As before, I tend to get more tense in
airports, and my attitude begins to show. I can complain about many
things, especially customer service, but now that I am leaving New
York (at least for a short spell), perhaps I should relax a bit, and
not complain so much.
But I feel free to complain about the
plane ride. (Afterall, this is part of the vacation, and outside of
America.) It would be meaningless, and I would not inform anyone of
anything new or interesting if I complained about airplane food, so I
won't do that. However, since I don't especially care about eating
well, I can say that both the dinner soon after take-off, and the
breakfast soon before landing filled me up.
I had the good fortune to have a seat
next to a young family with a small child. The child thought it
appropriate to let everyone on the plane know her dissatisfaction
with her situation (or at the very least, was unaware of how to hide
her dissatisfaction), and frequently let out high pitched screams and
squeals. This calmed down at about the midway point of the flight,
when the child and everyone else fell asleep.
Everyone except for me. It might have
been the extra large cup of coffee that I had while still in the
airport, or it might have been nerves, or something else. In any
case, I did not sleep at all during the eight hour flight, but I had
endless films to watch in the television imbedded in the seat-back in
front of me; quite a luxury! I had also uploaded many books into my
e-reader, and my ipod was filled with music, so I would not be bored.
Despite the movies, and books that I had intended to read, I opted
for the music, despite the fact that I have recently given up music,
and was bored by anything I heard. A melody from a Chopin nocturne
came into my head from I-don't-know-where, and so I turned on the
ipod and listened to my collection of Chopin music. Perhaps new
things can be found in the old, afterall.
I did, in fact, try to sleep, but I
just couldn't. Perhaps it was because the seat was so uncomfortable.
It seems that as I am getting older, different parts of my body are
hurting more and more. For the last few weeks, I have not been able
to get rid of different pains that are traveling around my back and
neck. (I have told myself that when I return to New York, I will buy
myself a proper workstation so I can work in comfort; I have also
told myself that I will buy a new computer, and then take a trip to
Japan, but who knows what my cheapness will allow me to buy.) This
pain continued during the flight, and when I did finally get up from
the seat to disembark the plane, a kink in my neck stopped me when I
reached down to pick up my bag. Without doubt, the trip did worse for
my back than it had been. That only tells me that during this trip, I
should make sure to relax and not stress myself too much, especially
about some work that I had plan to accomplish while here.
Flying over the cities before the plane
landed, I did not feel the sudden excitement of being in a new
country. From the sky, Milan and its surroundings did not seem like a
new world to explore, and it looked to me some town in America.
Before coming here, I had heard that Milan was the least interesting
of Italian cities because it had been so industrialized. Having an
open mind, at least I could explore if that prejudice was accurate.
All that said, I immediately felt like
I was in Italy on my way out of the airport, through immigration and
customs. Because I was not an EU citizen, I had to wait in the longer
line to get my passport stamped. I never take for granted any sort of
law and order, or control over the law and order institutions in
foreign countries, nor my right to be in a foreign country, so I tend
to be overly careful and respectful, waiting for directions before
advancing from the line to the inspector. When I was finally at the
front of the line, the immigration official tilted his head to the
side and looked at me as if wondering whether I wanted to go through
or not. Of course, I was feigning dopiness, and walked up.
When I was face to face with the
officer, I immediately felt like I was in Italy. The fat man looked
like he hadn't shaved in a few days, and his eyes told me that either
he really hated having to work so early in the morning (it was 7:30),
or he had just arrived to work after drinking all night with his
friends. I looked at his neat uniform. He allowed the very top button
to be opened, since he was not required to wear a tie, and the next
two buttons were closed. The rest of the buttons on his shirt were
undone in order to let his fat and hairy belly some air to breathe.
Perhaps he believed something like the myth that television
newscasters did not have to wear pants, since their legs were under
the table, and people would not see them. However, his gut was free
for everyone to see, and I am sure that people taller than I would
have an angle to see even more.
While waiting for my checked bags, I
quickly remembered to look through my wallet to make sure there
wasn't anything in there that might get me in trouble going through
customs; now would be the chance to run to the bathroom and flush
anything that I might have forgotten in there after some night of
debauchery. Fortunately, a quick run to the bathroom was not
necessary, and I waited patiently for my bag. I am always nervous
going through customs, because I don't like the idea of someone
ruffling through my clothes. There was an arrow on the ground that
said I should go this way for inspection, and I walked slowly. Before
I knew it, I had gone though the glass doors and was outside, Italy
welcoming me. I hoped that I hadn't gone the wrong way, because I
missed any customs inspectors, so when I was far enough away, I
looked back to see if I had missed something. Indeed I did. There
were two inspectors with their fancy hats sitting on a folding table,
chatting with each other. I walked right past them, and I doubt they
even glanced at me. Perhaps it was too early in the morning for them
to be bothered. It was just as well, because I had a headache, a
backache, and my brain and eyes weren't working right from a lack of
sleep.
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