Assem Akram - The '1492' Conspiracy

We took off from the à-propos named Amerigo Vespucci airport, with additional luggage: Father Emilio Ungari, whom we had almost forced to accompany us. Our flight was from Florence to Milan and on to Washington. The Al Italia plane was not overly packed, but its configuration was made for maximum occupancy, which means that there was really not much legroom for us, poor passengers. Ungari sat about five rows behind us.

As the plane prepared for take-off, I fell asleep only to reemerge minutes later. I should tell you that, for some odd reason, perhaps related to variation in air pressure, I fall asleep in a matter of seconds at take-off and at landing. And to be honest, I even look forward to it because it’s a short but strangely pleasing moment of complete black out. Now that I think about it, this could well be an unconsciously self-provoked snooze to avoid the annoyance of a flight’s two worst moments.

“Sir… Sir! What would you like: tea or coffee?” the flight attendant asked as I was suddenly coming back to my senses.

“I’ll have some coffee; I definitely need to wake up.”