October 8th, 2016
Seborga, Nice, London, Montreal, and Calcium

And thus the delightful trip with knucklehead friends draws to a close.  One last morning of drinking coffee on the balcony with the view of the Mediterranean and Monaco, listening to roosters crow and Al bray.

Mike dropped off John and me at the Nice airport.  Terminal 1.  Definitely Terminal 1 this time.  No doubt.  John is headed to Wiesbaden on business, Mike is driving north to Chamonix, and I am headed home to lovely Calcium, NY.

Since John had to be at the airport for an earlier flight than mine, Mike dropped us off at 0900.  John quickly checked in through Lufthansa and cleared security.  British Airlines informed me I could not even drop my bag for another 4 hours.  They did, however, change my seats for me.  This pleased me as I had a somewhat grumpy conversation the night before with BA Customer Service and was informed that, after checking in online, I could only change my seats at the airport.  But they did not charge me for the move to an exit row seat, so I guess I should not complain.

I found a comfortable looking coffee lounge and got an Americano at Joe & The Juice.

The lounge had comfy chairs with power jacks and free Wifi.  Logging in revealed:

Which, according to Google Translate, means “You’re opposed to depot Analytics hearing hovels cookies.”

An utterly relaxing trip.  Three middle-aged men who have known each other since youth, realizing they are little changed since their mid-teens.  Except, of course, for the old bodies.  As bad as our memories are (well, two of us anyway), I don’t remember graying hair, wrinkling skin, or presbyopia being issues in our teens.  On the other hand, age has provided for a comfortable financial situation allowing for things like a week-long trip to the French and Italian Rivieras, so I guess there are tradeoffs.

Heathrow was Heathrow. And passport control and customs in Montreal were the easiest I’ve ever experienced.  I got routed to secondary customs in inspection because I answered “yes” to bringing food into the country.  When I told the guy that all I had was dried mushrooms he said “That’s it?  You’re out of here.”

Tentative plans are to meet up in three years in the Baltics.  Or Turkey and Greece.  Or Argentina and Chile.  Or Alviso.  Or maybe somewhere else.