EUROPE 2019 THE START

AND IT BEGINS

Passports. Check

Tickets (Purchased with points). Check

Reservations for an evening of drinks atop Gaudi's La Pedrera. Check

Root canal. Check

I don't know if cursed is the right word to encompass our frequent travels to places requiring a passport but it seems every trip has a preliminary snag, a monumental hurdle to cross before we can set foot on foreign soil.

There was the "Oops I didn't know I could book my plane seats online" trip. That one relegated the three of us to different seats scattered about the cabin leaving me in the very last row with a six hour flight in a seat that wouldn't recline next to a woman with a cat that peed all over its crate forming a pool of rank piss at my feet.

Then there was the time I zipped out of the driveway with a car so loaded with luggage it totally obstructed any view I might have as I tried to go backwards as fast as I could in an effort to get us to the airport to make a flight we were minutes away from missing. Driving backwards has never been my forte. The lack of any view combined with my iffy backward driving skill was what precipitated the immediate collapse of the right rear tire as I rammed into the driveway's concrete embankment virtually ended our trip before it even began. For this I continue to send my love and business to Broadway Tire who had us back on the road with a full ten minutes to spare before our flight might have left without us.

This time it was my upper right first bicuspid that cracked in half due to what I considered a healthy snack of fresh peaches, plain Greek yogurt and roasted lightly salted almonds on July 29th, the day before we were taking off for our three week holiday in Europe. It was the almonds that did it.
"Hello Dr. Greene. Do you think you could squeeze me in for a little root canal work?"
I guess it was better it happened before we hit Italy. I was having visions of some grizzly Italian farm hand with a pliers and a sadistic grin.

Temporarily capped and medicated we somehow managed to turn tragedy into triumph and boarded our plane in the fashion we are accustomed to decked out in our finest travel attire and matching luggage. One overly friendly giddy woman stopped and gushed, "You two look like a pair of models" and then passed on by with her hand pressed to her cheek and a Cheshire grin on her face. Made my day.

It's now July 31st and we're on the last leg of our flight to Rome. I need a nap or an intravenous shot of potent espresso to get me through the next hours of oncoming jet lag and the desire to feel my head on a goose down pillow in an air-conditioned room smelling of basil and Italian roses.