Half of the first day

Kevin here. This is a late blog because I had trouble getting online at the hotel last night. I’ll get to day two later.
January 5 10 am
Our friend and tour guru Iris Gowen says that she likes to take a national airline on her first trip to a country—it often provides important clues to the national character. If Alitalia is any indication, Italians are incredibly disorganized, impervious to physical discomfort, and maddeningly imprecise. The flight took off late, we were packed like eggs in crates, and it was soon made clear that the 45 minute delay in departure would somehow translate into an hour and a half tardiness on this end-- and that they knew this all along.
It was interesting to watch British Airways board a crowd at the gate next to ours—they went in an orderly fashion by seat numbers. The announcer delivered her instructions in the dulcet tones of Margaret Thatcher. Our group simulated the mad circuit of the wildebeest as they circle the dusty veldt. Our announcer was reduced to whining about the lack of adherence to his requests for order.
The deplaning was equally inane. The attendants did manage to keep folks in their seats until a full stop at what I wrongly assumed was the gate. Then, in unison they all jumped up and started climbing over each other to get to the luggage compartments and all their over-sized, over weight bags. Then they reenacted the Great Rhode Island Nightclub Fire to get to the doors. However, we weren’t at the gate—we were in the middle of miles of runways and all the people who had walked over our backs to get out early were waiting for us in two buses for our standing room only trip to the gate.
We are currently watching television in the Rome Airport , whiling away a couple of hours before our flight to Venice. The weather looks great---in Sicily. The rest of the cartoon country on the tv screen is being bombarded with big, sad tears. The airport is a mammoth, poorly laid out, and chock a block full of high end—Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, Chanel—retail shops in the care of heavily mascared blondes in stilettos. Like the plane, the airport is also somewhat dirty despite all the glitz.
These people, at first glance, value looks over hygiene. It’s an endearing trait really.
I should also mention that the Alitalia staff is not at all sullen and unfriendly as the picture painted by reviewers online. What they don’t have is that horrible forced cheerfulness of American attendants. (“BuB Buy”) The one weird thing they did on the flight was to tent off a section of seats for themselves. It was attached to the overhead compartments with Velcro and had zippered tent-like doors. They would unzip and slip inside for breaks or something-- (“Amore?”) (Nosepicking?)
Jan 5 later:
Arrived a little late but nothing mattered once we caught sight of Venice from the air. Now know how Dorothy felt when she saw the Emerald City for the first time. Will describe rest of this day—it ended late—later.