Sleepy Suffolk

It's nearly 7PM here in Ipswich - June 16th 2008. I'm still working on a paper for ECOWS 2008 - a conference on web services.
Thanks to Youtube, entertainment is blaring straight from my 3 1/2 jack to my ears. Suddenly pops up a Cranberries classic which brings back fond memories of my Cranberries period. I remember listening to Wake Up and Smell the Coffee when on the plane from Tours's minuscule airport to Essex's Stansted airport (1). It was back in 2004 and I was off to Ipswich for my second placement. Little did I know I would still be there some four years later. Whatever happened to my craving for travels and exotic places? Is that what they call senile rooting? The inability to move about till you receive brochures on senior travel to some remote middle east location for two including full board, wine, and a dedicated service should you need a pacemaker or a walker?

For your entertainment without further adue:

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(1) If you ever need to fly from Stansted and are bored in the long and winding security queue, spark off a discussion with your fellow passengers as to whether Stansted is part of Essex or Cambridgeshire or perhaps Hertfordshire. That is bound to get heated discussions about.

21:33 16/10/2007 - Arrival at the gate. Heathrow can seem like a gloomy place - not quite as odd and daunting as Gatwick but nearly. I'm at gate 14, terminal 2. Or is it a gate? No wireless, a mere phonebooth (not even BT), a flat screen screeching out BBC World news to an indifferent Greek crowd which - surprisingly enough - speaks a language that sounds all Greek to me. Well what did you expect?
It's an evening flight. Departure a few minutes past 10PM. That's already tomorrow in Greece. Arrival some four hours later. A normal, national airline. When's the last time I didn't fly Easyjet or Ryanair? That's going to be a welcome change. Hopefully the flight includes food because I'm downright famished.
On my way to Heathrow from the easternmost bits of England, I stopped off at Paddington Station (home of the cuddly bear and one of London's most prestigious hotels) for a pint with a long-time-no-see recently-londoner friend Vincent. He's tunneled his way from Paris and is planning on spending a year in South Ken, little France if you ask me. Oh oui!

21:37 16/10/2007 - The gate's 'waiting room' is filling up like a chicken coop at dusk. Everyone is clucking away. A staff member has just lowered a microphone and it's only minutes before we board.

21:42 16/10/2007 - I'm in. Big bird. I haven't been in such a big plane in about 8 years. The safety card tells me it's an Airbus A300-600 model. For non-techies, it's a 2-4-2 seater plane with a middle row numbered 24. No window for me. If only... Then again, at night over France, Switzerland, and Austria, there isn't much to be seen, let alone the Channel for that matter.
While other passengers board, I try to tune in to the local language: yes it's a tough one to crack. I always feel estranged when in an environment where I don't speak the language. And in Western Europe it's rare - well of course unless you step in Edgware Rd, Brick Ln, or Brixton (that's English but a coarse-grained one that is).

21:46 16/10/2007 - Greek Stereotypes. Hmmm. Did I expect olives trees to grow all over the plane? Feta cheese to be delicately served bathing in a rich pungeant olive oil in the armrest's former ashtray? Stewards running like the Marathon man? Well certainly not the passengers boarding who seem to be arguing over the seats as if this were a ruthless Ryanair flight. No sir, here we've got assigned numbers.

21:48 16/10/2007 - How many more are going to fit in? Captain, I'm worried the plane won't take off with that many passengers. Where are the Brits? I feel alone.

21:52 16/10/2007 - The neighbor comes in. As a matter of fact, it feels like all of England's Greek population decided to concregate here tonight - except for Theo who would come in handy just now. Theodosis, where are you? Actually no they're not UK residents: they all proudly boarded the plane with one green Harrods bag in one hand and a white Harrods bag with toy beafeaters in the other. Have they pillaged every last tourist outlet? I can't wait to see the Sun's morning headlines: Rampage at London - shortage of mini Big Bens. PM reports shortage crisis in My Mom Went to London and All She Brought Me Back Was This Lousy T-Shirt shirts. Time Out would call for a time out and Portobello Rd would start scouring the country for new antiques.
Anyway, enough with my antics here.

It's only a few minutes to take off and I'm kindly reminded of the security policy to clam that PC up and stow it safely.

Cheerio.

Caro Mauri, très cher Mômô, dear ol' Maurizio,

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for your thoughtful text message a few hours ago. We did manage to get a wee bit of a tan although not as much as the burnt up toasted version you turned out to be after you ski hol' (you should try the French ski slopes next time ).

Saying we didn't see the slightest bit of rain would be a lie, but as it happens it rained at night and in the wee hours of the morning but the Campania skies soon cleared up and a generous sun came down on us as we hiked up hills, drove to small colorful villages and «chilled» on a very nice dark sand (thanks to Vesuvio Pyrotechnics ©) beach nestled round a small bar with friendly locals (belle ragazze).

To prove my point here are a couple snapshots. I hope you enjoy them in the dark damp office as much as we enjoyed our caffè correto.

Cheers matey!

Oh what a hectic day, that whimsical Saturday October 6th. It kicked off with an all too early flight from London to Naples during which I dozed off, head slumped onto the tablet in front of me, trying to avoid drooling. The plane was full of retired elderly people anyway. They probably wouldn't pay attention to yet another drooler.
My first few minutes a few yards outside the main terminal at Naples Int'l Airport were sunny, slightly cloudly yet and most importantly heavy & steamy. Somewhat familiar to south-eastern US climate. A nice day somehow.
By the time Ivan landed, got his gear, collected the rental car and drove us both off to the Vesuvio, the clouds have welded back together to cast the Sun outside the picture. It was gonna be a grey climbing trek up one of the world's most famous volcanoes.
The long and winding road took us a few hundred meters shy of the actual crater. We finished the rest off by foot. A steep starting path made way for an easier stroll round the rim. Ivan shot a couple pics, we awed at Pompei in the distance and gazed down the clammed & quiet crater. Seemingly quiet that is - the only apparent sign of activity was a few puffs of smoke here and there.

The cherry on top of the cake that day was our trip to Pompei in spite of an ominous weather (which eventually caught up with us). By the time dusk had wrapped us around an eerie shroud of darkness, a harsh rain was pattering down on us and we were desperately trying to find our way out of this 2 millenia old maze.

In the distance, a bobbing torch (a ghost?) neared us, scolded us in Italian for still being on the premises and showed us the shortest way to the exit.

Saturday October 6^th. Wee hours of the morning - barely four actually. My phone rang, my radio blared out Eels music, I emerged of a short sleep. Slide down the ladder, into my trousers. Shirt on. All set to go. Rats, where's my phone? It's hard to think straight with only 3 hours of sleep.

I fumble about the bedsheets and finally find the rascal. Just in time too: the cab driver calls me up to confirm the address. 141B, yes that's on the station's side of the football ground. I'll be down in a minute.

A truck having burned down on the A12, we've got to take a detour. The driver speeds down a small countryside road. Gets the adrenaline shooting. Better wake up call than any espresso this side of Milan.

One turn, two turns, and finally Stansted. Two full hours before expected departure time. Plenty of time to grab a few snaps. The planes on the tarmac are all being readied for another round of extensive European travel. The actual strip seems clear of any traffic. However, the terminal is filling up steadily. Travellers from all over: businessmen, families, couples eager to clinch onto the last bits of summerly warmth.

Sleepy airbus

Time to board the plane. Switch the PC off. See you in Italy!