It seems my body wants me to only sleep for four hours at a time. I guess that's okay, as long as I can do it more than once a day. Did the writing and the homework and rechecking everything between 5AM & 6AM and sat around staring at the walls for a while. No teevee in my room, no internet as yet and there's no going in the living area to watch the Signora's teevee. She pops up out of bed when I come out in the morning to see me off. She'd probably get apoplectic if I turned on tube at that hour. I left a little before 7 and walked slowly toward Santa Croce. Went into the Cafe Oibo again and was pleasantly surprised that the barista remembered my order from the day before. Yay!
My classmates Werner and Kristina, the German couple, are making me a little crazy. He cannot seem to grasp the idea that if a question is being asked to you (in the “you all” plural, like there's more than one of you being directly asked) that you answer in the “we” form – like “I” plural.) Apparently in German they don't have as much verb conjugation going on? I don't know. I only know romance-rooted languages so I can't speak to this. They do tell me there aren't prepositional phrases and indirect objects. Maybe we should all learn German. Kids wouldn't have to learn to parse out sentences and there'd be less anxiety in elementary school. I'm sure of it...
Werner gets soooooo stressed out when he's not “getting it” and turns beet red and starts muttering things in German that can't be all that nice, and then Kristina chimes in to give him the answer and they start hissing back and forth at each other. I should have videoed it. It only happened fourteen times today. Kristina, on the other hand, has an accent so thick there is no way you discern that Italian words are coming out of her mouth. I only know because we're reading from the same exercises.
Conversely, the young German woman in our conversation sessions is so easy to understand. When Fraucka speaks English you wouldn't even know she's German. She sounds so natural 95% of the time. Her Italian accent is clear and not overwrought with German-ness. If she has to slip into German to find a phrase it's almost a shock to me every time.
Fraucka and I are becoming friends. After class (our second sessions) she asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee during our 30 minute break before the third session. She's in a different setting for 3rd, since she's not taking the business course I am and I'm going solo in it. We went to a place around the corner in Piazza Santa Croce because Oibo was packed to the gills.
I learned a lot about the German educational systems and university tracks in a short space of time. Boy, that widely-known German efficiency is used in all aspects of life. That's all I can say.
Florence is stiflingly hot at the moment. We're having a late-season heatwave. It's been 85-88F but not absolutely unbearable thanks to the breezes and winds, even though they are sciroccos coming up from Africa which leaves actual grains of sand in your hair on on the floor of the shower – I kid you not. I've got Sahara sand in my hair, y'all! But I have been here in summer when it's 105 and absolutely still air. Ugh. I'll take the sand in my eyes, please. Here's hoping the heatwave does not extend to Venice when I'm there on Sunday.
Meanwhile back at the apartment of La Signora... CeeCee the cat is ruler of the roost, as most any cat is expected to be. At any given moment she is laying on the foyer table, in the sink, in the mail basket, in front of my door to trip me when I open it at 4AM. She must be old. The cantankerous bitching she makes as she's settling leads me to think she's got old bones. Me too, CeeCee.
I am very pleased to report I am the proud new owner of a working mobile broadband internet key. Whoo whoo! It's fast enough for me to stream teevee shows and talk on the magic jack. I have everything I need right there. Life is good.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
28 Settembre - Waking up
I set my alarm for 6AM but woke at 4. Completely awake. I completed my homework exercises, wrote and put away my things as I had planned to yesterday afternoon, before I succumbed to the sleep fairy. I waited until 6 to go and attempt to use the shower umbrella. I figured the Signora would probably make a face at me, but let's remember we are supposed to be independent people. Using a shower before sunrise can't be as bad as say, staggering in completely drunk at 3AM. Right? I wasn't going to walk out of this house without cleaning up. I was still grimy from transit.
I managed not to knock anything over, or fall down, so that's a plus in my book. Didn't soak the floor outside the bathroom. She didn't knock on the door so I couldn't have bothered her too much.
She get up to ask me if I wanted a coffee. I told her no thank you, I will get one near the school. I suppose I will “turn Italian” and start having just a coffee and cornetto (croissant) for breakfast. I can do this for this week, but believe me when I start the tours, taking advantage of the breakfasts at the hotels will be gladly welcomed. Fresh fruit, yogurt and mueslix galore. Not to mention an omelet, waffles and breakfast meats when I feel the need. Besides, it's a 15-20 minute walk to the school; the morning air and moving about will wake me up better than a coffee would anyway.
But, oh boy, I can tell I hadn't eaten anything in more than a day. My last full meal was in London at the airport more than a day before. Yikes. I felt like a dog sniffing the air as I walked along. Baked bread, brewing coffee, a fruit stand setting up almost knocked me over with the aroma of fresh fruit. I made my way to the Piazza Santa Croce and sat for a few minutes, filling and drinking from my water bottle.
I've gone on about this before, but I will again for those not familiar – there's really no need in most cities in Italy to every purchase bottles of water. Well okay, once – for a bottle to carry around. This isn't me being cheap, this is also ecological as there are SO many bottles thrown away. Millions. The water in the city fountains is crisp, fresh and free and comes from the mountains just like the water in the bottles you buy. I bring a bottle with me everywhere and fill it up as needed. Unless you are looking for sparkling water, the city fountains are just fine. The pipes and aqueducts are maintained so the water is good. Always. Unless there is a major catastrophe, like the earthquake in L'Aquila a few years ago, the water is always safe to drink. I save the sparkling water for eating in restaurants.
Decided on which cafe I wanted to have my morning coffee in (the one directly downstairs from the school, Cafe Oibo, because they have huge windows where I can sit with the computer and write, as I am now, while watching the city wake up and glimpse the sun peeking from behind the facade of the church across the piazza. I installed myself in a chair and ordered a doppio (double espresso) and cornetto mandorle (almond croissant.) Gustavo the school director knocked on the window as he passed on his way into the building.
I hadn't been able to find an open wifi signal at the house, not that I truly expected to, but the school does offer free use of their wifi. I couldn't access it from the cafe, so after my so-called breakfast I went up to the school to finish up and post to the blog and hopefully call home on my magicjack.
Ay yay yayy. The internet connect is sooooo s l o w. I managed to call home, but the slow speed only allowed me to catch about every fifth word coming out of my husband's mouth. This was a huge letdown. At times like this, the distance is unbearable. I wanted five minutes to talk to him and was so close to being able to. It crushed me a little. I resolved that later in the day I would go purchase an internet key so I can have my own mobile broadband signal. They are relatively cheap here – 30E for a unit, and then you can pay as you go by the month for around 20E, no 2 year contract necessary. And it's unlimited use. Why do the US companies jack you around so badly? Hopefully, this solves my problem of connection and communication.
Classes went very well. Even though I am in an “intermediate” class, I am still ahead of the others in both the grammar and conversation classes. If I was staying another week in school I would worry about it more, but just being able to practice has brought back a lot to me. And having the last block of lessons one-on-one, I feel like I'm flying through it.
Walked back to the house after classes and promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours. I am still getting used to the time difference and the lack of restful sleep from the trip over. And using my brain makes me tired too, I suppose.
The Signora knocked on my door to tell me her daughter had arrived and she wanted me to meet her. Her name is Raffaela and she is about my age. She and her family live in the same building, on the 4th floor. She speaks English, and I thought it was kind that the Signora wanted her to speak to me to find out if there was anything I needed – for her to be an intermediary and translate anything that was confusing to me. I feel the ice in her demeanor is melting...
Raffaela asked me where I have been in Italy and I told her my story about visiting here and now working here, having friends and an adopted family of sorts in Venice. Their faces lit up. They are Venetians! They moved to Florence ten years ago. Things will be better now, I think. I told her that I am usually a very people-oriented person and am not used to only being in my room – that I love to cook, and talk, and if her mother can handle my muddled terminology, I would love to spend more time “with the family” if they were comfortable with it. Raffaela's daughter is 12 and speaks English very well, even spends summers in Jersey (England) every year. The Signora seems very pleased and I think she trusts me a little bit more now. I'm not going to go burn her kitchen down.
I asked Raffaela if she went to “liceo” (high school, secondary school) in Venice and she said yes, and why? I told her my best friend is Venetian and he grew up on Giudecca and since we are all about the same age she may have known him. There is only one public high school in the city, and they both went to it. She promised to bring up her annualle (the yearbooks) to me. It would be amazing if she and Marco knew each other. She probably more likely knew his sister Francesca if anything.
We'll see how small this world is when I see the books.
I managed not to knock anything over, or fall down, so that's a plus in my book. Didn't soak the floor outside the bathroom. She didn't knock on the door so I couldn't have bothered her too much.
She get up to ask me if I wanted a coffee. I told her no thank you, I will get one near the school. I suppose I will “turn Italian” and start having just a coffee and cornetto (croissant) for breakfast. I can do this for this week, but believe me when I start the tours, taking advantage of the breakfasts at the hotels will be gladly welcomed. Fresh fruit, yogurt and mueslix galore. Not to mention an omelet, waffles and breakfast meats when I feel the need. Besides, it's a 15-20 minute walk to the school; the morning air and moving about will wake me up better than a coffee would anyway.
But, oh boy, I can tell I hadn't eaten anything in more than a day. My last full meal was in London at the airport more than a day before. Yikes. I felt like a dog sniffing the air as I walked along. Baked bread, brewing coffee, a fruit stand setting up almost knocked me over with the aroma of fresh fruit. I made my way to the Piazza Santa Croce and sat for a few minutes, filling and drinking from my water bottle.
I've gone on about this before, but I will again for those not familiar – there's really no need in most cities in Italy to every purchase bottles of water. Well okay, once – for a bottle to carry around. This isn't me being cheap, this is also ecological as there are SO many bottles thrown away. Millions. The water in the city fountains is crisp, fresh and free and comes from the mountains just like the water in the bottles you buy. I bring a bottle with me everywhere and fill it up as needed. Unless you are looking for sparkling water, the city fountains are just fine. The pipes and aqueducts are maintained so the water is good. Always. Unless there is a major catastrophe, like the earthquake in L'Aquila a few years ago, the water is always safe to drink. I save the sparkling water for eating in restaurants.
Decided on which cafe I wanted to have my morning coffee in (the one directly downstairs from the school, Cafe Oibo, because they have huge windows where I can sit with the computer and write, as I am now, while watching the city wake up and glimpse the sun peeking from behind the facade of the church across the piazza. I installed myself in a chair and ordered a doppio (double espresso) and cornetto mandorle (almond croissant.) Gustavo the school director knocked on the window as he passed on his way into the building.
I hadn't been able to find an open wifi signal at the house, not that I truly expected to, but the school does offer free use of their wifi. I couldn't access it from the cafe, so after my so-called breakfast I went up to the school to finish up and post to the blog and hopefully call home on my magicjack.
Ay yay yayy. The internet connect is sooooo s l o w. I managed to call home, but the slow speed only allowed me to catch about every fifth word coming out of my husband's mouth. This was a huge letdown. At times like this, the distance is unbearable. I wanted five minutes to talk to him and was so close to being able to. It crushed me a little. I resolved that later in the day I would go purchase an internet key so I can have my own mobile broadband signal. They are relatively cheap here – 30E for a unit, and then you can pay as you go by the month for around 20E, no 2 year contract necessary. And it's unlimited use. Why do the US companies jack you around so badly? Hopefully, this solves my problem of connection and communication.
Classes went very well. Even though I am in an “intermediate” class, I am still ahead of the others in both the grammar and conversation classes. If I was staying another week in school I would worry about it more, but just being able to practice has brought back a lot to me. And having the last block of lessons one-on-one, I feel like I'm flying through it.
Walked back to the house after classes and promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours. I am still getting used to the time difference and the lack of restful sleep from the trip over. And using my brain makes me tired too, I suppose.
The Signora knocked on my door to tell me her daughter had arrived and she wanted me to meet her. Her name is Raffaela and she is about my age. She and her family live in the same building, on the 4th floor. She speaks English, and I thought it was kind that the Signora wanted her to speak to me to find out if there was anything I needed – for her to be an intermediary and translate anything that was confusing to me. I feel the ice in her demeanor is melting...
Raffaela asked me where I have been in Italy and I told her my story about visiting here and now working here, having friends and an adopted family of sorts in Venice. Their faces lit up. They are Venetians! They moved to Florence ten years ago. Things will be better now, I think. I told her that I am usually a very people-oriented person and am not used to only being in my room – that I love to cook, and talk, and if her mother can handle my muddled terminology, I would love to spend more time “with the family” if they were comfortable with it. Raffaela's daughter is 12 and speaks English very well, even spends summers in Jersey (England) every year. The Signora seems very pleased and I think she trusts me a little bit more now. I'm not going to go burn her kitchen down.
I asked Raffaela if she went to “liceo” (high school, secondary school) in Venice and she said yes, and why? I told her my best friend is Venetian and he grew up on Giudecca and since we are all about the same age she may have known him. There is only one public high school in the city, and they both went to it. She promised to bring up her annualle (the yearbooks) to me. It would be amazing if she and Marco knew each other. She probably more likely knew his sister Francesca if anything.
We'll see how small this world is when I see the books.
27 Settembre – Thank the Deities for Elevators
I hopped in a cab outside of the Santa Maria Novella train station to Scuola Toscana, the language institute. We arrived and I entered the lobby vestibule to find it was on the 4th floor, actually the 5th floor to us Americans. All I saw was stairs. And I almost burst into tears. For a fleeting moment I thought to myself “I don't need clothes. I don't need anything. I'll buy everything new. Just leave it here.” Riiiight. At that moment I was greeted by two people entering the building and I recognized the gentleman as the director of the institute, Gustavo. I introduced myself and he smiled “Kristen! We are so happy to see you today!” He took my bag and brought it up to the next landing twelve steps up, where there was a tiny elevator. Thank YOU!!! Small miracles await around every corner.
They checked me in and presented me with a packet of information. Most students begin on Mondays, but they arranged for a Tuesday to Saturday week for me. Because I'm special, dammit.
Class didn't begin until 9AM so I had 45 minutes to go supply myself with enough caffeine for the next block of time so as not to start snoring in front of people (or drooling). The school is across the street from Piazza Santa Croce, and so I sat in the morning sunlight on a stone bench facing the church of Santa Croce and wondering how in the world did I get to be so fortunate as to have this adventure I was embarking on? No amount of travel exhaustion could get to me at that moment. I felt very invigorated and energized. One of my favorite places in the world – right here – in front of that church, where those amazing men of science and art, the architects of the renaissance – literally, “those” guys- are interred in their mausoleums. I am going to school. I am working my dream job. I am here, and being paid to do it. I feel like the pieces clicked together for me at that moment. Never take anything for granted.
The first block of lessons each day is review of regular everyday italian grammar. I am in a class with a german couple, Werner and Kristina. They are in their 50s. The second block of classes is conversation and everyday communication. I have Werner & Kristina there too, along with two young women in their early 20s: Fraucka (German) and Carolina (Chile). The last block of lessons is just me, apparently, and it is business & hospitality phrases and situations.
I left at 2PM and hauled my things down across the street to a taxi stand, where the happy and singing driver too me to meet my host for the week. I was a little disappointed that I am not staying in a shared apartment with other students, but I think the school thought that I wouldn't be happy living with young girls in their 20s, and they opted to have me in a more “mature” setting. I get Signora Rossana Rugi di Biasi, a tiny woman in her early 70s and her cat CeeCee. The apartment is on the 6th floor – and again – I thanked the deities for elevators!
The apartment is large and spacious with high ceilings, although it seems I am relegated to my room only. She was a little stern in her instructions to me. While giving me the lay of land she told me no eating or drinking in my room and to keep the door closed. Because of the cat. Ok. But she also said the living room is hers. I can be independent and she will not bother me. But I have my room. That's it. When I inquired about use of the kitchen, which is to be included according to the school, she made a face. Oh great. She showed me a pot I can use for pasta, and a small pan I can use for other things. And the small coffeepot for single servings. She will make a little space for me in the fridge. Oh thanks...quite magnanimous of you.
I imagine she usually has younger people staying and they don't cook, so she has become used to it. I told her I do like to cook and I promise to clean up after myself. She looked at me dubiously. I will win her over. I have no doubt.
I also have to leave the keys on the front table in the hall when I am home, so she knows I am there. That seems reasonable when you think about it. I have my own bathroom. It is three feet wide by nine feet long and completely tiled. The shower is built into the wall and the curtain is extended by an umbrella-like contraption that is supposed to encompass you. All I can imagine is that water will flow over more than the drain in the floor and I can only imagine the Signora's face.
I will be minding my Ps & Qs.
I began to put my things away, only things I know I will need for the week, but was suddenly so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. It was 4PM and the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. I set the alarm on my phone and went to bed. I have homework exercises, but I planned to do them in the morning.
Good night. I planned on sleeping the sleep of the dead for at least 12 hours.
They checked me in and presented me with a packet of information. Most students begin on Mondays, but they arranged for a Tuesday to Saturday week for me. Because I'm special, dammit.
Class didn't begin until 9AM so I had 45 minutes to go supply myself with enough caffeine for the next block of time so as not to start snoring in front of people (or drooling). The school is across the street from Piazza Santa Croce, and so I sat in the morning sunlight on a stone bench facing the church of Santa Croce and wondering how in the world did I get to be so fortunate as to have this adventure I was embarking on? No amount of travel exhaustion could get to me at that moment. I felt very invigorated and energized. One of my favorite places in the world – right here – in front of that church, where those amazing men of science and art, the architects of the renaissance – literally, “those” guys- are interred in their mausoleums. I am going to school. I am working my dream job. I am here, and being paid to do it. I feel like the pieces clicked together for me at that moment. Never take anything for granted.
The first block of lessons each day is review of regular everyday italian grammar. I am in a class with a german couple, Werner and Kristina. They are in their 50s. The second block of classes is conversation and everyday communication. I have Werner & Kristina there too, along with two young women in their early 20s: Fraucka (German) and Carolina (Chile). The last block of lessons is just me, apparently, and it is business & hospitality phrases and situations.
I left at 2PM and hauled my things down across the street to a taxi stand, where the happy and singing driver too me to meet my host for the week. I was a little disappointed that I am not staying in a shared apartment with other students, but I think the school thought that I wouldn't be happy living with young girls in their 20s, and they opted to have me in a more “mature” setting. I get Signora Rossana Rugi di Biasi, a tiny woman in her early 70s and her cat CeeCee. The apartment is on the 6th floor – and again – I thanked the deities for elevators!
The apartment is large and spacious with high ceilings, although it seems I am relegated to my room only. She was a little stern in her instructions to me. While giving me the lay of land she told me no eating or drinking in my room and to keep the door closed. Because of the cat. Ok. But she also said the living room is hers. I can be independent and she will not bother me. But I have my room. That's it. When I inquired about use of the kitchen, which is to be included according to the school, she made a face. Oh great. She showed me a pot I can use for pasta, and a small pan I can use for other things. And the small coffeepot for single servings. She will make a little space for me in the fridge. Oh thanks...quite magnanimous of you.
I imagine she usually has younger people staying and they don't cook, so she has become used to it. I told her I do like to cook and I promise to clean up after myself. She looked at me dubiously. I will win her over. I have no doubt.
I also have to leave the keys on the front table in the hall when I am home, so she knows I am there. That seems reasonable when you think about it. I have my own bathroom. It is three feet wide by nine feet long and completely tiled. The shower is built into the wall and the curtain is extended by an umbrella-like contraption that is supposed to encompass you. All I can imagine is that water will flow over more than the drain in the floor and I can only imagine the Signora's face.
I will be minding my Ps & Qs.
I began to put my things away, only things I know I will need for the week, but was suddenly so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. It was 4PM and the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. I set the alarm on my phone and went to bed. I have homework exercises, but I planned to do them in the morning.
Good night. I planned on sleeping the sleep of the dead for at least 12 hours.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
25/26 Settembre - Getting There in ONLY 132 Steps
The day has finally arrived for my return to work in Italy. I will be going to school for five days in Florence first, not only for a language review, which is SORELY needed, but also to learn “Italian for business” - the phrases and discussions I would likely to run into. The language institute I am attending offers classes for people in the hospitality, culinary and design industries. I love a classroom setting and am very excited, even though the idea of six hours a day has me thinking I will will drinking a lot of caffeine. But it is only five days, after all. I think I can hack it.
I have brought along a few mini companions on this trip, for the first couple of months. I put the word out to my friends that if they wanted to send me a small stuffed animal in need of a vacation, I can oblige. Photos will be included when I send them back before Christmas. Wouldn't you want your little stuffed friend to have a guided tour of Italy even if you can't go with them? Here's your friend at the Colesseum, on a gondola, overlooking the ocean in Sorrento.
So I am in possession of a monkey, a koala, a gnome and the cutest little white dog ever. The dog belongs to the 10 year old daughter of a friend from high school. She wrote the sweetest note when she sent her, telling me her name was Snowball. Laura then caught me on an instant message on Facebook and told me her name has changed to Sienna, like her own real dog. I will care for them and keep them from running into too much trouble, and try to keep the clients from thinking they are being led around by a crazy lady. You know, as per usual.
Said goodbye to my darling husband at the airport. This is going to be the longest I've been away from him. I will be gone for almost five months, but he will come over at New Year's, so it will still be just over three months by the time I see him again. It may get rough emotionally. Gosh, you think?
Finally aboard the plane – in a cushy business class seat. I can still manage to dislike the person in front of me though. I have a knack for being seated near people who annoy. Before the plane had taken off she stretched out her chair to the maximum space allowable about seven times. There is definitely more space in business, but she still managed to encroach on what I consider my personal space about six times too many. Especially when you consider that the time before you take off is usually spent putting your things away. She knocked me in the head as I was placing my bag under the seat a few times. Calm down, lady... jeez
It's a little sad to admit, but most of the movies are on airplanes. I just don't go to the movie theaters much, even though we have a really good one in my neighborhood (Yay, Piedmont Theater!) No stupid blow 'em up blockbusters for me and my twelve dollars. So I spend my time hurtling through the air at 40,000 feet watching those movies I don't deem “worthy” of my time on the ground. I am the epitome of a captive audience while on the plane.
The one exception this time around was that they were showing the documentary “Senna” about the race driver Ayrton Senna. It's still out in theaters in the US, but since I was on Virgin Atlantic, the Brits have seen it come and gone from their theaters. If you get the opportunity – GO! I was supposed to see it with my Dad in a few weeks ago and didn't get to go. I am so glad I saw it. I have always been in awe Senna's talents, so to a racing fan the backstory and footage is fantastic. To someone who is not a racing fan, it is definitely interesting. You do not have to be a gearhead or know anything about racing to follow it. It was done very well.
I also watched “Bridesmaids” and “Thor.” Um... yeah. Very glad I didn't spend money on either. Next?
Did something different by ordering a special meal in advance. My rationale was that I would be served first, not have to worry about them not having the selection I wanted with a regular meal – then again, I would be served first anyway because I wasn't in coach. Duh. See where my mind is? I ordered a Hindu menu. It was really good. Chicken curry, lovely basmati rice, potatoes and cauliflower. No naan, darn it. Flavorful!
My friends who ask me about traveling at some point usually get a diatribe about how much I dislike the Paris airport and avoid it like the plague. Charles de Gaulle is the worst hub and I will do about anything to ensure I do not have a connection through there. Guess what? I have a new LEAST favorite airport. Heathrow in London!
It's been a few years since I've been here, and I've never had to use it as a connection; only as my destination. We all spent over an hour and a half getting through passport control. Over 90 minutes IN LINE to have a worker bee stamp my passport. Get some more lines going, people. That was ridiculous. The rest of my dislike is based purely on how tired I was and having to maneuver my bags through the terminals. I'm willing to concede that the situation from the outset was not exactly ideal, so I reserve the right to change my opinion for LHR after some time has passed.
My home office folks made an odd booking for my plane tickets (someone was not on the ball – and we're touring company – yikes!) so to amend it they purchased a separate ticket from London to Rome, thus making me have two separate tickets, separate bookings, separate record locators. What does this mean? It means my luggage was not getting pushed all the way through to Rome. I had to pick up my bags in London, exit the terminal and go through check in again, security again, everything again.
I knew it was going to happen beforehand, but it was still tiring to do it. Heathrow is huge and being muscle sore, punchy from flying, and angry in the head from the passport control stupidity, having to walk half a mile to go get the bags, walking another mile (not kidding – it was 25 minutes on foot!) to the Tube station below ground and get the train to Terminal 4, THEN another half mile inside to the Alitalia desk to check in again and hand over my things.
Which is exactly what I did. I pulled the “I'm a Gold Medallion member I want to check in additional baggage for no cost” card and got rid of everything but my wallet, my phone and some gum. They did it. Virgin had allowed only on bag, weighing 50 lbs maximum. I had a carry-on stuffed to the gills and my large messenger bag with the computer and electronic doo-dads. But thanks to my usual frequent flyer program rigidity, now they were gone. Away! Good thing too – my gate was another 15 minute walk from security. Yup. Batting a thousand here. Where's my pedometer?
Then the dread set in. My flight was delayed until the middle of the night. I found a corner chair and half-slept for five hours. We were supposed to land in Rome at 8PM, but the delay got us there at 3AM. Too early for the express train into the main train station, Alitalia made up for it by busing those of us desiring, on a coach bus instead. We got to the Termini station before 5AM and I lugged my things onto a train for Florence. It was a sleeper train, coming from Calabria (the toe of the Italian boot) and bound eventually for Venice, an “Inter-City Notte” designation. I hadn't been on a night train in my travel experience. I found a cabin with two guys sleeping, woke them up and asked them to move over (the cabins seat six) and we were joined by two others. I didn't feel so bad after that.
Two hours later just before 6:30AM I was handing my luggage down off the train in Florence to a helpful soul I was hoping wouldn't take off with it before I could get onto the platform. Over 27 hours in transit, not much sleep – certainly none that was restful, and I still get to go spend 6 hours in classes and then go put my things away in the apartment I am in for the week.
Give me strength. Give me caffeine.
I have brought along a few mini companions on this trip, for the first couple of months. I put the word out to my friends that if they wanted to send me a small stuffed animal in need of a vacation, I can oblige. Photos will be included when I send them back before Christmas. Wouldn't you want your little stuffed friend to have a guided tour of Italy even if you can't go with them? Here's your friend at the Colesseum, on a gondola, overlooking the ocean in Sorrento.
So I am in possession of a monkey, a koala, a gnome and the cutest little white dog ever. The dog belongs to the 10 year old daughter of a friend from high school. She wrote the sweetest note when she sent her, telling me her name was Snowball. Laura then caught me on an instant message on Facebook and told me her name has changed to Sienna, like her own real dog. I will care for them and keep them from running into too much trouble, and try to keep the clients from thinking they are being led around by a crazy lady. You know, as per usual.
Said goodbye to my darling husband at the airport. This is going to be the longest I've been away from him. I will be gone for almost five months, but he will come over at New Year's, so it will still be just over three months by the time I see him again. It may get rough emotionally. Gosh, you think?
Finally aboard the plane – in a cushy business class seat. I can still manage to dislike the person in front of me though. I have a knack for being seated near people who annoy. Before the plane had taken off she stretched out her chair to the maximum space allowable about seven times. There is definitely more space in business, but she still managed to encroach on what I consider my personal space about six times too many. Especially when you consider that the time before you take off is usually spent putting your things away. She knocked me in the head as I was placing my bag under the seat a few times. Calm down, lady... jeez
It's a little sad to admit, but most of the movies are on airplanes. I just don't go to the movie theaters much, even though we have a really good one in my neighborhood (Yay, Piedmont Theater!) No stupid blow 'em up blockbusters for me and my twelve dollars. So I spend my time hurtling through the air at 40,000 feet watching those movies I don't deem “worthy” of my time on the ground. I am the epitome of a captive audience while on the plane.
The one exception this time around was that they were showing the documentary “Senna” about the race driver Ayrton Senna. It's still out in theaters in the US, but since I was on Virgin Atlantic, the Brits have seen it come and gone from their theaters. If you get the opportunity – GO! I was supposed to see it with my Dad in a few weeks ago and didn't get to go. I am so glad I saw it. I have always been in awe Senna's talents, so to a racing fan the backstory and footage is fantastic. To someone who is not a racing fan, it is definitely interesting. You do not have to be a gearhead or know anything about racing to follow it. It was done very well.
I also watched “Bridesmaids” and “Thor.” Um... yeah. Very glad I didn't spend money on either. Next?
Did something different by ordering a special meal in advance. My rationale was that I would be served first, not have to worry about them not having the selection I wanted with a regular meal – then again, I would be served first anyway because I wasn't in coach. Duh. See where my mind is? I ordered a Hindu menu. It was really good. Chicken curry, lovely basmati rice, potatoes and cauliflower. No naan, darn it. Flavorful!
My friends who ask me about traveling at some point usually get a diatribe about how much I dislike the Paris airport and avoid it like the plague. Charles de Gaulle is the worst hub and I will do about anything to ensure I do not have a connection through there. Guess what? I have a new LEAST favorite airport. Heathrow in London!
It's been a few years since I've been here, and I've never had to use it as a connection; only as my destination. We all spent over an hour and a half getting through passport control. Over 90 minutes IN LINE to have a worker bee stamp my passport. Get some more lines going, people. That was ridiculous. The rest of my dislike is based purely on how tired I was and having to maneuver my bags through the terminals. I'm willing to concede that the situation from the outset was not exactly ideal, so I reserve the right to change my opinion for LHR after some time has passed.
My home office folks made an odd booking for my plane tickets (someone was not on the ball – and we're touring company – yikes!) so to amend it they purchased a separate ticket from London to Rome, thus making me have two separate tickets, separate bookings, separate record locators. What does this mean? It means my luggage was not getting pushed all the way through to Rome. I had to pick up my bags in London, exit the terminal and go through check in again, security again, everything again.
I knew it was going to happen beforehand, but it was still tiring to do it. Heathrow is huge and being muscle sore, punchy from flying, and angry in the head from the passport control stupidity, having to walk half a mile to go get the bags, walking another mile (not kidding – it was 25 minutes on foot!) to the Tube station below ground and get the train to Terminal 4, THEN another half mile inside to the Alitalia desk to check in again and hand over my things.
Which is exactly what I did. I pulled the “I'm a Gold Medallion member I want to check in additional baggage for no cost” card and got rid of everything but my wallet, my phone and some gum. They did it. Virgin had allowed only on bag, weighing 50 lbs maximum. I had a carry-on stuffed to the gills and my large messenger bag with the computer and electronic doo-dads. But thanks to my usual frequent flyer program rigidity, now they were gone. Away! Good thing too – my gate was another 15 minute walk from security. Yup. Batting a thousand here. Where's my pedometer?
Then the dread set in. My flight was delayed until the middle of the night. I found a corner chair and half-slept for five hours. We were supposed to land in Rome at 8PM, but the delay got us there at 3AM. Too early for the express train into the main train station, Alitalia made up for it by busing those of us desiring, on a coach bus instead. We got to the Termini station before 5AM and I lugged my things onto a train for Florence. It was a sleeper train, coming from Calabria (the toe of the Italian boot) and bound eventually for Venice, an “Inter-City Notte” designation. I hadn't been on a night train in my travel experience. I found a cabin with two guys sleeping, woke them up and asked them to move over (the cabins seat six) and we were joined by two others. I didn't feel so bad after that.
Two hours later just before 6:30AM I was handing my luggage down off the train in Florence to a helpful soul I was hoping wouldn't take off with it before I could get onto the platform. Over 27 hours in transit, not much sleep – certainly none that was restful, and I still get to go spend 6 hours in classes and then go put my things away in the apartment I am in for the week.
Give me strength. Give me caffeine.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
25 September - Yadda Yadda Yadda
Epilogue
ok, ok, ok. I failed. I didn't complete my blogging the last ten days of the last trip. I'm a horrible person. Here's a synopsis, as I sit here in the airport waiting to board my flight to return to Italy to work. Yeah, it's months later, but think of all the fun times we have in store. Forgive me, move on, and enjoy the ride.
In brief:
Luke & Char went back home. My landlords had to come back to town for legal proceedings and they needed the house back- I wasn't homeless or anything. I stayed at a rental I've used before down by the city gardens on the southeast end of the city. Frank called to invite me down to Bologna to help out on a tour for two nights. Mamma's house had a problem with their plumbing and workmen were making her crazy until she took a fall from the mess they had in her kitchen and bath. I took her to the hospital. Nothing broken, but a bad sprain on her wrist and black and blue up her side. I bought them a microwave so she wouldn't be cooking while she recuperated. We celebrated the 150th anniversary of Italy being a nation. My tours were switched with Frank and I got to leave to come home a few weeks earlier than expected.
And on a bad note: got robbed outside of a currency exchange by a gang of Albanians. Grr! NEVER use those kinds of establishments, folks. You're a sitting duck for crime.
Other than that, another fantastic experience. Here we go again.
ok, ok, ok. I failed. I didn't complete my blogging the last ten days of the last trip. I'm a horrible person. Here's a synopsis, as I sit here in the airport waiting to board my flight to return to Italy to work. Yeah, it's months later, but think of all the fun times we have in store. Forgive me, move on, and enjoy the ride.
In brief:
Luke & Char went back home. My landlords had to come back to town for legal proceedings and they needed the house back- I wasn't homeless or anything. I stayed at a rental I've used before down by the city gardens on the southeast end of the city. Frank called to invite me down to Bologna to help out on a tour for two nights. Mamma's house had a problem with their plumbing and workmen were making her crazy until she took a fall from the mess they had in her kitchen and bath. I took her to the hospital. Nothing broken, but a bad sprain on her wrist and black and blue up her side. I bought them a microwave so she wouldn't be cooking while she recuperated. We celebrated the 150th anniversary of Italy being a nation. My tours were switched with Frank and I got to leave to come home a few weeks earlier than expected.
And on a bad note: got robbed outside of a currency exchange by a gang of Albanians. Grr! NEVER use those kinds of establishments, folks. You're a sitting duck for crime.
Other than that, another fantastic experience. Here we go again.