Bologna, Day 1

A month ago I was asked if I wanted to do a presentation on an upcoming anniversary of the forklift company. It wouldn't be an official thing, but the hosts were offering a free business class ticket to Italy. Mrguy is doing great, but did not want to go with me. He and boy kitten had a guy's date while I was gone.

So for the last month I struggled to write the presentation. I got some feedback from a colleague and that set me right, again. I went from what I called "a solid 16 minutes" to almost an hour, and that seemed good. I felt guilty spending time on this presentation but felt as if it could give back to forklifts somehow.

The flights were through Lufthansa but serviced by other airlines, which made figuring out the schedule, how to confirm flights and anything related to flying confusing. Know also that when I travel I always do so with mrguy, who is in charge of logistics. I knew this would be good for me, but a stretch. Stretching is good.

Day 1 was the trip to Bologna. First an 11 hour flight on United, then a short flight from Frankfurt to Bologna. I watched Sing Sing, and some other stuff that I can't remember. The gate transfer at Frankfurt, which is a huge and intimidating airport, was blissfully easy, after the usual annoyance of passport control,

bus crowds from the plane to the gate

and passport control. 

I like striped planes.

On to Bologna. Lunch was a gigantic ball of burrata, which I ate with glee, and later regret.

I tried to sleep on the second leg of the trip but the scenery was so lovely. As the Alps loomed, it was really impressive, and I felt a connectedness because of my Swiss ancestors and the research I've done in the past. You could see little towns tucked in between the mountains, and it made it apparent why the Criblez of Péry, who lived there, appear in death records on occasion as having been found in a crevasse after the snow melted in Spring. Just saying. I judge them, and then I judge myself. A Google view of Péry shows it in relatively flat surroundings. Perhaps the Criblez travelled farther than my ancestors. OK, confession, I have one Criblez ancestor, the first Marc-Elie Criblez.

A nice young woman held up a sign for me at the Bologna airport and took me to my hotel. I was supposed to spend part of the day in town doing my things, but I could not. My stomach was churning and my head hurt so I slept and watched tv until the next day.