Flying out of Detroit, I knew something was up when I watched the flight path on my little screen on the seatback in front of me show a line that seemed to go almost due north. This was not my usual air tour of (relatively) southern Quebec. We flew over Greenland, not the southern tip, but a wide slice, what seemed like one-third up, then well north of Iceland and then corrected course and took a hard right and flew down south to Paris. This made the flight take one hour longer (impressively short, I would say) and although it was a near impossibility, I gave it a go to try to catch my connecting flight out of Terminal 2G to Florence. It was quite easy finding my way over to the shuttle bus and getting to the terminal. But, it was too late. No problem; I was put on a new flight and received a voucher for a free sandwich and boisson to boot.
The trip to Florence was relatively smooth and landed with the usual heavy smack on the tarmac at Peretola with its short runway. The whole trip was above, or in, the clouds. But, I arrived safely with no volcanic ash to wipe from my clothing. Back on familiar ground again.