A Picture’s Worth a Thousand Dollar Bail

Buonasera world. I am currently writing from seat 10B on a Delta A330 Airbus (I asked the flight attendant what type of equipment she was using). I am flying from Rome to New York, as the Flinkey Family adventure has ended. I am about seven hours into the flight and have not had a pleasant experience. Wibbitz and myself are sitting in row 10 on this airbus, and as those of you in “the business” know, row 10 on an A330 is the first row in coach, and an emergency exit. The flight was grounded for about an hour (big surprise when I’m traveling), but finally we were airborne. At the point when electronic devices are cleared for use, I pulled up my TV from the armrest and tried to play a movie. To my surprise, when I hit play all I saw was a black screen. I then asked Wibbitz to give it a shot. Same problem. Turns out that nearly every entertainment system on the plane was not functional. However, Wibbitz and I do have the privilege due to the location of our seats to watch everyone in first-class sitting comfortable in their pods with fully functional 20-inch flat screen entertainment systems. Shortly after notifying the flight attendants of our problem, we were told that there was nothing they could do but try and reset our systems. No luck. Great, now we need to sit through an almost nine hour flight with nothing to do. To make the matter even worse, unlike most other rows on the plane, row 10 does not have seats CDE and F. This means than rather than having four people sitting next to me to lie to, I have a plain, grey wall. To make things EVEN worse, there is a giant grizzly bear sitting two rows behind me snoring comically loud. So loud, in fact, that the people sitting behind me (pretty weird people, not worth my time to lie to) complained to the flight crew about the noise. That noise complaint was the last time that any member of the flight crew was ever seen.

 About two hours later in the flight, I experienced The Great Purge of 2011. People on the plane became thirsty and the flight crew was nowhere to be found. One person got so fed up that he walked up to the beverage storage area, also conveniently located directly next to my and Wibbitz’s seats, and took a soda from the cart for himself. Following the leadership of that brave soldier, at least 25 people (including Wibbitz and Q-Tip) did the same, crowding my and Wibbitz’s leg room. Those beverages did not stand a chance. For those wondering, just like Farty McFartpants from my previous train ride, Grizzly continued to disrupt the entire plane with his bodily noises.

In addition to no TV, the location of our seats, The Great Purge, and the absence of the flight crew, the plane was an icebox, and the bathroom (which is a half an hour hike from our seats) was covered in garbage (not to worry, there was a clean bathroom six feet away from my seat in first class, but I got yelled at when I tried to use it). What a lovely flight. It is such a pleasant experience that I wanted to take a picture to remember it. When I pulled out my iPhone to take a picture of the happy people in first-class, a flight attendant decided to reappear from nowhere to tell me not to disturb the first class passengers. Sure, now you show up. This is not the first time this trip that I got in trouble for simply trying to document my travels with my iPhone…

On one of our first days in Italy, we went to Vatican City to visit The Holy Father (he was on vacation but will be back in September, just in time for Rosh Hashanah!). The same day that I attempted to smuggle nutella into the Vatican, I tried my luck at taking a picture of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. There is a very strict no photo rule in the Sistine Chapel, and the Vatican Police enforce it. Men were taken out of the chapel for taking pictures with their cameras. Luckily, I don’t have a camera; I have an iPhone.

As you can see, it was a success, and Jesus must be very upset with me. Oh well, good thing I’m Jewish…

The next day, the Flinkey Family traveled to Rome’s ancient Jewish Ghetto. The entire ghetto is fenced in and a security guard searches your bags when you enter. Apparently there was an attempted terrorist attack in the 1970s, and ever since cameras are prohibited. Again, it’s a good thing I don’t have a camera.

As you can see, it looks like I’m screwed. Now both the Jewish god and the Catholic god hate me. I’m converting to Islam.

A few days later, the Flinkeys drove from Rome to Amalfi. On the way, we stopped at a grocery store to pick up food for a week in our villa. The grocery store was huge, and I-Money and Wibbitz wanted to document its immense size. The second that they pulled out their cameras, two Italian policemen ran at them screaming in Italian. I’m not sure what they said, but I’m starting to think that you are not allowed to take pictures anywhere in Italy. My suspicions grew as the week progressed.

For those of you who have never had the privilege of traveling to the Amalfi coast, it is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Giant green mountains right on the beautiful blue-green Mediterranean. The coast is famous for lemon groves and ceramics (lots of places to buy plates). When we were there, I saw the largest lemon I had ever seen. This thing was the size of my face. Obviously, I had to take a picture of it. As Wibbitz took the picture, the owner of the market yelled me at in Italian. Do you recognize a theme?  

Amalfi is also famous for their roads. The roads are barely large enough to fit two smart cars side by side, but somehow city buses manage to navigate up and down the mountains without crashing into the Mediterranean. Our vehicle of choice for our drive from Rome to Amalfi was what is commonly referred to as a short bus: A huge 9 seater with room for all of our luggage and groceries. I am not sure how Momma Bear managed to navigate the roads, but she made it to our villa without killing the Flinkeys or damaging any cars [too badly]. After almost wetting myself in the car ride, I decided to take the city bus to get around for the rest of the week.

On one of our last nights we hopped on the bus to get back to our villa from town. I looked in front of me and saw something truly amazing. There was a small Italian kid, probably around five years old, sitting next to his mom wearing a red shirt with black writing on the back. Over his neck, his shirt read “Flinky”. Although it was spelled wrong, I had to document this moment. I pulled out my iPhone and took a picture of his shirt. The flash wasn’t on. As I turned the flash on and took another picture of this young boy, the man sitting across from me began yelling at me in Italian. Turns out it was the little boy’s father wondering why some strange American tourist was taking pictures of his five-year-old son. He was violently yelling in Italian, scared his son’s picture will end up all over the internet. Well, sorry Italian Dad, but here it is:

I thought about how I would feel if some Asian tourist was taking a picture of my son on the NYC subway, and completely regret that I was unable to justify the innocence of my photo. Italian man, if you are out there and happen upon my blog, I am deeply sorry for taking a picture of your son. I am not a pedophile, nor do I intend to use the photograph of your little boy for anything but this blog. As you may have guessed, I ended up taking a different bus.

Also, there is a strict no blue and no trombones law in Italy, so don’t even try it.

 

That’s it for now. Time to watch people be pampered in first class while I soak in a pool of garbage in my icebox.

Keep spreading the jam. Flinkey out.

When in Rome eat as the Romans do

Buon giorno! Flink checking in from Rome. I am not going to tell you all about how great Italy is, or all the fun things I have done so far (trust me, there are lots!), but instead I am going to describe the most important aspect of my travels... food.

I suppose the logical place to start would be on the airplane. A little background first. I am on an Italian vacation with Pappa Bear, Momma Bear, I-Money, Woodrow, Wibbitz, Little Red, and Q-Tip. The entire Flinkey family met at LR and Q's place to meet our limo (Momma Bear had a groupon!). We took the limo to the airport and got on our plane. Of course I made friends on the plane. The entire flight crew knew me by the end of the flight, as well as all of the people around me. The four people sitting in between Wibbitz and myself and Woodrow and I-Money were a couple (around Mamma and Pappa Bear's age) that met in college at Pitt and were taking their parents on vacation. When my friends on the flight crew brought around dinner, we had the choice of pasta or chicken, and beer or wine. I decided to go with the chicken, which apparently was a good move. Although it was pretty crappy, from what Q-Tip told me the spaghetti was some of the worst food he's eaten in his almost 80 years of life. I am not sure what my friends next to me ate, but it couldn't have been good...

About three hours into our flight, I-Money saw the daughter in my group of friends jump up like she had to pee real bad. Great, someone is going to pee their pants (haha). Surprisingly, she came back seconds later with four flight attendants. Apparently, moments before Mom passed out and began seizing. Yes, you read that correctly. She was seizing on an airplane. Apparently my friend's mom had a motion sickness patch on AND drank alcohol on the plane while eating lousy airplane food. After half of first class came to assist with their medical expertise (I was tempted to lie about my credentials and help, but a life was on the line) my friend's mom survived and we did not have to make an emergency landing in the middle of the Atlantic. Moral of the story, don't drink and fly.

That same day we went for our first Italian dinner in a very crowded and touristy street. We sat down and gave our order to the waiter, who told us we couldn’t order eight different dishes because the chef cannot handle the order. What type of a restaurant was this? We eventually all decided on a few dishes to share (not me, I got my own dish) and ate a pretty mediocre dinner. I will not be returning there. 

The next few meals were some of the best of my life. Breakfast is included in our hotel, but unlike The Hampton Inn, this breakfast was magnificent (I-Money may disagree, she loves the Hampton Inn). Eggs, Italian meats, pastries, and blood orange juice. Yum. It was so good that we stole some snacks for the rest of the day. Later that day, we went to the Vatican to have a guided tour. Once you enter the Vatican, you need to go through a metal detector so they know you are not carrying anything you shouldn't be carrying. I was stopped not once, but twice walking through the metal detector. On my third try, I took out 20+ nutella packets from my pocket and walked through the detector beep free. Pro Tip: Nutella packets have metallic labels and can be mistaken for guns by the Vatican police.

Lunch every day has been a pizzeria, and I have found pizza better than NY pizza. There, I said it. Thin crusts and delicious sauce. Great pizza. Well done Italy, well done. The other constant from every day has been gelati. I have never tasted anything as delicious as the gelati from the shop next to our hotel. I can easily say it is the best thing I have ever eaten, and will deeply miss it when we leave.  

For dinner last night and tonight, we went to a restaurant on the same street as our hotel. I-Money and Woodrow went there during their honeymoon and recommended it to us. Boy was it good. If any of you are ever in Italy and want to be respected by your wait staff, order oxtail. Not only was it delicious, but every waiter came up to me and told me I was a real man, and that oxtail will put hair on your chest (little did they know I already have hair on my chest). I felt like a god amongst men. Good feeling, you should try it some time. 

I failed to mention that at every restaurant, Wibbitz has befriended a waiter who wants her to stay in Rome and live with them. My favorite was Hugo, he made great pizza, but he kind of looked like someone sat on his face (sorry Hugo). Who she will choose I have no idea, but I am looking forward to returning to Rome for the wedding.

In summary, someone almost died on my plane, I made a fool out of myself in the Vatican, Wibbitz is getting married, and we ate some pretty amazing food. Italy is pretty, pretty good.

Flinkey out.

PS: Sorry for no longer having flinkey fish on right side of the blog. Flinkey.com got mad that I illegally stole their logo and told Google on me so I had to take it down.

Flinkey out, again.