Conventional wisdom says it’s the ride, not the destination that matters in life. For me, it’s the food. I go to Europe not looking forward to the five hour knees-up crunch in coach, or the crying babies, or the bad movie … but the stinky cheese and real bread on the other end. I go to China thinking about the bowl of noodles I had at a restaurant next to the Worker’s Stadium and the Rice Congee for breakfast with peanuts and scallions …. San Francisco is about the smoked ham and chicken salad at Brandy Ho’s and a Negroni at the Tosca afterwards.
4.8 Sunday — family angry at me missing Easter, but off I fly to Beijing at 9:45 AM, arriving there on …
4.9 Monday — somewhere over the North Pole or Pacific Ocean, in a self-induced Restoril coma with noise-cancelling headphones and sleep mask proving the sensory-deprivation tank. Need to fill iPod with podcasts and figure out the right airplane book.
4.10-4.12 — Beijing
4.13 — Somewhere over the Pacific back to the States via San Francisco. Land in Boston in the evening, home by 9 pm.
Will be roaming on cell phone and looking at email