Heading home: or Facing life without grilled peaches

Two pictures from my day at the Lido, which have nothing to do with this post.

I have several nice things to say about flying Swissair. First, even those of us in economy class get real metal utensils for our meals. And everyone speaks English quite well. And the Swissair definition of a snack, unlike the American airlines I've flown, is not a bag of nuts or crackers. The Swissair snack is a pocket pizza-type pastry roughly 6 x 9 inches, too much for me to finish.

And then there's the free wine.

My problem with Swissair is that its hub is Zurich, an incredibly annoying airport. Those on international flights are forced to go through security again although they are transferring to another Swissair flight. Most flights seem to arrive and depart from totally different terminals, necessitating a trip on the shuttle. Entertainment on the shuttle means flashing by little animations of Swiss milk maids and cows, and hearing frequent and incongruous mooing. And when I arrived at Zurich from Venice on my flight home, they took my dessert-grade balsamic vinegar.

Granted, this was my fault. However, security at Venice airport had no problem with this being in my carry-on bag, but Zurich did. Of course, the destination of my Zurich flight was JFK, the airport with the real problem with a bottle of balsamic vinegar in my carry-on.

At some point, as I was obsessing over the quality of my packing for my return, I ceased thinking of the vinegar as a bottle of liquid. It had been beautifully packaged and wrapped at the store, and it merely became another breakable thing I was attempting to take home as a gift and which should not be in my suitcase. And so, I blithely, stupidly put the bottle in my carry-on bag, where it was promptly noticed at Zurich.

When the kind security person said, "You have a bottle in your bag?" my first thought was, What? Bottle?

My next thought was Ohhhhhhhh. Crap. Right. I am so damn stupid I can hardly believe it.

What I said was, "Oh. Right. It's balsamic vinegar."

She kindly tried to explain how I could get the bottle approved for my flight. I needed to descend stairs, turn left, follow exits, leave Switzerland, reenter, go through security, telling them I needed to hurry, and find my way back to this gate. Then I could take the bottle. She verified that I had enough time to do this, and I was on my way.

Unfortunately, the signs in the Zurich airport are not the most clear. They're in English, but not easy to follow. I had to ask several people to explain where the exit signs had disappeared, explaining why I needed to know. Each person was kind and seemingly clear, but unfortunately, each gave me slightly different directions. I went through customs twice, once leaving and once reentering, and that's really where the compilation of directions broke down significantly. No signs for security. Up and down giant escalators. Through sliding doors and around corners. Past restaurants. Past bathrooms that I needed to visit but had no time to now. The person I asked seemed confused and directed me to a place where there was only the shuttle back to my gate, but no security. Back on the mooing shuttle. Oy. And I was seriously running out of time.

I finally had to return to my gate and its security, without whatever verification I needed for my balsamic vinegar. I finally and reluctantly (and totally out of breath) surrendered it at gate E22, feeling like the biggest loser in the world.

And so I left Venice, Nora, my little emerald ring, and my dessert-grade balsamic vinegar.

In honor of my flight home, I submit these pictures I took with specific people in mind.

For Erin, outside the Arsenale

For Tim, in Gorizia

For Geof, his favorite herb, by the Campo dei Mori

For Nora, her favorite graffito in the city (she actually took this picture)

And finally, for me, a sign on the Lido