Home shouldn't be so disappointing.
Trip Start
May 16, 2006
1
32
33
Trip End
Jun 13, 2006
Phoenix,
United States
Sunday, June 18, 2006
We arrive by the tracks and wait in the cold for twenty minutes, only to have the track number change on us at the last possible moment, followed by a mad dash to the correct line. We weren't alone in our mad dash - several people actually crossed the lines (maybe in Amantea, but in the busiest station in the country?), and one family arrived at the last minute shouting "hold the train!" while hurling luggage through the air. In the process of boarding, there were enough screams and cursing from that family to make the Italian soldiers next to us drop their masks of impassivity and crane their necks. We pretended, once again, not to be American at that point.
We get to the Fiumicino Airport, stand in line to check in, and the woman not only takes my backpack to check (it's very small and never gets checked), she doesn't give us boarding passes before she shoos us away. We get almost all the way through security before we realize that we definitely need those passes, computer printout or not. So I run back to the window, bypassing a security checkpoint with no ticket or identification (guess I'm harmless looking), and get our boarding passes. We make it through security nine minutes before boarding stops. We trot-run through the terminal to our gate, sighing everytime we find another endless hall. We finally round what we think is the last corner at about five minutes. Around the corner is not our plane, however, but a SKYWAY TRAM THING that will take us to our gate. Fearing the worst by this time, we pile on. At three minutes, we burst from the tram, thunder down a flight of stairs, and are greeted by the last of the flight boarding, slowly. They are running at least ten minutes behind schedule. Bless Italian efficiency (barring Milan).
The flight to London is boring and unmemorable. In fact, I was so tired by this time that I don't actually remember a thing. There was the usual "hanging out in Heathrow" time, where I find the most expensive internet of the entire trip - 1E for 5 minutes - and buy some chocolate for the folks at work. The flight from London to Phoenix is, as usual, interminable, especially with the leg room on British Airways. I'm five feet tall. I should never worry about leg room. Reaching the luggage bins, yes. Leg room, no. However, I watched an interesting show about the Queen, Brokeback Mountain, and some Jennifer Aniston thing, so the time wasn't totally wasted. I guess.
The flight arrived a bit late in Phoenix to 112-114 degrees and after an hour or so, we were through Customs and Immigration. Other than some rest, water without minerals, cheap internet, easy to find reading material, my puppy, and my family and friends, I'm hard pressed to find a reason why I'm glad to be home. And most of those could be easily solved in Europe. Compared to Italy or London, Phoenix is a little lacking in charm. 114 degrees? And we're not even to the "hot" part of the summer?
The trip, overall, was fantastic. Sure, I got my wallet stolen (still straightening that out), was sick for 20% of it, and hated Venice, but I also picked up about 700 words of Italian and enjoyed myself enough to seriously consider moving. I fear, though, that the patronizing attitude that let me through security because I looked "harmless" would also hamper career possibilities.
Over the next few days, I'm going to be putting up the pictures, compiling a list of personal things-to-remember, and posting the finance graphs I did, for people pondering a similar trip.
The Grand Expedition for next year has also been decided: the UK and Ireland. Planning always takes the edge off coming home.
