Paris to New York.

I left David's house in Rome knowing it would be a long journey and lots of "planes. trains, automobiles" before I got to my home in New York.  Though the miracle that I am home from this trip in the same day still astounds, the process is remains daunting.

After landing in Paris and going through the gauntlet of my gate change (pass through security again? Really?) I finally arrive at my gate for New York.  I don't actually arrive at it, I see it in the distance like it is the waters of Lourdes and there are thousands in front of me waiting to be cured.

Thanks to asswipe who tried to blow up a plane over Detroit, all the flights to the US require more security, more stripping, more groping, more poking.  We have to one by one be inspected like oranges which will be individually wrapped and sold for a price at Harrod's.  Our bags are gone through thoroughly and we are wanded. Times 1700 or whatever all those flights together comprise, this takes time. 

And if this were a scene in a movie we would have that blustering American guy who goes on and on about the government and terrorists and the way things "should be" and blah, blah, blah.  No gentle reader it was not I. I went into zen mode of acceptance and read my book.  But there was this guy from the Ned Beatty school who just wouldn't shut up in that loud, I am an American dammit voice.  I died a little. The rest of us just waited our turn to outstretch like a DaVinci anatomy drawing and be wanded and sent forth.