Home!

Time to go to bed.

MORNING UPDATE(S):

It sure is nice to get back to your own bed.  In every hotel we had in Italy they had twin beds, and the mattresses were of generally indifferent quality.

Heathrow Airport sucks. Our flight from Rome was a little late, and with one hour to change planes, having to go through British queues to get our passports looked at, catch a bus to a terminal somewhere near Scotland, go through security again, find our terminal, and catch another bus to the plane, that appeared to be parked somewhere in Wales, we just barely made to the plane on time.

Prepare for a major wave of illnesses to sweep the United States, as I am pretty sure we crossed that Atlantic on a "plague ship."  The guy across the aisle from me was very sick.  Initially, he requested an airsick bag, and then went to the back of the plane, where he stayed huddled from the rest of the flight.  A doctor came to see his girlfriend, and told her that he had a serious respiratory infection (flu, pneumonia?), and a paramedic crew came to take him off the plane in Baltimore.  About half the other passengers were hacking and sneezing, including Georgia and myself.  I had a little cold when I left, which has nagged but not inhibited me much, and that or another cold ran rampant through our tour group.

I retrieved Skye from the kennel, and she seems to be in fine spirits, and happy to see us and be home, although she did kiss Megan, the kennel owner, good bye.