AirFrance : The Only Airline I Don't Hate (Chapter 2)
4.15 a.m. When in the history of the WORLD (or... er, at least my convoluted little manic coffee-drinking world) have I been up at 4:15 in the flipping MORNING.
In Venezia, Italy I have. Yay for international jet-lag and a completely screwed up internal clock. Didn't help, I'm sure, that the unbelievable AirFrance jetliner we came here on proffered wine, vodka, and all sorts of international spirits every twelve seconds... and I didn't get a minute of sleep.
That said... the little just-off-the-beaten-path hotel I'm staying at pre-cruise (for those of you that don't know, my former ballroom partner and I were hired to do a transatlantic cruise -- and even though we're both "retired", it was simply too amazing of an opportunity to pass up) serves super-early morning Cappuccinos for guests just as nutty as I. Thus, several hours before the sun is even half-tempted to begin rising, I'm enjoying some ridiculously frothy milk that makes me want to burn Starbucks to the ground.
Hmm. Aggressive this morning, Ashley.
Well, it's true. The language out here... the culture (even though I'm lamenting the fact that a three hundred foot Guess ad is obscuring a portion of the Piazza San Marco), the posture. That's right. Posture. The French and the Italian are far, far more sophisticated on the whole than us Americans. And... having just done TWO trips across the country, I can wholeheartedly affirm that. We darn Yanks are not quite barbarians to the arched-back race of haut monde out here across the pond... but we're not far from it.
Luckily, the woman making cappuccinos at five a.m. is so thrilled at my attempt to order one in hyper-broken Italian, she's refilling it every five minutes, simpering in a cordial way at my over-pronounced "gratzi".
The cruise is about twenty four hours away. And I'm clutching at my wispy croissant ... never wanting to leave the (slowly rising) canals of Venice.
Now... the sun is up in about three hours, time to throw on a ballgown and do a photoshoot in the Piazza.
-- Unadulterated delight... Ashley Avis