Chapter 2

I was sweating bullets as I watched suitcases tumble off onto the conveyor belt in baggage claim at Rome's Ciampino airport. I screwed up. I knew I had screwed up. Stupid stupid stupid.

The first leg of my flight had taken me to Frankfurt, Germany. After a two hour layover, I was supposed to board another plane for the final leg of my journey. When we had landed in Frankfurt,  I assumed that airports worked the same way as they did in the US. That would mean that I would have to pick up my bags, clear security and recheck my bags before I could continue my journey. After all, Frankfurt was my first point of entry into European Union. I got down to baggage claim. I waited. And waited. And waited. My bags never showed up. Eventually I realized that they probably weren't coming and that I was going to have to leave if I wanted to make my next flight.

Thankfully, there was no one in security. Thankfully, security in Frankfurt was lax. Honestly it was almost a joke. I was at my gate with thirty minutes to spare before boarding.

The entire flight to Rome from Frankfurt I twitched nervously, my head swimming with images of my bags circling around a conveyor belt in Frankfurt.

I kept watching the bags in Rome, knowing in the back of my mind that my bags were still in Frankfurt. What the heck was I supposed to do without my bags? I don't speak Italian. Well, not much Italian anyways. I don't speak German either. How was I supposed to tell the Italian or German authorities about my lost luggage? How would I ever get the bags back? Could I even get my bags back? What if the Germans had just destroyed them? I wasn't in the US anymore. I wouldn't know where to shop. I stood there chewing my lip, rapidly creating a sore. Finally, in the profusion of grey and black a raspberry colored suitcase appeared, complete with a pink pig wearing a lei luggage tag.

My luggage had made it to Rome after all. I breathed a sigh of relief and positioned myself to haul the luggage off the belt. Within minutes, I had my other bag and was moving on to the next challenge: finding transportation to my apartment.

Within minutes I was settled in the back of a taxi pulling away from the airport. I gazed out the window waiting for the reality of where I was to set in. The cab driver was friendly and enthusiastic. He sang along with the Italian pop songs and butchered the American ones. I couldn't help but smile at his attempts to sing American pop music. A Maroon 5 song came on the radio.

"Jason Mraz?" The cab driver asked.

"No, not quite. It's Maroon 5." I hated to crush his enthusiasm.

"Maroon 5." He said.

"Yup. Maroon 5." I said.

For the rest of the car ride to my apartment in the Trastevere neighborhood we continued this little exchange. Every male artist that came on the radio was clearly Jason Mraz, even when it wasn't actually Jason Mraz. Every time he asked whether it was Jason Mraz, I would correct him. The Maroon 5 song played a second time; the driver was overjoyed when he correctly recalled the name of the band.

As we pulled into downtown Rome, I couldn't help but marvel. The Colosseum flashed by my window along with other Roman landmarks. I stared in wonder at the brazen Vespa drivers, amazed that there weren't more accidents given all the erratic driving and the lack of lines on the road.

Finally we crossed a bridge over the Tiber River and entered Trastevere. The tourism seemed to fade behind us as we moved towards my apartment. Trastevere had long been a working class neighborhood but was now experiencing a surge in popularity. It was the place in Rome for the yuppie set. Apartments were near impossible to come by, making the fact that I had stumbled into this one even more amazing. The school I was going to be working for, John Cabot University, had long arranged for their study abroad students to live in the building I was going to be living in. When I had inquired about housing, they had not been able to fill all of the student apartments they had reserved. Thankfully, one of the apartments was a single bedroom. I quickly jumped on the offer without knowing anything about it.

The streets were lined with various restaurants and stores. There were cafes and tabacchis, gelaterias and churches. Finally we reached my apartment.

After paying the cab driver and unloading my bags from the back seat and singing a few bars of the Maroon 5 song we had heard, I stood alone on the sidewalk staring up at my new home.