Jet-lag ramblings

We're back. Jet lagged beyond belief and bloated. Holding images of beautiful California coasts and family reunions in our bloodshot eyes, trying to figure out what our bodies are asking of us. Lame, foot-dragging zombie by day, famished vixen by night. It's 5 am and I could eat a horse.

There's exploded luggage on the bedroom floor: vitamins, supplements and ziploc bags are scattered everywhere. Brand new books, toddler clothes and kitchen tools piled tidily on the bathroom sink. In the chaos of unpacking madness, I cast a sideways glance at my bidet and I smile with relief. 

How do they do it elsewhere? I mean, how can anybody live without a bidet?

The flight from San Francisco left late, on a downsized aircraft which left behind 40 very angry boarding pass-holding passengers. We shared very little leg room in the 24th coach class row of the teeny 757 with a quiet gentleman who worked on his laptop for the entire time. We ate a $10 breakfast of rich yogurt, ice cold milk and soggy granola. We drank plenty of juice and watered down coffee. Played cards and painted psychedelic dinosaurs in our coloring books. 

What kept worrying me the entire flight to New York was that we had a close connection to meet to make the final Rome leg of our journey, and there was only one aisle and one exit, far far away at the nose of the plane, and we were sitting at the tail end of it. We landed in NY at exactly the time our international flight began boarding, so dragging a life-size stuffed Labrador retriever and the rest of our hand luggage across the American Airlines terminal in JFK was like when you're trying to run in a dream, where your legs feel like lead and visions of gate 14 stretch away like in a vintage Hitchcock dolly zoom shot.

The final boarding call resonated as we slided across time warp on our moving walkway, straight into a full fledged hormonal meltdown with the deadpan flight attendant ripping boarding pass stubs.

Once we settle in the otherwise empty aircraft, the flight breezed by. We fed our bodies a bad beef dinner and hydrated with lots of replenishing water, moisturizer and Evian mist spray. Mr E romantically watches the sunset outside his window and soon curled up into deep sleep. Eyes transfixed to screen, I passively watched a film with no headphones and tried to do my ankle rolls to avoid deep vein thrombosis in my lower limbs.

Eight and 1/2 hours later the sun rose, orange and pink, over France. Flashes of distant lightning illuminated whipped cream clouds over speckles of light, small clusters of sleepy villages and rural life, way down below.

We made it to down to sunlit Fiumicino airport in time to find our luggage didn't make the Carl Lewis-like connection dash in NY. It was 35°C (95°F) and 96% humidity, which made it feel more like Jakarta than the Eternal City over by the conveyor belt, but the mood was frosty among us transit passengers. No air con, so a chilled rivulet of sweat ran down my spine as I made out a mental inventory of the contents of our 4 very heavy suitcases, still sitting pretty in a JFK air terminal somewhere. After a brief chat with the Property Irregularity person over at the Lost Luggage counter, we cleared customs and ran into my mother's Mitzouko-smelling bosom, embracing and laughing/crying with very little or no restraint.

I am here now, posting this without spellcheck. A bottomless pit at the mouth of my stomach, and the peanut butter tub looming eerily on the kitchen counter.

I will begin my new healthy eating regime tomorrow. I have gained 600 pounds in America, so it'll be adieu to carbs for a while. I will nonetheless cook for my loved ones. I will resume sharing my recipes here on this blog, many of which gathered during my travels to the New World. I will start exercising and banning all chocolate and vino from my table for a while, until I can fit back in my old clothes again. I will be good and I won't cheat. I will lose 10 kilos (22 lbs) before I start the new film in the fall.

I will do it, I swear. But for now, I'll sneak to the kitchen and make me a sloppy PB&J, all by myself, and devour it with a smile and a tall glass of whole milk, in the silence of this gorgeous Roman dawn.


Buongiorno, Roma.
It's been a great vacation, but it feels good to be back home.