2:15 am, NYC time: Seat 16C is the smallest I’ve ever endured on a trans-Atlantic flight. On any flight anywhere, if ya wanna know.
The mayor of Munchkin City might be comfortable in a seat this size, but maybe not. It’s so small and narrow I can’t begin to relax, much less catch any zees. I feel violated. This is probably how John Glenn felt while orbiting in the Friendship 7, a.k.a.. “spam in a can.”
Three hours and change until we land in Madrid, which I’ve never visited by the way. (I’ll be staying in the actual city on my way back.) Local time is roughly 8:15 am there; a three-hour layover and then a 150-minute flight to Venice, arriving around 5:35 pm.
