Sometimes it seems to me that this, in fact, was the reason for the joy I experienced on landing at New York City’s Kennedy Airport on January 6, 2007—I was on the ground. My flight took on added meaning owing to the fact that yet another time I quit the bottle, even turning down on board an offer of my beloved dry, red wine, something I regret to this day. But during my first days in the United States I had to do a lot of flying; actually on the following day, at 6 AM, I took a plane to the U.S. west coast, to Las Vegas.
