"Love" of Traveling

I am on travel this week, to a conference deep in the heart of Italy. By the time that you read this I will likely have been in a pasta coma for several days with numerous marinara stains on my clothing. It will do you no good to send out an expedition to rescue me as I will be too far gone. However, if you should see me wandering around in the streets muttering incoherently to myself, it is because I
am not a fan of traveling. Whenever I am on the road, I seem to find non-stop bothers that cause me to grumble incessantly. For example,

• I cannot find a single bag of Cheezy Poofs within a square mile around my hotel. What am I to snack on in the evening? Where is a 7-11 when you need one?
  
• What passes for television in Europe is laughable, nonsense. Where is my Family Guy, my American Dad, and my other civilized fare?
  
• I am forced to use public transportation to get from my hotel to the villa where my conference is being held. It is so frustrating being surrounded by all those foreigners. Why can't everyone just speak-a the english?
  
• I am convinced that each 8-hr plane trip ages a body by roughly a full calendar year. Have you ever been trapped in a small metal tube with 300 folks who have not taken a bath and/or shower in the last 12 months?
  
• I regularly enjoy a good cup o' java in the morning. When I say "cup", I mean a nice sized travel mug. However, in Italy they only sell coffee (pronounced espresso) in thimble-sized cups. Who invented this nonsense? How do they make room for cream?
  

You might think that these complaints don't amount to a hill o' beans. While I might agree with you on any one single item on my list, considered in quadruture, they push me well above my grumbling threshold. Arrivederci amici miei!