I looked up Brunello wine and one of the commonly asked questions was 'why is it so expensive?'. Such detail will not get in the way of Bill Taylor's plans to ensure Lesley's cooking is paid the compliment of a wine of appropriate quality. This is not really Bill's 27th instalment of lockdown notes from Toronto; he posts one edition a day at Facebook and I reproduce his writing here, only no longer every single day. That said, they are always interesting to read and confirm a serious writing talent. Canadian publishers would doubtless have launched a bidding war already, but for the circumstances ...
Domestic notes from the trenches:
A bittersweet day. We should have been flying to Rome this evening, then taking the train tomorrow to Bologna.
We’re not going. That’s the bitter part.
And the sweet? We’re not going.
Don’t get me wrong – I’d love beyond measure to be there and I’m perfectly fine with being in the air.
But airports bring out the worst in me. In more than half a century of flying, including as a travel writer when I was away sometimes more than I was home, I must have passed through pretty close to 100.
The more of them I see, the more I appreciate Pearson International. Just as the more airlines I experience, the more I appreciate Air Canada. Neither one is perfect or the absolute best but they both do a better job than most that I’ve used.
All the same, as a traveller I’m antsy. To put it mildly. Lesley is much more laid back about it all. And very patient with me. I want to be into the airport, through security and at the gate well in advance. All those other people? They’re the enemy.
I want to be on the plane as soon as possible, baggage stowed and happy to sit and wait for takeoff. Until then, it’s a process that has me… tense, shall we say. The knowledge that I’m far from alone in this doesn’t ease the rigidity in my spine.
So I can be happy that I’ll be spared that later today. As for tomorrow… I wanna be in Italy, damn it!
Ah, well. Rome, home… at least they rhyme.
We got our tickets refunded without any problem and took it in cash rather than travel vouchers. Having the money back in the bank, even earning zero-point-zilch interest, seems to make more sense than a promissory email saying, “One of these days…”
Who knows when we’ll actually be able to go back to Italy; when the country will be ready to receive us? I’d like to think it’ll be this year but I wouldn’t bet on it. The kind of beating they’ve taken, you don’t bounce back from overnight.
The dead need time to bury the dead.
Will flights be cheaper or more expensive? Will the airlines have trouble filling planes? Train travel, food, drink, accommodation… so many variables. Will foreign visitors be met with open arms or thinly veiled suspicion?
I’m inclined to believe that when it all starts coming together, it’ll be fine. They’ll want us there as much as we want to be there – however little pleasure I’ll take in the outset of the journey. And maybe, after all, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Maybe.
Either way, Lesley’s cooking Italian tonight and I’ll dig out a bottle of good Brunello. A gesture of solidarity, an act of faith, hope springing eternal…
Damn, I wish we were going to the airport.
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