When in Rome...

It's refreshing to know that you aren't alone in your anxiousness and terror when you finally touch down on the tarmac and the entire plane explodes with raucous cheers and chants and applause from the other passengers.

This has happened twice now on flights I've been on. The first time was when the plane from Thailand that was originally supposed to land in Munich after 12 hours of flying diverted to Nuremberg due to weather conditions. I'd like to think that that time had more to do with the fact that everyone was just happy to be on the ground again after so long. The Captain even got on as soon as we landed and made some short joke that the Germans found mildly funny but that I couldn't understand because, y'know... I don't speak German.

This time was a little different. Strong head winds buffeted our small craft all around and the motion of the lane was hard for even me to to bear. As I've said before, I never get motion sickness until I'm on still ground again which is usually okay since I'm, y'know... on the ground. But this plane was rocking and rolling. I thought the plane ride from Athens to Crete was rough (I white-knuckled it almost the entire time) and the ride from Seattle to Portland is generally unpleasant but this was scary.

It's not much of a stretch for most of you who know my dumb neurotic ass to imagine my hesitance to flying. I don't do it very often though so, when I do, I can bear through it. But this trip has been a lot of flying. And with every flight, it's a crap shoot to see if I'm gonna be all "Cool Hand Luke" about it... or gripping Lupe's hand with a vice-like strength at every bump and loll. I can usually tell that my tension is just my own private hell and that keeps me all right with the world. But, every now and then, I am rewarded with the understanding that a bunch of strangers I don't know anything about have shared in my fear, even for a minute or two.

When we landed in Rome, the whole plane began chanting and singing. It started with those sitting in the forward part of the plane and was then echoed from passengers from the aft. It was a confirmation of life, a celebration over fear, and a great way to land. I highly recommend it. It was awesome and relieving and something I have never experienced before in any form. I was glad to have been a witness to it.

Who knows, maybe they were just cheering for their favorite soccer team. Italians are like that, you know. But still, it's the little moments of being swept up in a cultural difference that makes this trip really worthwhile. I've found that most Americans are quick to judge and dismiss and say, "psh, whatever" to anything not deemed "cool" to their own cultural ideologies. It's no wonder we have no real sense of community anymore: we're too busy trying to pretend like we're too cool for school. Where I come from, hipsters rule the streets: what with their carefully hand-picked disheveled wardrobe and their neurotic apathy and their geek-chic attitudes and their snide subjective morality and they fucking annoy me so very, very much. All so very worldly without ever having gone anywhere. But that's me: the old fart standing out front of my house in my jockey shorts, half-crazed with Alzheimer's and bitching at the young whipper-snappers to "stay off my lawn!"

[If you're a hipster and you feel I've offended you in some way with this last bit of ranting, please take into consideration that you are most likely a douche who has no real or meaningful connections to anyone and will probably end up miserably disillusioned at the waste that was your life, sickened by the clove cigarettes you smoked throughout your twenties (which have caused the lesions to grow in your chest at an excellerated rate) and surrounded by cats in your later years... all-the-while lamenting that you never actually did anything with your time except listen to shitty bands who nobody has ever heard about nor have any care for anymore. Cheers!]

Where was I?...

Oh yeah, Italy! Italy is pretty great. These folks know how to eat! We had an amazing slice of margherita pizza at the airport in Rome while we waited for our plane and marveled at the Wine Bar where old Italian businessmen ate smoked meats and cheeses while smoking cigarettes and wearing their coats on their shoulders like cloaks of old. And Venice is a strange and wondrous place. I always thought that the cheesy representations of Italy and its overt romanticism was something for the tourist to buy into to get them to come here but, lo and behold: it's TRUE! There is a quality of life here that is bizarre to be around. At once, it is so obviously impoverished economically and yet rich in history and culture. I just got here and already I find it fascinating. I can't wait to get my hands on it and really see what it has to offer.

As I'm writing this, a chorus of voices from the street has begun wafting through the cold gray air, its snippet of song lost in the labyrinth of crumbling and sinking buildings in only a few seconds. This morning, I ate a croissant and had a cup of cappuccino under glass chandeliers while watching the boats pass by outside. It was pretty grand. Can't wait to go exploring.

Talk more soon.


-d@n


P.S.
My wife hates it when I get all "Angry Dan" with my writing and feels like it gets in the way of some real talent. I try, of course, to defend myself with such nonsense as "creative freedom" and "it's good, even if it's angry" but still... I understand where she's coming from. So... Sorry, babe: I'll try not to be so mean to the hipsters in the future. Love you! :)