There was a problem confirming my original Plan B flight. You don't even want to know, except that there is a reason why the discount ticket broker, the one with the call center in India (whose accent, by the way, I love, even as it makes understanding their confirmation process seem more exotic and strangely reasonable than it probably is) is a discount ticket broker. More than one reader has encouraged me to vent in Therouxvian rant, but I am a Thoreauvian, and realize that in a virtual global village, the people who can actually help you out of the mess are the ones you are currently working with, whether in London or Mumbai. Patience and good temper. And having a couple of strategically placed aunts and uncles, a ciocia and a wujek, as I do, here in Lancaster, aids immensely. Though Aunt Lu, my godmother, failed to insure that I remain a practicing Catholic (Is that their job?), she and Uncle Paul do confirm my faith in individual human beings.
So, I'll arrive in Poland Friday morning, not Friday evening.
