Last year's Opening Ceremonies at the Grand Salle in the Bonlieu. Can't wait!
By Dan Sarto
My flight to Geneva leaves tomorrow morning at 7:50, an ungodly hour to begin 24+ hours of delirium shuffling through airports, getting groped by stink-eyed security drones, squeezing into airline seats designed for anorexics, all the while wondering why I’m not home asleep in bed, or watching Archer reruns while sipping a delicious Kamikazee.
Just in the last year, while traveling to events, I’ve had my laptop perused for 30 minutes by a grim-faced soldier with a flak vest, Baretta 9mm and little sense of humor, I’ve endured strange hands on my package that weren’t my own or my wife’s, I’ve set off a metal detector with a long forgotten Bit O’Honey bar in my back pocket (at least I could dry my tears at the gate with yummy nougat). I’ve even been engaged at a customs desk for 10 minutes of banter by a policeman who went to grade school with Andrew Stanton. I never would have guessed that “Andy was a good drawer” way back in 4th grade. No matter where I travel, my embarkation gate is always the last one in the terminal, past the mop bucket, around the corner from the dusty construction zone, right next to the kiosk that only sells overpriced vitamin water and 20 magazines with Lady Gaga or Simon Cowell on the cover.
Contrary to popular wisdom, not only is travel these days less than fun, it downright blows.
However, at least I know that after 24+ hours of travel starting in the wee hours tomorrow morning, I’ll arrive in Annecy. Though I loathe the path, the destination is worth the hassle.