, and they are salted and fried in hot oil until the leaves are crispy and edible like chips, and the heart is a molten wonder).
Then I have Penne Carbonara, and I am full and satisfied. Time for bed.
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I hope you take lots of pictures! That artichoke looks divine!!
ReplyDeleteOh, yes, loads of pictures.
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