I am 30,000 feet above terra firma,
folded into a tiny seat on a midnight cross-Atlantic flight. Next to me,
my unindicted co-conspirator rests quietly. She is one of those fortunate
souls who can sleep on planes. I'm not so lucky. At over six feet in height,
the best I can hope for is partial paralysis of my lower torso.
I am awake when the beverage cart rolls over my foot. I am awake for the
fossilized airline loaf and Julia Roberts movie. And finally, I am wide-eyed
and hallucinating wildly as the flight crew marches up the aisle slapping groggy
passengers with freshly-microwaved towels. Welcome to Europe!
To be precise, Zurich, Switzerland. At first glance, this neutral nation
seems to have it made. Its rolling hills and meadows of edelweiss are
breathtaking. And there is money. Lots of money. Foreign funds piled up in
Swiss banks combined with a high tax rate make the country shine like a
jewel and run like a . . . Swiss watch.
While the trains do run on time, the
individually wrapped green beans are priced at nine dollars each. And it's
this combination of perfection and perfectly-expensive that gives the
Swiss their look of sad-eyed satisfaction. It also influences their diet,
which seems to consisty entirely of cheese and potatoes. Our gracious
Swiss host was
always saying something like "The government has adjusted our mail
boxes so they are ergonomically sound . . . (sigh) . . . more
potatoes?"
After two days of five-star ennui, we drag our starchy selves to the train for a five-hour
rumble to Venice, Italy. Much has been written about this magical city's
maze-like streets, winding canals, and singing gondoliers. But once you've
taken in the surreal beauty and imbibed too much of the cheap house wine,
you notice other points of interest not listed in the guidebooks.
Cell phones, for example. If you think US citizens are fond of their hand-held
communicators, think again. We are in the hand-crank age next to the
talkative Italians. Everywhere you look strolling Venetians are engaged in
full-on phone fondlement, be it actual chatting, or simply gazing
longingly upon their plastic pal, waiting to say "prego!" to someone, anyone.
Another Italian advance not covered in the world media is their state of
the art bathroom technology. While other nations spend a sizable chunk of
the GNP on commode seats, Italian engineers have eliminated
this costly extravagance. While I can't say for sure, this could
explain why everyone spends so much time on the phone checking in on
the location and well being of their loved ones.
Next stop is Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, home of
snow-capped Alps and grown men in leather shorts. As you stroll the
cobblestone streets, you notice that everyone is 62 years old
and barely five feet tall. Everywhere, diminutive Germans in Hansel and
Gretel outfits whisper to each other. As a tall foreigner with a
propensity for paranoia, I feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.
Any minute, I expect them to drag me off and tie me to the ground with
their tiny ropes.
That's not to say that G-P is without its charms. One way to stay
charmed all the time is to drink plenty of weissbier, a tasty wheat
brew served in huge glasses. Happily, there appears to be no wrong
time or location to partake of this tradition. My newfound Bavarian
buds even like to mix drinking and hiking! In the US, you're lucky
to find a pile of rocks at the top of a mountain. Here, every
peak features an open-air restaurant where big gals
await with big beers. Extreme sports at its best.
Two weeks later we're back in the US, culturally enriched and largely
unscathed. After a brutal exercise in "de-planing," we crowd the luggage
carousel while police dogs sniff our luggage for who-knows-what. Outside, a
hurricane-force storm has slowed traffic to a crawl. As we inch away
from the airport, our van driver pauses to curse in fluent Bostonian.
All that's left to do is stare out at the sideways rain and repeat,
"there's no place like home, there's no place like home ..."
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