Sure, the flight across the Atlantic was turbulent throughout, so I couldn’t sleep.
Sure, a 200-lb. guy passed out while walking down the aisle and collapsed into my seat, where I happened to be sitting (I caught him and got him (somewhat gently) onto the floor; he just fainted from a combo of nerves and getting up quick after sitting for a few hours. He was fine, and came by to apologize to me for any problem he caused).
Sure, Paris’ passport control setup is so bad that I got onto my connecting flight with 10 minutes to spare.
Sure, the seal on my hair gel wasn’t tight enough, so there’s now a “medium-hold” film over many of my toiletries.
Sure, the hotel didn’t have a clean room for me, so I had to walk around the city with my PR contact for a few hours, insuring that I would reach the crucial 24-hours-awake mark that always bodes so well. (The lack of sleep kept me from remembering to take my camera on that walk, which is a problem since it was a beautiful meander around the city.)
But now I’m chilling out in a nice hotel room in Stockholm. The Airport Express adaptor’s working like a charm, so’s I can type away here in bed.
Despite any inconveniences, it remains a beautiful life. (Sure wish I didn’t have to iron my shirts, though . . .)