Originally posted on E A T & R E L I S H:
“”Positano bites deep…..It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone.” — John Steinbeck
The longest and most enjoyable stretch of our trip was all, as it would come to be, a very happy accident. Five nights and six days spent in London, Rye, and Paris had flown by to become a jumbled memory of pints, fish and chips, wine, and macaroons, leaving us with weary feet begging for a break and a cloudy fog of jet lag threatening to turn us into unwitting narcoleptics. We said our goodbyes to the 7th arrondissement in the early morning hours, and packed up our bags to head to the Paris Orly airport, tickets in hand for a 7:30AM departure time on a flight destined for Rome. As we pulled into the airport and I switched on my iPhone’s Wi-Fi, I saw one of those dreaded Orbitz travel alerts pop into my inbox that never – ever – contain any type of good news. As luck would have it early on this cool April Monday, the French air controllers had decided to have themselves a happy little strike, thus canceling flights, clogging up runways, and causing general havoc for anyone lucky enough to have planned on traveling that day.