Unlike last time, when we traveled to Auvers via Air France, Luftansa actually checks the cats’ paper work that cost me hundreds of dollars and countless hours to get. I guess that’s the difference between a French and German airline. Either that, or since my last trip, the kitty terrorist threat has been raised.
I take an unscheduled chip of Xanax when they tell me my extra baggage fees plus the kitties cost $650.
After the kitties and luggage are safely in the airline’s hands, I wait in the three mile security line that’s coiled up like an intestine.. After an hour of waiting in line, I take my next chip of Xanax. By the time I get to the x-ray machine, I don’t even care that airport security probably knows more about my body than my doctor. I’m mildly concerned that nobody saw fit to grope me.
I think I bought something at the duty free store and I’m sure I’ll figure out what it is later when I see the bill or the actual item.
Once I’ve finished boarding and loathing all the people clogging the aisles trying to fit a 48 x 30″ bag in the 36″ x 18″ overhead bin, I take my final chip of Xanax and settle in for take off.
SF pretty…from a distance.
Man next to me takes up too much space. What’s really annoying is he’s not fat, he just likes to spread out. His arms are hanging in my chair space and his legs are definitely taking up MY legroom. Just my luck to get an uncute, unfat space hog. Or is that airspace hog. Or unhot hog. Whatevs, he sickens me more than … mushy mushy mushy.
I wake up, look out the window and pray what I’m looking at isn’t the Rockies.
After asking the stewardess a few key questions I’m able to determine it’s the Alps, which melt into the Cote d’azur and Mediterranean in a few moments. Jeez, this doesn’t really give me much time to worry about every horrible eventuality that could possibly happen upon landing.
Damn, it’s pretty down there. I mean here.
Nice Airport is very manageable. I get through customs and got to baggage claim within 10 minutes of landing. That time is well-spent making deals with whatever higher power may be listening that I’ll trade the safe transport of of my bag with the Dolce and Gabbana jacket (vintage 1999) for that of my kitties.
The luggage and cats emerge unscathed although I do have one brief horrible moment where I have to poke Denzel in his carrier to make sure he’s alive (he is).
My landlords are waiting for me outside the baggage claim with a sign that reads “Lesley Stern and Kitties”.
The 50 minute drive to Vidauban is smooth (as opposed to full of potholes, like our disintegrating roads in California which cause me to refer to any car as an orgasma-tron). It’s also very beautiful with mountains, the Mediterranean, hilltop villages and vineyards.
Unfortunately, my memory is a little foggy, my camera battery died at the airport, and I just dozed off in front of the computer, so the tour of Vidauban and my new home for the next three months will have to wait until later. But it’s all good.
Good night or good morning or whatever it is.