At Venice airport...

31 May: I arrived miles too early and began to wonder whether getting the free transfer from my hotel to Marco Polo airport in Venice had been a good idea. I could have taken the train from Udine to Venice and made my way to the airport from there. Still, mustn't grumble, although, to be fair, I have been moaning quietly to myself as I arrived too early and couldn't get rid of my suitcase. In other words, I've been dragging it around with me. 

Out of the clouds heading for Venice

Nothing has really gone wrong (so far). While I had to establish when my airport transfer would arrive at my hotel (the Allegria in Udine) – and was given two conflicting scenarios (one picking me up from the hotel at 1100hrs, the other at 1020hrs at a specified pick-up point outside of the hotel – everything, considering, has been smooth. There was a small amount of confusion before myself and around four or five people from Turkey, one of whom was staying in my hotel, were in the car and on the way to the airport. I say 'car', it was more like a minibus, but after around 70 or so minutes (probably a little longer) of driving along the autostrada under cloudy skies we reached Marco Polo airport from where I write this note.

I am slowly but surely developing the persona of a pissed off and mildly stroppy business traveller, something that I must stop. I can't figure out why I'm that way, I've just become 'that guy' when the slightest thing goes wrong or when I'm the one who has been silly by overlooking a pretty obvious sign that disputes the reality I thought to be true. After discovering, for example, that I couldn't check my bag in until 1425hrs (this was at around 1230hrs) I moseyed off in search of food and when I found it ordered a pizza, a small custard tartlet (very tasty) and a cup of English Breakfast tea. Then, I found a table and sat down to eat my food. But no, I was asked to sit elsewhere. "This is the restaurant," a man said, snootily, and I was directed to some more communal-looking seating to eat what amounted to a takeaway meal. This, of course, was annoying as I could have ordered a sit-down lunch in the restaurant but I didn't see the aforementioned (and quite obvious) sign requesting people to 'queue here' for a seat. 

The main square in Trieste faces out to sea...

Mildly miffed I sat and ate my food in what was basically a more 'downmarket' seating area, which was fine, and when finished I bought myself a fridge magnet from the shop opposite and then wandered towards the bag drop area at the other end of the terminal building, finding when I got there that there was still over 30 minutes to wait. I joked with the woman on duty, the one who informed me and others earlier that the current check-in was for passengers to Paris Orly only and that I'd have to wait until 1425hrs before I could 'drop' my bags off. There's now under 10 minutes to go until I can check in so I might have to leave this post for a second while I get rid of my suitcase and, of course, hope and pray they don't lose it.

Tasty treats before a plant tour in Trieste

I'm heading back to London after a trip to a place called Udine in Northern Italy. I flew out on Monday 27 May (a bank holiday) and have been here all week. It's been a very hectic but enjoyable week with little time to do anything other that what appeared on the event's itinerary. A gala dinner, a classical music concert, a rigorous day time programme of presentations and plenty of sweet things to eat in between, like biscuits, pastries and so on, all designed to make a nonsense of the so-called 'Mediterranean diet' and the notion that, if you're an Italian or eat loads of olives, you'll lead a long and healthy life. I can imagine people now as they prematurely arrive in Heaven and are given a form to fill out, claiming in the 'extra information' box, "they never said anything about biscuits and filled croissants and fancy desserts" being part of the aforementioned 'Mediterranean diet' as they consider their chances in the "I shouldn't really be here" queue.

Amazing biscuits and pastries in Trieste

The check-in was simple and straightforward, just like it had been on the journey out from London Gatwick a few days earlier and within seconds my bag was on the conveyor and on its way to the plane and I was left to go through security, which was also very easy and took minutes to get from the start to the finish. Then it was time for the Society of the Spectacle. I always keep my eyes fixed straight ahead until I reach the male perfumery section where I always give the sales assistant the false impression that I'm going to spend almost £100 on some fragrance or other, only to disappoint them at the last minute with "I think I'll leave it this time". At least I smell good for the flight home, I thought.

One course of a wonderful lunch at a Trieste restaurant

The journey out from Gatwick to Venice on 27 May was a little more fraught and totally my fault because I had led myself to believe that I'd be flying out around 1600hrs and, therefore, didn't have to be at the airport until around 1400hrs. I could take things easy in other words. How wrong! I only needed to look at my travel details and I would have known that I was flying at around noon and that the gate would be closing at 1150hrs. When I did realise the dire situation I had put myself in – time was getting on – I chucked the remaining few things in my suitcase and decided not to bother washing, there was simply no time and I could do it all at the other end. I booked a cab – "come as soon as you can"– and within 20 minutes I was en route to the airport, sitting in the back of a white Prius in silence, hoping and praying that I'd make it on time. When I reached the airport the flight had been delayed and there was plenty of time so I sailed through security and found my way to a Starbucks where I "enjoyed" an English breakfast tea and an almond croissant. I put the word "enjoyed" in inverted commas because I was stressed and needed to calm down, which I did, and then made my way to the gate and on to the plane. I had a window seat (19a) on the way out and on the return journey (6f) and the flight going out was relatively okay, although, as avid readers of this blog will already know, I've always been a little apprehensive of flying if there's a lot of cloud about or the weather is in anyway unsettled.

Waiting at Marco Polo airport for my flight to Gatwick

The pilot on the outward flight, Rachel, said the flight would be relatively smooth 'once we were through the cloud' and she was right. It was a smooth flight and I jumped off the plane with a strong sense of relief, along the lines of one flight done, one more to go.

As I was attending a massive event, when I cleared security I headed straight for an information desk and was told to wait until they found a driver who would ferry me to my hotel, which they did, and soon I was on my way to Udine (about an hour's drive on the autostrada). I checked in to my hotel, the Allegria, and then headed for the shower and after that a shave. I was ready to take a stroll with my fellow journalists to a local restaurant for dinner and our host Paolo. The Italians know how to cook, put it that way.

After waking up the following morning, it was a roller coaster schedule from then on. I was up every morning at 0600hrs, eating a fairly sub-standard breakfast at 0700hrs and then waiting for a bus to take me and my fellow journalists to a place called Buttrio where the conference would take place. There was a gala dinner inside Udine Castle (although it wasn't IN the castle as it was when I attended another event a couple of years ago, but instead in a huge but tasteful temporary structure just outside of the castle itself. It was fine but tiring as it's fairly hard to keep up conversation with strangers when all I really wanted to do was relax alone after a long day, possibly eat alone and then hit the sack. I probably got to bed around 1230hrs. It was a short walk from the castle to the Allegria.

A tasty treat at the Trieste restaurant

The conference was full-on for two days and was followed by a plant trip to Trieste, which was 'up the road' from Udine – probably around an hour's drive. In fact, where the plant trips were concerned, some brave souls had signed up for tours in far flung places like Beijing and Louisiana and Egypt and other locations which increased the intensity of the schedule and made me feel tired just thinking about it. Not that I had booked myself on any of the plant tours and the one I did take (to Trieste) was organised for me. And what a trip it was! Well, the plant trip was so-so but the food on either side of it was something else: first a wide selection of pastries and mini desserts, which I greedily scoffed as if there was no tomorrow, and then, after the tour, a short walk to a restaurant in Trieste down by the water's edge where we were given an excellent four-course meal.

The great thing about the Italians is they love their food and they won't let anything get in the way of it. We sat there watching a storm roll in and listened to the thunder, which was preceded by flashes of distant forked lightening and in between the poor weather and the relentless rain we all ate well: there was plenty of sea food and I lived to tell the tale – and by that I mean no upset stomach, no sitting on the throne all night, nothing at all, but then this was a very good restaurant.

A coach eventually took us back to Udine and it turned into a late night. Dinner with a colleague was planned for 1900hrs and while my initial plan had been to go all the way to Udine, change and then return to Buttrio by cab, I eventually decided to get off in Buttrio due to mounting traffic and then went out for a pleasant meal.

And now I'm back where I started. It's the day after that dinner with my colleague in Buttrio. I took the minibus to Marco Polo airport and all the rest you know, other than I'm sitting here in the airport listening to a French man talk about something or other. Unfortunately, I don't speak French so I can't understand a word he's saying, not that it matters, it's probably something inane.

Outside there are blue skies and scattered cloud and its roughly an hour before I take off, that's assuming the flight leaves on time (it's around 10 minutes late as I write this). In all honesty, I just want to get home. It's been a good but long week and I've met some interesting people. 

I think they've announced my gate, Gate 56, so I'd better get moving, but now that I'm through passport control and at the gate, a few words about the hotel, the Allegra. It was small but it was fine. The room was clean and perfectly adequate although I couldn't see out of my window, or rather I couldn't see without a lot of hassle trying to prise open the shuttered windows, and I couldn't be bothered. Besides, the trip was so rushed I didn't really get much time to look out of windows or read or do anything (like blogging) that I do on most trips. While I don't mind other people fixing my trip for me, I know that if they do, I end up with the itinerary from hell, but this was fine. Busy but good. Both flights, for example, were perfectly fine in terms of departure times, but the conference schedule meant extreme weariness in the mornings especially if there had been a late night, ie the gala dinner on Tuesday and the classical music concert on the Wednesday night. This morning I had a brief lie in and a later breakfast and then I packed my suitcase and was ready to leave the hotel, but we've spoken about that part of the day already.

I wasn't keen on the breakfast as there were elements of the experience that required the help of somebody else. Tea, for example, had to be ordered, but invariably there was nobody there to order it from. A hot water urn would have helped and it would have been good if milk had been available too, but again we only got milk if we asked for it and we could only ask for it if there was somebody there to ask. Every morning I enjoyed a filled croissant and a bowl of chopped fruit plus an English Breakfast tea.

The flight home was good, very smooth all the way, and we arrived at Gatwick earlier than scheduled. Passport control and baggage reclaim were also very smooth and soon I was on the other side wondering whether to get a taxi or a train home. I opted for the latter because it was cheaper and, let's be honest, quicker too. I alighted at East Croydon and jumped into a black cab (£20) and now I'm at home, the fridge magnet I purchased in Venice is on the fridge door and I'm considering some pasta for dinner. My wife and daughter are returning from Paris tonight and I'll be picking them up from the station around 2230hrs. Time to sign off and make some food.