While many folks profess that the worst part about going overseas is the flying, I don't subscribe to that mode of thought. Sure, airports can be stressful, but once you're past all of the rigmarole and protocol a flight can actually feel like a euphoric wave. My flight from East Midlands to Marco Polo proved to be a handy transition, a chilled prep for the buzzed atmosphere of Venice and its lavish Lido.
On the flight there I met a well-to-do, elderly couple, oblivious to the fact that a Festival is even going on in the city for the next eleven days. It puts things into perspective somewhat - we aren't all slaves to cinema, and the isolationist feeling you get when attending the festival isn't solely psychological.
Days like this confirm to me that the film industry is one of the greatest in the world, and even as I lounge in my hotel room, wondering whether tonight's premiere of "Black Swan" will be special or backfire somewhat, I realise that it doesn't matter a great deal. For now I'm a romantic, and I highly doubt that bi-curious ballerinas and their flamboyant psychosis can truly spoil that.
Coming Up: Reaction to "Black Swan"