Tonight - in about an hour - Madonna will be here.

Yes, I mean the Madonna. And "here" is a tiny theatre in this little city in Michigan. Not for a concert but for the screening of her documentray about Malawi. And, no, I'm not going to see her. Granted I'll be walking past not long after, but, oddly enough, I have no desire to see her or to be a part of the chaos that will surely ensue when a huge star enters a tiny theatre in a little city in Michigan.

All this means that I have little in common with the people who have been sitting on a park bench 3 giant steps from the theatre all day in order to a) get in line at the first possible second and b) not get caught "breaking" the "No one in line before 5pm" policy.

Enough about Madonna. She's just a way for me to write about her nanny's boyfriend.

I met him on the plane from London to JFK the beginning of July. I took advantage of the fact that he was a good looking Australian guy and offered him a piece of gum. Brilliant, I know, but it led to a completely enjoyable 8 hour plane ride.

Even if the only flights I counted are those of the past 2 months, I've flown quite a bit. I have a routine that totally works for me (one my students were threatened not to disrupt on our trip in March). I reserve a window seat so I can curl up, I take a Dramamine and a Benedryl, I drink a ton of water and I sleep for almost the entire flight. I've slept through drink services, snacks, take offs and even a landing. It's how I fight jet lag. . .and it works.

Despite the good looking Australian next to me, I really hadn't planned on anything different. We made small talk and then the two of us reverted to our ipods for company. I drifted off. . .

An hour or two later, I woke for the dinner service and perhaps chatted a bit, but mostly ate and then, well, drifted off. . .

An hour or two after that, I woke to find that someone (Madonna's nanny's boyfriend) had thoughtfully lowered the tray in front of me and placed the snack (vanilla ice cream) there. Slightly startled, I thanked him and ate it. We talked a bit more, although I couldn't tell you what about. Later, I attempted to start a book I'd bought in Notting Hill and then, you guessed it, drifted off. . . I'm pretty sure I've trained my body to be tired at the sight of a plane. I'd be a horrible pilot.

I have always found that sleeping flyers are pretty much left alone. I've seen people sleep throught long flights and no one wakes them to make sure they're hydrated or happy. . .they just sleep. But, maybe it was the piece of gum or the short conversations, but the good looking Australian seemed determined to feed me.

I don't know how long I slept, but about 2 hours before landing, I was startled awake by a tap on my shoulder. Just this side of sleep, that tap startled me so much that I gasped and jumped, amusing the good looking Australian and the passenger on his right. Embarassed (seriously, they laughed at me!), I realized that he'd again lowered the tray in front of me and was giving me the "Hey, We're Almost Landing! Pesto Pizza" that Delta serves. And a water.

Finally, I put away my ipod, gave up on my flying regimen, and enjoyed a couple hours of great conversation with Nick. . .also known as "the Good Looking Australian" and "Madonna's Nanny's Boyfriend" - both of which he is. We laughed, agreed with each other, exchanged future plans and travel stories and it was one of the best in-flight conversations I've ever had.

Nick reminded me a ton of Brandon. . .my marvelous, musical friend . . . Funny, thoughtful, interested and interesting. He'd even traveled with a Contiki tour (basically a drinking group with a travel problem) just like Brandon. It had been that tour that convinced he and a friend to pack their bags and move from Melbourne to London, bouncing from hostel to hostel as they interview for jobs. Not jobs waiting tables or handing out flyers for clubs, though. Nick's a graphic designer.

The coolest thing - and the reason the conversation lasted as it did - was that Nick and I have traveled about the same amount. . .and to many of the same places. We have the same "I Can't Believe I've Been There" style of enthusiasm for Paris and Rome and even London. When I told him I wanted to visit Greece, he asked "The islands?" and I could see that he didn't think much of being yet another backpack-toting American looking for a party on Santorini. I smiled and answered him honestly that, no, that wasn't the trip I had planned. What I really wanted to do was to see Crete in all its wild, Hellenic glory and visit villages only accessible by boat and hike the Samarian Gorge.

Somewhere in those hours of talking, he told me about his girlfriend's job as a nanny for Madonna and, although he hinted at some of the madness associated with that, I didn't pry. Maybe for the same reason I'm here at home and not walking downtown now in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Material Girl. Maybe for the same reason that my next dream trip is oh-so-Cretan Crete and not tourist-infested Mykonos.

For me, Nick joins the ranks of people I've met on the road. People who love the idea of travel and the act of it as much as I do. People like my lovely German hosts, amazing friends from Italy, and the rather infamous JCKZ of Paris, Chris on the plane from Minneapolis, Kerri in London . . .people who can make the last leg of a long plane ride the most enjoyable. Some of whom I'll never see again and other who I hope to see very soon.

So, tonight, when I walk past the paparazzi and autograph seekers downtown on my way to another outdoor movie, it won't really be Madonna I'm thinking of. . .but a young Australian designer hoping to make good in London. . .who values pizza over sleep.

Priorities.