I'm back!

Yes, my lovelies, I’m indeed back in the country and overflowing with tawdry tales of my European adventures, not to mention a dapper new hat from our day in Positano, Italy (me left - snazzy, huh?).  For my readers in the northern Jersey area, I hope my silly blog entries can at least bring a smile to your faces during your continuing recovery efforts in the aftermath of hurricane Irene. 

I’ve been taking copious notes and writing furiously while in Europe, but with the ridiculously expensive internet rates on the cruise ship and my hours scurrying from ancient ruin to ancient ruin, I’ve not been able to publish any of my adventures in real time.  Therefore, please check back regularly as I’ll be updating like a fiend over the next week or so, uploading blog entries and posting photos.  I’ll publish under the actual dates of travel, so make sure to scroll down to make sure you don’t miss a single delicious detail. 

Trish and I actually returned to our beloved Queens apartment on Monday night, following an exhaustive and nausea-inducing 10-hour flight, stopping over in Geneva for literally an hour to change planes.  Don’t worry, we still managed to haul ass to the duty free shop and purchased our weight in Swiss chocolate. 

Earlier that morning, 5:30 AM Barcelona time (that's 11:30 PM Sunday night for you East Coasters), we pried our eyelids open for the 30-minute cab ride to Barcelona airport.  Trish and I were going to head out late Sunday night for one last jamon sandwich and gelato on La Rambla (that's me on the left, actually on a street just off La Rambla, but you get the idea) but instead spent most of the evening packing and re-packing our bags to ensure we’d be under the 50-pound weight limit. 

With our portable hanging scale in hand, we furiously juggled trinkets, socks and dirty underwear between our three suitcases in order to avoid paying an extra fee.  We finally got under weight, but the effort left me literally dripping with sweat.  I appreciate the efforts of the Spanish government to limit energy use, but I am a spoiled American and want my room Arctic cold, dammit.  Turn up those thermostats!  Although I do give my Spanish homies props for installing nifty energy-saving key slots in each room, which automatically shut off the electricity unless you insert your key in the slot. 

The ride to the airport the next morning was uneventful, with just the gorgeous views of the city rushing by our cab window in the early morning darkness.  Oh, and also the view of the nasty couple playing tonsil hockey in the cab next to us.  Boy, those Spaniards sure are...um...romantic(?).

Check-in was quick and painless, except for the shenanigans of the Spanish gentleman ahead of me at security.  It seemed he had never flown before and kept setting off the metal detector, each time removing another metal article from his person before walking through the gates and again setting off the alarm - first some keys, then his watch, then some coins and finally his belt.  Unfortunately, with his belt also went his shorts - down to around his knees.  A middle-aged, overweight, Spanish dude’s hairy ass crack in red bikini underwear was not exactly the last image of Barcelona I wanted to take away with me.

I forced myself not to sleep on the flight so that I could go to bed at a regular hour once we arrived back in NYC.  Those changing time zones wreak havoc with your sleep cycle, not to mention your stomach.  So Thor, Hannah and an episode of House later (I started Battle LA, but the skittish camera work had me reaching for the barf bag), I was coasting into JFK, tired but happy to be home. 

It turns out our apartment was unscathed by the hurricane thanks to our landlord who was kind enough to shut all the windows that I had inadvertantly left open in my haste to escape the city amidst my earthquake panic.  Seriously, an earthquake and a hurricane within the same week?  What next, locust and plagues of hail and fire?  Anyway, two weeks with minimal airflow left the apartment warm, humid and musty like a homeless dog in the rain.  So after hauling our suitcases up the three flights of stairs, we flung open every window and Lysol-ed the shit out of place. 

And what's the first thing we do after turning on the TV and peeling off our dirty traveling clothes?  Call friends and family?  Wax nostalgically over shots of the Trevi Fountain and Tower of Pisa?  Of course not, silly, we order Chinese food!  After ten days of incredible pasta, the freshest seafood in the world and the most decadent desserts imaginable, I just want to sink into my sofa in my underwear with a pair of chopsticks and a pint of house special fried rice. 

I've now managed to stay awake for nearly 24 hours straight thanks to all the time zone crossing.  Though it's been an amazing trip, I'm thrilled I'll be able to collapse into my own dirty, damp bed tonight.  Where is our trusty cabin stewart, Lito, when you really need him?  Probably off at some towel-animal folding seminar.  Oh well, I’ll change the sheets when I’ve finally unpacked all my luggage, which shouldn’t be more than a month or two. 

Speaking of luggage, my fellow passengers were not as conscientious as I had been with their packing.  Apparently, our flight from Geneva to JFK was overweight, so the airline randomly pulled luggage off the plane in an effort to reduce our chances of falling out of the sky and thereby providing a lovely International feast for the Atlantic shark population.  Oh, those pesky weight restrictions.  As of this writing, we’re still waiting for our floral print Le Sport Sac filled with souvenirs and contraband French cured sausage from the farmer’s market in Arles.

Tomorrow morning I'll be bitch-slapped back into reality, answering phones and once again kowtowing to the financial elite in investment bankerland.  It's still good to be home.