This is an enormous plane. I’m in row 20 and I can’t see the back seats. I have the entire row to myself so I’ve stretched out over 3 seats, with my back to the window. Its bliss. The flight attendants continuously check to make sure we all have enough refreshments, pillows and blankets.
I’m reading Vita Sackville-West’s ‘Passenger to Teheran’ about her journey out to join Harold Nicolson in Isfahan. It’s highly evocative and I can follow the route she took in 1926 (over several weeks and via the bandit-infested mountains by car) on the inflight tracker. As we take off from Dubai I can see the incredible skyline of this city, with the most fantastic shapes of the skyscrapers; but soon we are crossing over the desert, on and on.
Only 6 hours for this journey. Eventually we reach the heel of Italy and I can see snow on the Apennines. I wonder how cold we’ll be when we head south to Basilicata and Puglia? About ten minutes out of Rome our Captain pipes up to announce our descent, in case we hadn’t noticed our ears popping. We land 5 mins early and I’m through passport control and at the baggage claim in record time. Gino, the driver arranged by my landlords, is holding an enormous placard with my surname on it. He hefts all my bags and we have a fast journey into Rome through deserted streets. Its siesta time. Current temperature is 17 degrees and I’m sweltering in my wool layers.
Amazing how cars can squeeze into these tiny maze-like lanes. Gino negotiates the Via dei Chiavari with inches each side of his very shiny Mercedes car. Massimo and Bianca arrive about the same time as we do, and they are instantly hospitable; Massimo races ahead to open up the apartment and Bianca and I take the tiny lift to the 3rd floor. This lift is so tiny I’m holding my travel bag over my head.
The apartment is lovely; enormous windows in the sitting room and bedroom with views of terracotta tiled roofs, roof gardens and sky. It’s a dream turned reality, and I’m so glad to be here. M & B give me a tour, show me how everything works and then tell me where to have the best coffee, where see the Caravaggios, directions to their favourite shops and galleries. I’m writing this all down in a shorthand I know I’ll be unable to decipher later on. We all troop downstairs to look at the gas and electricity meters and the wooden postbox for my apartment, Apartment 7. I wave them off in the little piazza opposite my front door and am alone for the first time in 24 hours.
I’m reading Vita Sackville-West’s ‘Passenger to Teheran’ about her journey out to join Harold Nicolson in Isfahan. It’s highly evocative and I can follow the route she took in 1926 (over several weeks and via the bandit-infested mountains by car) on the inflight tracker. As we take off from Dubai I can see the incredible skyline of this city, with the most fantastic shapes of the skyscrapers; but soon we are crossing over the desert, on and on.
Only 6 hours for this journey. Eventually we reach the heel of Italy and I can see snow on the Apennines. I wonder how cold we’ll be when we head south to Basilicata and Puglia? About ten minutes out of Rome our Captain pipes up to announce our descent, in case we hadn’t noticed our ears popping. We land 5 mins early and I’m through passport control and at the baggage claim in record time. Gino, the driver arranged by my landlords, is holding an enormous placard with my surname on it. He hefts all my bags and we have a fast journey into Rome through deserted streets. Its siesta time. Current temperature is 17 degrees and I’m sweltering in my wool layers.
Amazing how cars can squeeze into these tiny maze-like lanes. Gino negotiates the Via dei Chiavari with inches each side of his very shiny Mercedes car. Massimo and Bianca arrive about the same time as we do, and they are instantly hospitable; Massimo races ahead to open up the apartment and Bianca and I take the tiny lift to the 3rd floor. This lift is so tiny I’m holding my travel bag over my head.
The apartment is lovely; enormous windows in the sitting room and bedroom with views of terracotta tiled roofs, roof gardens and sky. It’s a dream turned reality, and I’m so glad to be here. M & B give me a tour, show me how everything works and then tell me where to have the best coffee, where see the Caravaggios, directions to their favourite shops and galleries. I’m writing this all down in a shorthand I know I’ll be unable to decipher later on. We all troop downstairs to look at the gas and electricity meters and the wooden postbox for my apartment, Apartment 7. I wave them off in the little piazza opposite my front door and am alone for the first time in 24 hours.
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