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My Night at "Chez Orly" and Why I Wouldn't Recommend It

I'd like to share with your listeners a trip I made to Italy in 1997 with a group of art history students (of whom I was the only mature (over 50) member). After a series of disasters, beginning with getting lost the first morning in Florence where I was supposed to meet my fellow students at the Ponte Vecchio and ending up in a tiny church trying to get directions from a lonely priest in a darkened church in a scene straight out of Hitchcock (it was Sunday morning). The priest spoke no English and I, only the tiniest bit of Italian. After more and more disasters, I decided to return home and spent my final night "sleeping" on a cold metal bench at Orly Airport with a stress fracture of the right shin. Only when I was aboard the Delta flight back to the States did I finally feel safe. I had been to Italy before and several times to England and other parts of Europe as well as to St. Petersburg, Russia. However, this trip was the absolute worst -- for me, the trip from hell.




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