Getting there

Italy Day 1 – Flight and Rome [12:00 Small Café in Rome]

            So here are my thoughts, they should create a new word for my day . . . Obnoxious doesn’t cut it, nor does hysteria suffice. Allow me to begin at breakfast, yes while I am still in Indiana. ; >

            Apparently I was over eager to get to Rome when booking my hotel, and thought it made perfect sense for a flight to Rome to only take three hours. So incidentally I booked a night too early for my hotel, and oh yes those tickets to the Vatican—I won’t be there by 2:00pm. I won’t be there at all on May 5^th; no May 5^th is dedicated to Rocco [who apparently thinks my dad and I hate him] and to the increment weather in Philadelphia, and yes of course to 18 hours of flying. Mind you during this 18 hours I am sitting in a jet filled with loud Italian families [yes they all seem to either be related, or know each other—including the flight attendant] and crying babies, and I only managed a mere three hours of sleep.

            As for Rocco, dear and crazy Rocco; he was the flight attendant for US Airways. It started when my flight from Indianapolis to Philadelphia was delayed an hour, forcing me to miss my connection to Rome. So per Rocco’s request I came to see him and seek an alternate route [of course working in customer service and having people do a fair share of flipping out on me, I remained calm with Rocco and showed my appreciation for his help]. Come to find out, the only option he could find is a flight to New York [where the weather is worse than Philadelphia] and then to Rome—but seeing as there are only First Class seats available he says this is not an option. So at this point I am basically forced to take a flight to New York, then to London [sorry Mom] and finally arriving in Rome a mere 36 hours later than anticipated, and a day after my tour leaves. So you understand when I say I burst into tears. I asked Rocco if I could call my daddy [again trying to be polite and make sure he didn’t need to ask me any questions] however his take was I wanted my dad to bite his head off, because his reply was “don’t even think I’m going to talk to your Father.” 

            Finally after a call to Philadelphia they confirm they too are delayed due to weather, and Rocco tells me there is a possibility of making the connection. Then a beacon of light, proof that “He is especially fond of me” [shout out to fans of “The Shack”] ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Claudia from Venice! Seeing that I was upset she comes over and, in her lovely Italian accent no doubt, says “don’t worry darling, I’ll help you switch concords. We’ll figure it all out no worries.” So at last, I grab my camera gear, and with a tear stained faced, and lifted spirits I board flight 718. To further lift my spirits, a few random things happened.

1) There was a word search in my flight magazine, searching for Palindromes!

2) Our pilot said “I do apologize for the awkwardness of all this.”

While flying to Philadelphia we [the four trying to catch the plane to Rome] request an electric car to meet us, and direct us across the three concords. Finally reaching Philadelphia at 5:40pm Claudia and I set out for Concord A [of course the electric car never came, what did you expect]. Running at a dead sprint with all my camera gear [it has to be at least 50lbs] we hear multiple announcements for final boarding for non-stop to Rome. Let me just share with you how out of shape I am, and how much I did not enjoy this endeavor. Finally plotting on my seat, sweating and puffing I am of course sitting next to a retiree who has climbed Mt. Everest. ; >

            Finally making it through customs [with no country stamp sadly] I grab my bag, pay ridicules fees to convert my US dollar into Euro, and set off to find a Taxi. It’s too bad that the signs that say, “Taxi here” don’t really mean anything. Nope the Taxies just drive on by and stare at the stupid American girl. Finally deciding to walk to where they are driving, I get a cab. We make polite conversation, and of course he has been to New York, and has no clue what Indiana is. Finally I arrived at my hotel, and dropped a pretty penny to get there I might add.

            Sticking out like a sore thumb I walk to my hotel. I find the small sign, and walk in to an empty room. Finally seeing that I have to take a small elevator [totally old school style] to level three [assuming it makes it of course]. I am able to drop off my luggage, but it is too early to check in. I decide to find some lunch, since surprisingly the so-called Danish on my plane at 3:00am wasn’t filing. Not feeling adventures, or awake enough I stay on the main street and find a small café.

            I walk in and a small and grumpy Italian man greets me. He is elderly, and wearing a blue and pink plaid shirt that is tucked into green and black plaid pants. ; > He gives me a menu, and I explain that I do not read Italian, and just to pick his favorite item and give me that. Not wanting to pick for me he forces a slightly English menu to me. Quickly recognizable I ordered fettuccine only to find out spaghetti was really my only option; the other items were just to take up space. Extremely tired and worn out I decide to be okay with spaghetti being my first Italian meal, after all it will probably be the best spaghetti ever right? Wrong.

            Mr. Plaid bring me a generous portion of spaghetti, and I savor the moment and bite into cold tomato sauce that most of its contents had to of come from the corner store, and from a jar. No spices, no flavor. I am simply thankful for the warm bread and cheese served later . . . and I have of course my Sprite since they were no longer serving cappuccino.

            I still have five hours before my group meets and all I want to do is sleep. Sitting here having finished my food I am planning on people watching and enjoying the view. I have no energy to take photos—or even ability since I am still bogged down with some of my more valuable luggage I didn’t want to leave at the hotel.

            I’ll leave you now, as I hear a small Italian girl singing as she finishes shopping with her mother. I believe the worst is behind me, and it is nothing a good night of sleep won’t fix. I hope you are able to laugh with me at the travels of TheLostPalindrome.

Ps…I have since had Gelato and it lives up to the hype! Now I just need to find some cappuccino.