As usual I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane, even though I was in business class, buffeted by droning engines, able to fully recline should I desire to. None of that mattered, I might as well have been straddling one of the engines. I don’t sleep on planes. Never could. Even when I drank all I got was drunk. Years later, I’ve learned to just read and write and watch a movie.
Today, flying from Chicago to Madrid was roughly seven hours. By the time I finished my dinner, I’d managed to kill almost three of them. Unfortunately, the movie player was acting up, though I wasn’t upset because the selection of videos was lame: “Rabbit Hole” and “Country Strong.” Pass. Fortunately, I’d brought along an excellent book, the memoir “Townie” by Andre Dubus III. Sometime after the first hundred pages dawn was flirting at my window.
Fill out the pointless immigration form. Seriously, what is the point? These are SO EASILLY FORGED. I didn’t even bother writing the correct flight numbers… All that remains is landing safely, getting my tired ass through customs (presumably with my bag), finding my driver (hardly a gimmie), and getting to the Intercontinental Hotel, hopefully before noon.
I know this isn’t a travel blog but travel is what I’m doing, so attribute the above paragraphs to my scrambled brains. Tomorrow I make a presentation on outdoor advertising to FEPE, the European Advertising Federation. It’s the same speech I did in Michigan last week. Only better
Update from my hotel room:
Madrid is the cleanest city I have ever seen. Not a speck of litter from the airport to the hotel. Blue skies. 80 degrees. I don’t know what I was expecting but this exceeds it.
Now I must take a siesta…