AIR TRAVEL IN THE AGE OF CHOLERA

SS Splendour leaves the Pier

Piazza San Marco from the Ship's Railing

Male Mannikin with Bust

(What could be worse than cholera? You need travel no further then your local airport to find out?)

Rena and I start our newest adventure in reverse - flying on Iberia Air from Boston to Chicago to get to Venice, Italy. Ah – the Internet – promoting cheap tickets at the expense of common sense. We wing in over lake Michigan, catching a glimpse of the Sears Tower, and alight at O’Hare International.

Every stop at O’Hare is an adventure and this is no exception. We board on-time but sit on the tarmac for over an hour. Likely we’ll miss our connection in Madrid.

FLIGHT FROM ORD TO MAD
Positive:
· I pre-order Asiatic vegetarian meals on Iberia’s website. All others eat trash!
· I take Ambien and listen to a guided meditation to the center of the earth (provided on a CD by my friend Kat.) In the old days, this was called ‘tripping out’ and was frowned upon – now it’s medically approved travel prophylaxis. I sleep the whole way!

Negative:
· Sitting across the aisle from two parents with a 3-year-old and an infant.
· Rena is immune to Ambien. She gets one hour of shut-eye. (While I, being blissfully ensconced at the center of the earth, miss the whole thing.)

DESTINATION H
This is it! We’re getting into Madrid airport 45 minutes after our scheduled arrival.
We have just 40 minutes to get to the gate for our flight to Venice. As we bolt from the plane, a small sign points the way to H concourse. Bad news – it says it takes 36 minutes to get there! We tear off in the direction of destination H as fast as we can scramble.

Oh no! Passport control! There are only ½ dozen ahead of us but it takes forever. We charge ahead, running up the escalators and down the moving walkways. We make it to the gate at 9:03 AM - close but no cigar. Boarding is closed for the 9:10 take off. We watch our transportation taxi off into the rising sun. Que lastima!

VENICE OR BUST
The senorita at Iberia Air Assistance re-books us on a flight at 12:45 that gets us to Venice at 3 PM. Our cruise ship, Splendour of the Seas, leaves port promptly at 5. “Should be do-able,” sez I. “Not in this century,” sez the spouse. “Let’s go shopping.”

We stock up on Milcha bars and stoke the furnaces with café con leche and brioche con chocolat. Shopping at the chic airport boutiques is very interesting. All the male manikins in the European shops have mini-boobs. Is this the new fashion? Later, I confirm the same trend on the Rialto in Venice and even in Croatia. In the near future, will men be wearing small padded bras to nightclubs and offices? In the 80’s, I remember women wore dresses with padded shoulders to make a not dissimilar fashion statement. Hey guys – if sometime in the 21st century you find yourself wearing a training bra, remember you heard it first from Daktari.

Our flight from Madrid takes off 45 minutes late. Nervously I scan the boarding documents for our ship. Oh no! The booklet says all passengers must be on board one hour prior to sailing. Our wheels touch down at 3:20 PM. Only 40 minutes to scarper the plane, collect luggage and get to the pier. The adrenaline is flowing now.

“Why don’t you take a cab and go ahead to the ship?” I suggest to Rena. “I’ll follow with the luggage.”

“What do I do if you don’t show up?” she queries back.

“You’ll think of something. Just get us checked in.”

“ Then what,” Rena says skeptically.

“Don’t worry. ” I reply. “ Maybe, throw yourself overboard – that should get us an extra ½ hour.” Eventually, the cooler head prevails - we decide not to split up.

Mirabile dictu! The luggage has landed. That’s one small step for a man and one giant step toward getting to the boat. We jump into the waiting cab and I tell our astonished driver Giuseppe to step on it in French – “Vite, Vite.” He must think we're crazy.

It’s 3:50 PM. Ten minutes to go. Giuseppe shrugs and shakes his head “Venti minuti minimo.” I flash a wad of Euros. He steps on it. Soon we are doing 90 Kph down a residential street and headed for deep water. We screech to a halt at the pier at 4:03 PM. Emerson Fittipaldi couldn’t have done it better! I give Giuseppi a 12 Euro tip and a kiss on both cheeks. “Molto buono.”

The crew of goodship Splendour rolls the gangplank back out the hatch . Three cheers as it clunks on the dock! We’re the last ones on the ship and the last ones to lifeboat drill. Time for dinner. Cholera or not here we come. Buon appetito!

Daktari