Florence

May 17, 2011

Grand Cavour Hotel, Via Del Proconsolo. The suite is large and stylish, though the window opens onto a ventilating shaft, which has its airs and moods like a living thing. We quote Forester to one another concerning the lack of a view, but it is not enough for us to ask for another room. The flights were uneventful but tedious. London is as far as I can go in one flight without getting restless. The aged couple beside me on the trans-Atlantic had to go to the toilet seven times during the flight from Atlanta, and each time she needed to move me from my slumber, the female tapped on my arm with many timid bunny taps, which infuriated me. Charles De Gaulle in Paris is now tied with Philadelphia in the chronicles of bile for the worst airport in the world. It sprawls and revels in the kind of inefficiency a certain level of bureaucrat uses to show the intricacy of his power. At one point the airport lobby was invaded by soldiers with impressive rifles, pushing people back and blocking exits in what was apparently an exercise to remind themselves that they could. There was no explanation. The foreigners glared while the French trundled knowingly away.