The Trip

So I’ve never flown alone. PERIOD. And here I am, facing a 2-transfer flight across the Atlantic. What have I gotten myself into?

Actually, the flight began pretty normally. Said my goodbyes at the Little Rock airport to my teary-eyed mother and Little. I did pretty good with my tears as well…it could have been worse. I get down to where they check your carry-on luggage. Apparently, computers have to come COMPLETELY out of the computer bag. Consequently, I take up FOUR of the ugly gray boxes by myself. Four. Then I set off the beeper when I try to walk through. I take off my belt, and my pants are nearly falling off, because they are a bit too big. At least I didn’t set off the beeper again. I gather all my crap out of the four ugly gray boxes and make my way to Gate 5, with an hour and a half before take-off.

At least I have my computer.

I open my computer, and the first thing that pops up is “You are now running on reserve battery power. Plug your computer into a A/C outlet.” I left my computer on all night. Fantastic. I search the terminal…no outlets. I look across the hall. Eureka! There is an outlet near the floor by Starbucks. So, I truck across the hall, plant my rear end on the floor and plug up my computer. I cannot count the number of stares I got sitting down there. What is so different about someone sitting in the floor with their computer OBVIOUSLY plugged into the wall charging? Geez.

Well, I’m impatient, so once my computer had charged 1/3 of the way (and once my tailbone could no longer take any more pressure from the tile) I made my way over to the gate again. And sat there. Luckily, Danielle (the Study Abroad Coordinator from UCA) showed up and we could talk for a bit. We went through details…she would get to Rome 10 minutes before me, and we would meet in the baggage claim. Easy enough.

“Now seating sections 1 and 2 of flight 5899”

That’s my cue. See you in Rome, Danielle.

My first flight is to Chicago. Not long. I get the window seat (YES!) and a nice elderly lady sits next to me. I pop in my iPod and Stages and Stereos accompany me all the way to the Windy City. We land, but they couldn’t get a gate for our airplane, which “happens in Chicago a lot” apparently. Did I mention that it is 5 degrees Farenheight outside? So I grab my carry-ons, and the right strap of my backpack (recently mended with LOTS of duct tape) decides to rip. Wonderful. One-shouldering my backpack, precariously balancing my computer bag and oboe on my other side, I make my way across the tarmac in 5-degree weather. I get inside, my appendages now frozen, and find my next gate.

Which HAD to be across the Chicago O’Hare airport. Just my luck.

So, with my balanced belongings and only 44 minutes before my next flight takes off, I quickly walk towards that God-forbidden gate. My cell phone is exploding with text messages that I cannot check while I am power walking across O’Hare. Plus, I have 3 layers on, and they like to keep airports heated. I make it to my gate drenched in sweat. I go from 5 degrees outside to sweating now…I’m going to get sick. At the gate I try to fix my backpack strap with no avail. Literally 3 minutes later, “Now seating Sections 1 and 2 of flight 950.” Good gosh can I not get a chance to sit down?

I board my plane. Window seat again (YES!), and this time next to a nice elderly gentleman. Who sleeps the entire way to Washington D.C. Pretty nice for me, and once again Stages and Stereos joins me on the flight. We land in D.C. (getting a gate this time) and I make my way over to the monitors with all the gate numbers listed. I find my flight and once again truck ACROSS the airport, one-shouldering the backpack and balancing the rest of my carry-ons. I find my gate, packed with people. I find a seat, and then realize I should probably use the rest room before my 9-hour flight. I don’t like peeing in the air.

I send my final goodbye text messages and my mother calls me one last time. She tells me to remember every detail of this once-in-a-lifetime trip. Which is part of the reason I decided to blog. I can write out every detail and the lovely Internet can remember them for me! Now boarding all sections of flight 966. That’s me. Goodbye friends. Goodbye family. Goodbye America.

Italy, here I come.

I don’t get a window seat this time, and a girl my age comes down the aisle. She is supposed to sit next to me. We settle in as comfortably as you can for an Economy flight, but she immediately looks around.

“I’m going to go sit up there by myself. Nothing against you,” she says with a smile.

My feelings aren’t hurt at all. I get the window seat and the row to MYSELF. What a nice 9-hour flight.

Pretty uneventful, actually. It took me 20 minutes to figure out that the movies have, like, 30 different channels for different languages. I naturally had to go ALL the way back to find English. And then the movies listed on the bulletin weren’t even the ones playing. And I was definitely looking forward to watching Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs. Dangit.

So I pop in my iPod for the 3 time today and settle into my rather uncomfortable seat. At least they give you a pillow and a blanket. And since I’m alone in the aisle, I have 2 sets. I definitely use the 2 pillows. I nap on and off. The flight attendants come by 4 or 5 times JUST for drink orders. I’m so used to only 1 offer. I quickly find out that if you ask for water, they pour it for you and you only get that glass. If you ask for a soft drink, they pour it for you and give you the rest of the can. And if you ask for both water AND a soft drink, you get a glass of water and the can of Coke. That’s the way to do it.

Sometime that evening (I’m not sure what time it was…I was jumping time zones all night) they served us dinner. The choices were chicken or pasta. Naturally, coming from Tyson land in Arkansas, I opted for chicken. Tyson does it so much better. The chicken was actually chicken and rice with what was supposed to be green beans and carrots. For some reason it had a distinct taste of curry, and I hate Indian food. So I munch on the chicken, trying to get SOME protein in my system, and pick my way through the wrinkled green beans and soft carrots.

At least the roll and brownie were good. Naturally, the 2 things I don’t need to be eating more of taste the best.

I nap on and off, sometimes cold, sometime hot, with a constant crick in my neck. I wonder if it’s worth paying the extra money for first class? I wake up after my longest nap session to breakfast being served. An apple pastry, yogurt, and juice. This actually tasted delicious. But I’m a fan of pastries…and yogurt…and juice. It’s hard to mess up breakfast.

I look out the window at the little lights that cover the terrain. Flipping to my nifty flight map on the video screen, I see that we are flying over France. Oui. At least if we crash we’ll take a nosedive to land and not into the ocean. That makes me feel a little better, until I notice that we have more water to pass over before landing in Rome. So much for that.

Once we land in Rome, I follow the crowd to the baggage claim. And the signs that have the luggage symbol on them. Easy enough. We have to jump on a tram to the baggage claim. Another lady asks me, “Do you know how to get to the baggage?” “You jump on this tram,” I say, sounding so sure of myself. Wow. I was proud of myself. I totally sounded like I travel to Italy all the time…good thing she didn’t know that I’m a Europe-virgin. We take the tram to the baggage, and I make my way to the seventh claim. Apparently all the American flights dump their loads here, because Danielle is standing there waiting. Ciao!

As we wait for our luggage, I decide to change my American money into Euros. My net worth has now essentially been divided into 2. Awesome. I get to the counter, and exchange my bills. Then I’m told they cannot exchange American coins, and the banks cannot either. WHAT? I’m stuck with $0.87 of useless American change. Maybe I can play Tiddlywinks with them. Grrr…

Danielle and I grab our luggage and make our way to the main lobby. Where do we go now? We make our way up the stairs with all our luggage, and she asks around to find out that we must take a train to the train station, then a metro to the bus station, then a bus to Teramo. How far out of the way IS this place?

We make our way back down the stairs, find the train, and make it just in time. Except there are stairs up the train, apparently made for skinny people. Not made for Americans with 2 bags full of 5 months worth of supplies. Making it up is fine; Danielle and I manage to twist my luggage out of the way. Getting off, though, I get stuck. I have 2 Italians pushing my luggage and me and Danielle pulling. I’m never coming back to Italy for 5 months. This isn’t worth it. I break free, and we begin our search for the metro.

We find it, down more stairs. Then, down MORE stairs is the ticket booth. We spend about 5 minutes trying to decipher how to get a ticket, and an impatient Italian behind us tries to cut Danielle off. Excuse me; did you not see the 2 other AVAILABLE ticket-thingies directly next to us? Jerk. We get our tickets, grab our luggage, and stop in our tracks.

Stairs, going UP.

Both my luggage bags weigh nearly 50 pounds, not including my 20-pound backpack and 30-pound computer bag. My shoulders still hurt thinking about it. I slowly drag my luggage up the stairs, and this adorable Italian with a guitar comes to my rescue! He grabs the bigger bag and easily carries it up the 2 flights of stairs. I am ahead of him struggling to pull my one bag up each step. He tells Danielle, “You can ruin your luggage dragging it up the stairs” and smiles. I know this. But do you think there is any chance I am lifting each 50-pound bag in one hand up 2 flights of stairs? Not possible.

We make it to the metro, and I am sweating. So much for looking cute when I get to Teramo. Getting on the metro was easier than getting on the train: no stairs. We chill out for a little while then make it to the bus station. Danielle asks where to find the bus to Teramo. She comes back to me with a disgusted look on her face. I ask, “Where are we going?”

“Up the DAMN stairs.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Luckily my vision and attention to detail was not lost with my 6 hours of sleep combined for the past two nights. I notice a sign for an elevator…Thank the Lord. We take the elevator, and then try to figure out where the heck we are headed. We head across the street, only to see that the buses are on the side of the road we just came from. Perfect. Apparently, God wants to make this trip as hard as possible for me, or he just has a wacky sense of humor. There is construction going on near the ticket station…so Danielle and I must 4-wheel it across gravel and mud with our luggage to find the buses. She asks a man if this is the bus to Teramo. He says no, and points to the other bus station hiding behind the bridge supports. Back in the direction we JUST came from.

Once again, I couldn’t help but laugh.

We 4-wheel it back across the mire to the other bus station, buy 2 tickets to Teramo, and have about 45 minutes to sit. I grab a sandwich from the concession store. I don’t know if it was because it was an Italian sandwich or that I was simply completely FAMISHED…but that sandwich was the best thing I have tasted in a long time.

We board the bus to Teramo, our luggage stored beneath. And we sleep. The next thing I know, people are getting off. Oh, no! Where are we? We ask a guy next to us, is this the stop for Teramo? No, it’s the next one. He was headed there himself. We’ll just follow him.

The bus drops us off in the middle of nowhere. On a curb. In the snow. This is NOT the University. I have no idea what is going on, and for the first time this trip, I have to put on my gloves. My luggage by this point has nasty dirt streaks all over it. I’m wondering if it is even going to make it back to the States in June. Danielle is fuming.

“There is NO way we are doing this again. If we are sending student over here, there has got to be a better way to get to this place.” I agree. Had I been by myself, there would have been NO possible way I would have even gotten this far. Ludicrous.

After what seems like an eternity, 2 buses with “Teramo” on the front roll around. This must be us. We load our luggage underneath one, and hop on. Only to discover that there are no seats. So Danielle gets off the bus. I follow her, losing my footing on one of the steps and careening down the stairwell. At least I caught myself on the last step. We grab our luggage and drag it toward the other bus. We get the last 2 seats, and I must sit next to an unpleasant woman. I don’t think she was planning on sharing a seat, let alone with my, my 3 layers of clothes, my 1-strapped backpack, 30-pound computer bag, and oboe. Sucks for her. But I have a University to get to.

The bus makes it to Teramo, but we have no idea where to get off. Not the first stop, how about the second? We end up at a little coffee shop. It’s about 1:30 in the afternoon. Apparently Italians take a break from work in the afternoon…so the city was dead. We get a taxi called for us, and 20 minutes later the driver shows up. 20 minutes? Really? We find out that Pino (our new taxi driver friend) is the only taxi in Teramo. I must be in the boonies. He takes us to our hotel, where we check in and make it up to our room.

Holy crap. It’s like a hostel.

There are 2 beds against the wall, with about 2 feet of walking space between them and the wall. The walls are a hideous dark turquoise color, and the carpet looks questionable. And this is the place all the visiting professors stay in for the University, the best of Teramo? Oh. My. Gosh.

I walk over to the bathroom. “Danielle, why are there two toilets?” She informs me that one is, like, a butt-cleaner. I don’t plan on using it.

“I’m using the one with the lid. That’s what I’m used to.” She laughs.

She calls Paola at the International Relations office. We will meet her at 4:00 in the lobby. Until then, we can shower and relax. I plop down on the bed, and pull out my computer. It’s only been 36 hours and I already miss everyone.

Thank goodness for Facebook.