FIRST TRAVEL FIGHT

Bill and I dance. Ever so often, one of us makes a mistake often enought to irritate the other, and the dance fight ensues. It's a rare event, but disturbing if it occurs at the beginning of an evening, because the balance of the night will invariably be a disaster.

Likewise, the travel fight. It usually takes place at the end of the trip. It usually happens on a subway platform. I question Bill's travel plan, ask why he thinks this is the right train. He orders me on board, and the battle is joined. Well, we leave in half a day, and our first fight has already taken place. A few days ago, we drove to Kennedy Airport to pick a location to meet - Bill's going to the airport by bus from home, I'm taking the airport bus from Manhattan at mid-day. We checked two locations at the Delta terminal, both made unsatisfactory by security efforts - no seats, have to present documents as you pass doors, etc. This morning, he drove me to my train station, and as I left, I told him I'd meet him at the first place we checked. He said, "Oh, the one where...." and proceeded to describe the second place. I said no, the place on the ground level that looks like... and he said, oh, that place is on the second level, not the first. I jumped out of the car and screamed, "just find me!" and slammed the door. I'm so wound, it's beyond belief. This never happened before-is it a dance fight, predictive of a horrid time ahead? I got to work and checked my emails. There were about ten of them from Slowtrav people -I'll write about slowtrav one of these days - wishing me a wonderful trip, a safe trip, a happy trip, an exciting trip. Suddenly, the morning argument seemed less like an omen of terrible things to come, and more like the ordinary effect of preflight jitters (did I tell you that even after more than four years of fairly constant travel, I still have to medicate myself to get on the plane?) that accompanies all trips to one extent or the other. There are about 2 hours left in my workday. I plan to leave at noon, catch the airport bus a little earlier than I need to, and munch on a veggie wrap as we course down the Van Wyck. See you in Italia.

26 hours to go

26 hours to go before I leave for 5 weeks in Florence. I waited most of my life to start traveling. My first European trip was in September, 2002. Since then I've probably been to 15 European cities, Buenos Aires, Mexico City, Canada (Montreal, PEI, Halifax), Mardi Gras, FL several times, Southern California, all over New England, Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula, Hawaii, Chicago...I think I can go on forever. I travel with my husband, always on the cheap, and I can't believe how thrilling it is to wake up after an exhausting trip and begin a day in a place that's fresh and new and strange. This, though, is the dream of a lifetime. After years of practice and self-teaching, I have 5 weeks to practice speaking Italian in Italy. I'm flying first-class standby, a form of stress-torture not comparable to anything else I've experienced. I don't know when I'll get out of Kennedy Airport, or even where I'll arrive, but I'll drink champagne and eat well on the way. I decided only recently that I should keep a record of my impressions, so, here is where I begin - with my pre-trip anxiety. See you all sometime after I arrive in Florence and find an internet cafe.