Daybreak in Rome, April 4, 2009

I have a four hour layover at Fuimicino Airport in Rome enroute from Balhaf, Yemen to Austin. During the next several days I will partake of the flight services of four different airlines, spending time in four continents, thanks to Travelocity. A mixed blessing that: Travelocity sells unreserved seats on flights from various airlines to provide packages for people like me who are willing to accept the near certainty of travel screwups in exchange for a low rate and the opportunity for extended stopovers for sightseeing in intermediate destinations along the way. Rome is not one of the sightseeing stops, but due to a screwup in my flight from Sana’a, I have a longer-than-expected wait here in the airport that tour guides refer to as Aeroporti Leonardo da Vinci.

I had forgotten about some of the unique aspects of Rome that I had experienced several months back during a week-long vacation here. From the waiting area where I have set up my laptop I can see the silhouettes of the famous pines of Rome; I had forgotten about the Roman landscaping technique of trimming the pines like poodles. Or maybe they just grow that way, not sure. I am sure that this is the only place where I have seen cumulous puffs of pine boughs floating on the horizon. It’s a surreal sunrise scene after a harrowing and sleepless 6 hour flight in steerage on Yemenair flight 633.

I stopped into a bustling café for some cappuccino and a brioche, and was reminded of the roman penchant for bustle. It dawns on me that the impatient rudeness of waiters and cab drivers in New York probably derives, at least in part, from the influence of Italian immigrants. Same style and substance; they don’t intend to offend, it’s just that they are so heavily burdened with responsibility for so many customer expectations.

I forgot about the lovely language (not so much the overly-burdened café proprietors). The wisps of the conversations I hear from bustling passers-by hurrying to their flights are pleasantly melodic: Italian made the work of Verdi and Puccini a cinch. The Arabs that I interact with at work know nothing of this; their language is a cruel and accusatory in cadence and intonation. To the uninitiated, “what a pretty hat” sounds like “I kill puppies.” Not so, Italian. Sentences are micro-concerts, with introductory theme, an arpeggiated midsentence (modulation to a minor key signals materia trista) coming to rest gently on a punctuating bass note which invites the start of the next sentence. Rhythm is important, which explains the hands; every Italian is his own conductor. Of course I have no clue what they are saying but it sounds like: fulMINici dellA formAGGio a LOUra. Translation, in my mind: roses are the perfect expression of God’s divinity. More likely: I placed a pipe bomb in the suitcase of the Travelocity tourist.

At 11:55AM I will board the TAP flight to Lisbon where I will stop over for a few days while my visa to Rio is processed. I don’t have an itinerary; don’t know anything about Portugal except porto and Magellan. I am thinking about renting a motorcycle for some cruising along the coast. Same with Rio where I will spend a week before continuing on with Delta airlines, arriving in Austin on April 15. Actually I know a bit more about Rio; I know I enjoy the music. And the photos of the beaches are inviting. I hope to dispense with my normal have-to-see-everything travel credo. The beauty of Travelocity, for me, is that the cost is less than the normal flight faire to my home of record, and therefore I can expense the entire cost of the vacation travel. So if I feel like lounging on a beach chair just reading and drinking capirinhas all day, I just might feel good about it.