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.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Chapter 1
Before we even boarded our flight in Atlanta people were swarming like bees around the airline personnel who were supposed to be checking us in. They pushed and shoved, jostling for position in a mob instead of forming a semi neat line. The Americans were blatantly obvious--they tried to form a line.
"One line people! Please form one line so everyone can get on the plane!" The man behind the ticket counter seemed exasperated. I wanted them to calm down; all the jostling was only ratcheting up my already high level of discomfort.
To be honest I was completely terrified. I was moving to Italy. I had dreamed of this day for years and it was finally happening. I knew no one in the whole of Europe, let alone in Rome. I had to be completely out of my mind.
I had been to Rome briefly with my family. The summer after I graduated high school, my parents had taken the family to Italy for 10 days. The first 5 were spent in Rome; the last 5 were spent in Venice. Unfortunately on our second full day in Rome I had come down with a bad cold. I don't particularly remember liking the city. I liked Venice better. It was quieter there. Calmer. The hustle and bustle of the Roman Vespas and the SmartCars had overwhelmed me. Everything in Rome just moved so quickly. I couldn't keep up.
During my last year of law school in Baltimore, I had done research on where I should work after graduation. Through some diligent research I had compiled a list of employers around the world that I thought looked promising. Resumes and cover letters went out and calls for interviews began coming back. The only employer that had really panned out was one in Rome. I had told myself that it was the market and if I widened my net and tried more American companies I would have better luck. I didn't have to move there. I couldn't deny the pull Rome had over me despite my inhibitions. So here I stood, nervously clutching my boarding pass as I waited to board my flight to Frankfurt, Germany. From there it was just another short flight down to Rome.
The airline personnel finally got the mob settled into something that vaguely resembled a line and we resumed boarding. First class and other lucky souls had boarded the plane prior to the rushing of the gate.
Once on the plane I bumped awkwardly down the aisle looking for my seat, my carryon duffel accidentally whacking a few people in the back of the head as I went. Lucky for them it was mostly full of clothes. I apologized to each person I hit and attempted to get my bag under control.
The plane was one of those jumbo jets with 5 seats in the middle and two on either sides, making for rows of 9 seats. My seat was on the aisle in one of the 5 person sections. I couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. It gave me a little more room to spread out, but at the same time I was the whim of everyone who wanted to get out of the row. That meant constantly moving out of my seat to let people in and out. Nothing I could do about that except hope that I was seated next to some folks with large bladders. I stowed my duffle in the overhead bin, settled my purse under the seat in front of me and began making myself a sort of nest in my seat. My book went in the seatback pocket, my iPod went in my lap and my journal and pen were within arms reach under the seat in front of me. The pen was stuck just so in the journal's spine and the journal jutted out of my purse so I could grab it easily. The blanket wrapped around me like a shroud and the pillow got tossed to the floor. Silly little airplane pillow wasn't good for much. I couldn't get the thing situated right under my head so I ditched it. Book, blanket and iPod in place I finally settled in for the long flight to Rome.
"One line people! Please form one line so everyone can get on the plane!" The man behind the ticket counter seemed exasperated. I wanted them to calm down; all the jostling was only ratcheting up my already high level of discomfort.
To be honest I was completely terrified. I was moving to Italy. I had dreamed of this day for years and it was finally happening. I knew no one in the whole of Europe, let alone in Rome. I had to be completely out of my mind.
I had been to Rome briefly with my family. The summer after I graduated high school, my parents had taken the family to Italy for 10 days. The first 5 were spent in Rome; the last 5 were spent in Venice. Unfortunately on our second full day in Rome I had come down with a bad cold. I don't particularly remember liking the city. I liked Venice better. It was quieter there. Calmer. The hustle and bustle of the Roman Vespas and the SmartCars had overwhelmed me. Everything in Rome just moved so quickly. I couldn't keep up.
During my last year of law school in Baltimore, I had done research on where I should work after graduation. Through some diligent research I had compiled a list of employers around the world that I thought looked promising. Resumes and cover letters went out and calls for interviews began coming back. The only employer that had really panned out was one in Rome. I had told myself that it was the market and if I widened my net and tried more American companies I would have better luck. I didn't have to move there. I couldn't deny the pull Rome had over me despite my inhibitions. So here I stood, nervously clutching my boarding pass as I waited to board my flight to Frankfurt, Germany. From there it was just another short flight down to Rome.
The airline personnel finally got the mob settled into something that vaguely resembled a line and we resumed boarding. First class and other lucky souls had boarded the plane prior to the rushing of the gate.
Once on the plane I bumped awkwardly down the aisle looking for my seat, my carryon duffel accidentally whacking a few people in the back of the head as I went. Lucky for them it was mostly full of clothes. I apologized to each person I hit and attempted to get my bag under control.
The plane was one of those jumbo jets with 5 seats in the middle and two on either sides, making for rows of 9 seats. My seat was on the aisle in one of the 5 person sections. I couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. It gave me a little more room to spread out, but at the same time I was the whim of everyone who wanted to get out of the row. That meant constantly moving out of my seat to let people in and out. Nothing I could do about that except hope that I was seated next to some folks with large bladders. I stowed my duffle in the overhead bin, settled my purse under the seat in front of me and began making myself a sort of nest in my seat. My book went in the seatback pocket, my iPod went in my lap and my journal and pen were within arms reach under the seat in front of me. The pen was stuck just so in the journal's spine and the journal jutted out of my purse so I could grab it easily. The blanket wrapped around me like a shroud and the pillow got tossed to the floor. Silly little airplane pillow wasn't good for much. I couldn't get the thing situated right under my head so I ditched it. Book, blanket and iPod in place I finally settled in for the long flight to Rome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)