Woke up at 3:00 am. Cute dogs from yesterday? Decidedly not as cute barking their heads off all night. I thought Italy was full of cats? I lay there for a while meditating. Doing breathing exercises. No dice, so finally I got up to make some more tea and began looking through Lucia's travel brochures, picking out a few things, when mom got up. We decided to eat a few of the cookies we got at the grocery store, then went back to bed. She, curled up with her Nook. Me, with my head under a pillow.
We didn't get out of bed until nearly 10:00 am. The phone is now working. Apparently, it takes 24 hours to activate. Here's the funny, slash slightly humiliating part... I actually have no idea how to make an international call. Not within Italy, and not to home. Do i need to include the calling codes? What is the calling ode for he US? I feel like a five year old. In my ignorance, I think I use just about all of the minutes trying to call Delta and Alitalia about the luggage, via the ,19 euro connection charge and ,10 euro per minute fees. We get half a call into the matriarch mermaid (grandma) before the phone cuts off. As we top up the phone at an ATM later (yes, wicked cool... And figuring this out makes me feel smart again), mom insists on adding 50 euros, which I think is insane. However, as some of my good friends will attest, I'm the kind of girl that only takes money out of the ATM in $20 increments when we go out. My reasoning: if you have it in hand, you'll spend it.) So -- phone recharged -- we now have to wait for it to take effect. In the meantime? No phone. Again.
I was able to get through to Delta before we called grandma. Uber helpful, really. I'm being sarcastic. Really. Despite my having BOUGHT the ticket from Delta, and the trip ORIGINATING with them, they are unable to give us any information about the status of our bags. You might ask at this point, am I kidding? Friend, the answer is a resounding NO. I beg. I plead. I promise to bear his children (this I am joking about, of course. I only promised him one of mine...) I explain that each time I get through to Alitalia, I can't get someone who speaks English, and when they realize I don't speak Italian, the line goes mysteriously dead. Meaning they hang up. And don't think I'm being pessimistic here... it happens about six times. Six times multiplied by a ,19 euro connection fee plus two minutes each multiplied by ,10 euros per minute. Math sucks.
I do, however, gain some incredibly valuable information on the Delta call. We can go out and buy what clothes and toiletries we need to get by until the bags come. Rrrrrrrrr (insert sound of record scratch here). Excuse me? That would have been helpful information to have had, um... yesterday. I ask him what the daily limit is.
There is no limit.
No way. No way (bears repeating). Once again, limoncello from the hand of lemons we've been dealt. But this is delicious limoncello of the gods. He adds that we shouldn't go out and buy Versace, but we should get what we need. Ok, maybe I will bear him a child.
I'm just saying.
Shall we go shopping?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Refugees
I'm sitting here listening to Yo-Yo Ma as a cool breeze brushes the organza drape next to my bed across my leg and wisps of drying hair across my face. I'm drinking a cup if tea and watching the lights of the quaint town below flicker. I'm waiting for the sounds of the next round of church bells clanging reassuringly in the distance, or the dogs playfully scuffling in the courtyard. Needless to say, the place we are staying is beyond decadent... especially given the last 24 hours.
My patron saint of the day, though there were several, must be Lucia -- the owner of this place. After we finally made it to the train station in Sorrento, only to discover the cell phone we bought in Naples isn't working, I borrowed a cell phone from the girl at the travel kiosk to let her know -- as instructed -- that we had arrived. Strangers have been kind to us today, and Lucia did not buck the trend. She offered to come pick us up. While we waited, I went on a fruitless search for sustenance, as neither of has eaten since early this morning. It's now 3:00 pm.
When Lucia arrives, she does so with flamboyance anyone would appreciate. A woman of large build, she's sharply dressed in white slacks and a shirt in hues of blue with thong sandals adorned with jewels. She comes bearing a huge hug, and I swear -- I just about melt in her arms. She whisks us off in the car, not just showing us the place we are to stay, but going so much further -- taking us to her own house to explain the bus schedule, to the grocery store and even to an Internet cafe and phone store to get us all straightened out.
I actually may be in love with Lucia at this point. I'd like to think it is some of my good Airbnb karma coming back to full circle.
Although mom is exhausted by the time we get back near sunset, I insist we salvage some of the day, taking a beautiful bottle of white wine and cherry tomatoes -- gifts from our new friend and hostess -- and a plate of antipasto to the roof deck to watch the sunset. We decide to just pour half the bottle in each glass. Makes sense, right? We sip wine and nibble as we watch the sun sink into the horizon just right of Capri. The buffalo mozzarella, salami and olives are like nothing we have ever tasted. It is magnificent.
Mom keeps calling us refugees, as she washes her clothes in the sink and I take what-- hand to God -- is the most amazing shower of my life. We've both got airline-issued white T's on. And that's it.
Heres hoping our bags come tomorrow.
It is before 9:00 pm here, but I've now been up for about 38 hours. I think I'll turn in.
My patron saint of the day, though there were several, must be Lucia -- the owner of this place. After we finally made it to the train station in Sorrento, only to discover the cell phone we bought in Naples isn't working, I borrowed a cell phone from the girl at the travel kiosk to let her know -- as instructed -- that we had arrived. Strangers have been kind to us today, and Lucia did not buck the trend. She offered to come pick us up. While we waited, I went on a fruitless search for sustenance, as neither of has eaten since early this morning. It's now 3:00 pm.
When Lucia arrives, she does so with flamboyance anyone would appreciate. A woman of large build, she's sharply dressed in white slacks and a shirt in hues of blue with thong sandals adorned with jewels. She comes bearing a huge hug, and I swear -- I just about melt in her arms. She whisks us off in the car, not just showing us the place we are to stay, but going so much further -- taking us to her own house to explain the bus schedule, to the grocery store and even to an Internet cafe and phone store to get us all straightened out.
I actually may be in love with Lucia at this point. I'd like to think it is some of my good Airbnb karma coming back to full circle.
Although mom is exhausted by the time we get back near sunset, I insist we salvage some of the day, taking a beautiful bottle of white wine and cherry tomatoes -- gifts from our new friend and hostess -- and a plate of antipasto to the roof deck to watch the sunset. We decide to just pour half the bottle in each glass. Makes sense, right? We sip wine and nibble as we watch the sun sink into the horizon just right of Capri. The buffalo mozzarella, salami and olives are like nothing we have ever tasted. It is magnificent.
Mom keeps calling us refugees, as she washes her clothes in the sink and I take what-- hand to God -- is the most amazing shower of my life. We've both got airline-issued white T's on. And that's it.
Heres hoping our bags come tomorrow.
It is before 9:00 pm here, but I've now been up for about 38 hours. I think I'll turn in.
Houston, We Have A Problem...
The only thing that hasn't been lost in the last 24 hours is my mind, but I have to say -- we're a hop, skip and a jump away from sheer lunacy.
The airline lost our bags. Not just one... BOTH of them.
After deplaning, changing our US cash into significantly less euros (a process I am not learning to love, and doubt I ever will), we waited at the specified baggage carousel for about a half hour. Long enough for almost everyone else to leave. When we went to ask, the nonchalant response was, " just give it ten more minutes." after 15 and still nothing, we spent an hour filing a lost luggage claim over a language barrier that would have the Dalai Lama ready to scream.
It gets better. I know that seems impossible to believe, but it does.
The train employees are striking. I buy tickets at the self-serve kiosk, which in itself is an Oscar-worthy feat (I'd like to thank the Internet, my family...) I digress. Some trains appear to be running, but others are making passengers get off and shutting down. We end up having to pay double to take the high speed train, after I get a lecture from the agent who wants to know why I didn't come right to the window. If you want me to use the window, why are there all these convenient ticketing machines? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but this whole thing is a bit suspicious.
We get to Rome's Termini Station late to hear an announcement that our train is departing. Track 10. We are on track 25. We are running, and poor mom -- I know she can breathe. Her asthma has been bothering her, and she's trying to keep up with me. I ask if she just wants to scrap it and try and change the ticket, but she just asks if it's much further. I feel so bad, trying to encourage her that we are almost there, then sprinting to the train just as the conductor is getting on. I beg him to wait, trying to explain by pointing to my chest that she's coming, though is having a hard time. She rounds the corner and he shoos us unto the train, directing us to compartment nine.
We are in compartment one.
It's a long walk back on a moving train. Mom is tired. My feet are blistered. We are both utterly exhausted. I am sitting here, looking out the window at the Roman countryside, trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Here's what I've got: we didn't have to carry our luggage through the train station. If we'd had it, we never would have made the connection to Naples. With any luck, we'll get our bags in a day or two, and I thought to ask for toiletry kits at the airport that included clean t-shirts. Having to shop for a few things in Italy doesn't suck, either.
The point is, yes -- it's been a rough day. But when it boils right down to it... we are here and we are safe. And HERE just happens to be Italy. I'm looking at Mount Vesuvius and watching my beautiful mother sleep. I have a month off to spend exploring this country, and a few credit cards at my disposal if the bags DON'T come.
What else do I really need?
The airline lost our bags. Not just one... BOTH of them.
After deplaning, changing our US cash into significantly less euros (a process I am not learning to love, and doubt I ever will), we waited at the specified baggage carousel for about a half hour. Long enough for almost everyone else to leave. When we went to ask, the nonchalant response was, " just give it ten more minutes." after 15 and still nothing, we spent an hour filing a lost luggage claim over a language barrier that would have the Dalai Lama ready to scream.
It gets better. I know that seems impossible to believe, but it does.
The train employees are striking. I buy tickets at the self-serve kiosk, which in itself is an Oscar-worthy feat (I'd like to thank the Internet, my family...) I digress. Some trains appear to be running, but others are making passengers get off and shutting down. We end up having to pay double to take the high speed train, after I get a lecture from the agent who wants to know why I didn't come right to the window. If you want me to use the window, why are there all these convenient ticketing machines? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but this whole thing is a bit suspicious.
We get to Rome's Termini Station late to hear an announcement that our train is departing. Track 10. We are on track 25. We are running, and poor mom -- I know she can breathe. Her asthma has been bothering her, and she's trying to keep up with me. I ask if she just wants to scrap it and try and change the ticket, but she just asks if it's much further. I feel so bad, trying to encourage her that we are almost there, then sprinting to the train just as the conductor is getting on. I beg him to wait, trying to explain by pointing to my chest that she's coming, though is having a hard time. She rounds the corner and he shoos us unto the train, directing us to compartment nine.
We are in compartment one.
It's a long walk back on a moving train. Mom is tired. My feet are blistered. We are both utterly exhausted. I am sitting here, looking out the window at the Roman countryside, trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Here's what I've got: we didn't have to carry our luggage through the train station. If we'd had it, we never would have made the connection to Naples. With any luck, we'll get our bags in a day or two, and I thought to ask for toiletry kits at the airport that included clean t-shirts. Having to shop for a few things in Italy doesn't suck, either.
The point is, yes -- it's been a rough day. But when it boils right down to it... we are here and we are safe. And HERE just happens to be Italy. I'm looking at Mount Vesuvius and watching my beautiful mother sleep. I have a month off to spend exploring this country, and a few credit cards at my disposal if the bags DON'T come.
What else do I really need?
Almost There
I dozed for just a moment on mom's shoulder, but neither of us could really sleep. We ended up watching Pirates of the Caribbean, Part Too Many, each of us with one earbud in using my jack. Ironic movie, given that my treasure a few hours ago was returned in a cab called "Black Pearl". Mom keeps trying to touch my camera, now that she knows I'm sensitive about it. She's worse than a little lid, cracking herself up, poking my camera bag.
I just opened the window shade to see light on the horizon. We're somewhere over France, past Paris, watching the sun come up on another continent. We can see mountains in the distance, backlit by the most vibrant orange color, with specs of light on the ground clustered around towns. They're preparing breakfast in the galley, which is confusing my body, guided by senses that know it's just after midnight back home. My body is rejecting all the carb-rich food. I want vegetables. We're plan to go grocery shopping on the way to Massa Lubrense, the first place on our great Italian tour.
We should be on the ground in an hour.
I just opened the window shade to see light on the horizon. We're somewhere over France, past Paris, watching the sun come up on another continent. We can see mountains in the distance, backlit by the most vibrant orange color, with specs of light on the ground clustered around towns. They're preparing breakfast in the galley, which is confusing my body, guided by senses that know it's just after midnight back home. My body is rejecting all the carb-rich food. I want vegetables. We're plan to go grocery shopping on the way to Massa Lubrense, the first place on our great Italian tour.
We should be on the ground in an hour.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Mom Loves Me Best
It's dark outside. We are somewhere between Boston and Italy a I type this. We are sitting directly in front of the bathroom in the very back of the plane. The headset in her seat doesn't work. The cushion in mine doesn't exist. I'm a wee bit claustrophobic, and here I am, boxed in to a window seat. It's really hot, and the seat is feeling smaller and smaller.
Breathe, Amy. Breathe.
Mom's Nook isn't working, and she has absolutely no interest in my offer of Newsweek. She brought games with her from Florida, including Scrabble -- my fave -- and left them in my car to try and lighten up the load. She is a bit ticked, and my telling her we need to start focusing on the positive doesn't help.
I mean, we got to the airport. We got both our bags back. The paper cut out version of the safety instructions on Alitalia was hysterically funny. And Kung Fu Panda is playing. What else can you ask for?
Ok... fine. A moment of silence, perhaps.
In approximately four hours, while most of you are still sleeping, we will arrive in Rome. It will be bright and early in Italy. As if the adventure behind us wasn't good enough, we will have a two hour train ride to Naples, an hour train to Sorrento, and a half hour bus ride ahead of us. Planes... trains... and freaking automobiles.
And a month of exploring one of the most loved places on the planet. Together. When my mother arrived last night, I was struck when she did this thing with her shoulders and grin that reminded me of the senior mermaid staying at home with the dogs because this trip would have been too much (in the first five minutes, right Grandma?) I was reminded how lucky I am to share an experience like this with her. How many "kids" get to do this as adults? We have busy lives that only get busier as we leave the nest. Work, families of our own. Time dwindles, as does the opportunity with aging parents. When it's all said and done, what we have to show for our lives is the moments. Each moment today is one I won't forget.
Yes, it's an expensive 60th birthday gift... but permanently securing my position as the favorite child?
Priceless.
Breathe, Amy. Breathe.
Mom's Nook isn't working, and she has absolutely no interest in my offer of Newsweek. She brought games with her from Florida, including Scrabble -- my fave -- and left them in my car to try and lighten up the load. She is a bit ticked, and my telling her we need to start focusing on the positive doesn't help.
I mean, we got to the airport. We got both our bags back. The paper cut out version of the safety instructions on Alitalia was hysterically funny. And Kung Fu Panda is playing. What else can you ask for?
Ok... fine. A moment of silence, perhaps.
In approximately four hours, while most of you are still sleeping, we will arrive in Rome. It will be bright and early in Italy. As if the adventure behind us wasn't good enough, we will have a two hour train ride to Naples, an hour train to Sorrento, and a half hour bus ride ahead of us. Planes... trains... and freaking automobiles.
And a month of exploring one of the most loved places on the planet. Together. When my mother arrived last night, I was struck when she did this thing with her shoulders and grin that reminded me of the senior mermaid staying at home with the dogs because this trip would have been too much (in the first five minutes, right Grandma?) I was reminded how lucky I am to share an experience like this with her. How many "kids" get to do this as adults? We have busy lives that only get busier as we leave the nest. Work, families of our own. Time dwindles, as does the opportunity with aging parents. When it's all said and done, what we have to show for our lives is the moments. Each moment today is one I won't forget.
Yes, it's an expensive 60th birthday gift... but permanently securing my position as the favorite child?
Priceless.
It Begins...
If the start to this trip is any indication of what is in store -- you, my dear readers -- are in for some laughs. I, on the other hand, may have a coronary.
In all my scintillating brilliance, I decided NOT to take today off work. Couple that with my going to the beach this weekend, where nearly everyone stared in disbelief. "Aren't you leaving for Italy on Monday?" Well, yes, I am... but I really love my beach house and I couldn't resist one more weekend. Even though I spent half of it repacking my bag and finding workout clothes -- which I forgot to bring. Cest la vie.
I would say that in Italian, but I never had time to open the Rosetta Stone before I left.
Needless to say, things are a bit rushed. Since I've whored out my apartment while I'm traveling to a perfectly lovely couple, mom and I stayed the night at a friend of hers in Alexandria, VA. Also lovely, with a bed I literally had to jump to get in to. That's saying something considering I'm 5'11". My brother Ryan called as we were heading to the office to pray for a safe trip. If you followed Mermaids to Graceland, you will be surprised to hear we got only three heavenly lord fathers this time round. I hope we make it.
We got to the office early and work went fine. What follows can only be explained well over drinks. Please pour one now. Spill a little for me, your homie. I need it.
A cabbie was dropping someone off at NPR, and kind of waited around watching me unload bags from the car in front if the building. I told him we were heading to the airport in a few minutes, but we didn't want to pay a wait fee. Yeah... frugality is either my curse or my strong suit. He offered to wait. He and my mom started loading the car, chatting, as I went to park mine. I jump in and we are on our way. Early.
This is too simple.
What have I forgotten?
We get almost all the way to Reagan International Airport before I realize it's my iPod and headphones. The one with all the walking tours of Italy I didn't have time to load on to it. I still want it. I mean, I'm traveling with my mother for a month. The meditation podcasts I DO have on there might come in handy. Now, what happens next will literally shock anyone from the DMV region. The driver turned off the meter... and turned around. Really. We get back to NPR. I get my ID from my desk, my keys from another floor, my iPod and headphones from the car, return the keys, and get back to the cab in about five minutes. I'm afraid it was not as classy as an episode of Baywatch, but I am fairly sure there was a bit of a show.
Back on our way. We give Assefa, our amazing driver, $26 bucks for the ride, though the meter was about $13. Smooth sailing as we check in on Delta. The desk agent asks for Mrs. Blaszyk to put her bag on the scale. I look at mom, fiddling with the locknon my bag. I tell her she's talking to her. Mom says no, she's talking to me. The agent looks confused. She asks who Ms. Blaszyk is. We reply, "We both are." Very funny, but just to set the record straight... I am NOT Ms. Blaszyk. Eeep.
Heading down the escalator to get something to eat before security I realize something aweful. Something that instantly makes my tummy sink in a way that could literally set this trip on a disaster course before it ever gets off the ground. I don't have my camera. And neither does my mother. That's because it is in the cab. I'm already running back upstairs before mom has time to process what my panic is about.
Perhaps I should explain. My camera is my baby. I don't like other people touching it. I shoot with a Nikon D90, a step down from the professional gear I got to carry working as a photog for The State News, but respectable nonetheless. And not cheap. That's just the camera BODY. The lenses are a whole other matter. Before I went to Ecuador and Peru, I invested in a Nikkor 18-200 1:3.5-5.6 vibration reduction lens that cost nearly half of what the camera did. Throw in the awesome flash kit, my mini disc player, my iPod, my Bang Olufson headphones, my plug converter kit for my iPad, my camera adapter kit for my ipad and a few other odds and ends and we're talking about $3 grand here.
I'm going to be sick.
I explain what has happened and ask one of the agents if I can use the phone while I tell mom to go wait by the curb in case he comes back. I have to give her credit... though I'm usually pretty observant, I didn't even get the name of the cab company -- but thankfully, she did. I get someone at the check in desk to help me look up the number to Black Pearl. It's Labor Day. What are the odds someone is going to pick up? Zero is the answer. I know I'm getting more pale by the moment, and these people at Delta are being so kind to try and help. I call ten different times. I try every extension. Nothing.
I stop and think to myself that all the negative energy isn't helping. I call again. Minutes later, I hear my mothers voice calling me. She has the bag in her hands. I start hugging everyone.
She said she stood on the sidewalk and prayed. He literally pulled up when she opened her eyes. I don't care which worked -- positive thinking or divine intervention -- it was a freaking miracle. Assefa said he got all the way back to DC and saw the bag on the back seat. He made a third trip back to drop it off, for which mom rewarded him with another nice tip.
We could have just taken a limo at this point.
You would think a lesson learned, right? Then you don't know us very well. We are enjoying a bite at TGIFridays, where we have a glass of champagne and toast to better luck and gelato ahead. Mom is telling me about how she upgraded to first class on e way here. I ask why.
"I can give you 65 reasons why... all the people behind me."
So we have promptly lost track of time and end up running to the gate. On the way, mom leaves HER backpack at security and loses one of the straps to her shoe. I may start praying at this point.
As I'm regaling the woman taking my ticket with what just has happened and she says the best thing, quoting Anthony Bourdain... "It's the journey."
And THAT it's shaping up to be.
In all my scintillating brilliance, I decided NOT to take today off work. Couple that with my going to the beach this weekend, where nearly everyone stared in disbelief. "Aren't you leaving for Italy on Monday?" Well, yes, I am... but I really love my beach house and I couldn't resist one more weekend. Even though I spent half of it repacking my bag and finding workout clothes -- which I forgot to bring. Cest la vie.
I would say that in Italian, but I never had time to open the Rosetta Stone before I left.
Needless to say, things are a bit rushed. Since I've whored out my apartment while I'm traveling to a perfectly lovely couple, mom and I stayed the night at a friend of hers in Alexandria, VA. Also lovely, with a bed I literally had to jump to get in to. That's saying something considering I'm 5'11". My brother Ryan called as we were heading to the office to pray for a safe trip. If you followed Mermaids to Graceland, you will be surprised to hear we got only three heavenly lord fathers this time round. I hope we make it.
We got to the office early and work went fine. What follows can only be explained well over drinks. Please pour one now. Spill a little for me, your homie. I need it.
A cabbie was dropping someone off at NPR, and kind of waited around watching me unload bags from the car in front if the building. I told him we were heading to the airport in a few minutes, but we didn't want to pay a wait fee. Yeah... frugality is either my curse or my strong suit. He offered to wait. He and my mom started loading the car, chatting, as I went to park mine. I jump in and we are on our way. Early.
This is too simple.
What have I forgotten?
We get almost all the way to Reagan International Airport before I realize it's my iPod and headphones. The one with all the walking tours of Italy I didn't have time to load on to it. I still want it. I mean, I'm traveling with my mother for a month. The meditation podcasts I DO have on there might come in handy. Now, what happens next will literally shock anyone from the DMV region. The driver turned off the meter... and turned around. Really. We get back to NPR. I get my ID from my desk, my keys from another floor, my iPod and headphones from the car, return the keys, and get back to the cab in about five minutes. I'm afraid it was not as classy as an episode of Baywatch, but I am fairly sure there was a bit of a show.
Back on our way. We give Assefa, our amazing driver, $26 bucks for the ride, though the meter was about $13. Smooth sailing as we check in on Delta. The desk agent asks for Mrs. Blaszyk to put her bag on the scale. I look at mom, fiddling with the locknon my bag. I tell her she's talking to her. Mom says no, she's talking to me. The agent looks confused. She asks who Ms. Blaszyk is. We reply, "We both are." Very funny, but just to set the record straight... I am NOT Ms. Blaszyk. Eeep.
Heading down the escalator to get something to eat before security I realize something aweful. Something that instantly makes my tummy sink in a way that could literally set this trip on a disaster course before it ever gets off the ground. I don't have my camera. And neither does my mother. That's because it is in the cab. I'm already running back upstairs before mom has time to process what my panic is about.
Perhaps I should explain. My camera is my baby. I don't like other people touching it. I shoot with a Nikon D90, a step down from the professional gear I got to carry working as a photog for The State News, but respectable nonetheless. And not cheap. That's just the camera BODY. The lenses are a whole other matter. Before I went to Ecuador and Peru, I invested in a Nikkor 18-200 1:3.5-5.6 vibration reduction lens that cost nearly half of what the camera did. Throw in the awesome flash kit, my mini disc player, my iPod, my Bang Olufson headphones, my plug converter kit for my iPad, my camera adapter kit for my ipad and a few other odds and ends and we're talking about $3 grand here.
I'm going to be sick.
I explain what has happened and ask one of the agents if I can use the phone while I tell mom to go wait by the curb in case he comes back. I have to give her credit... though I'm usually pretty observant, I didn't even get the name of the cab company -- but thankfully, she did. I get someone at the check in desk to help me look up the number to Black Pearl. It's Labor Day. What are the odds someone is going to pick up? Zero is the answer. I know I'm getting more pale by the moment, and these people at Delta are being so kind to try and help. I call ten different times. I try every extension. Nothing.
I stop and think to myself that all the negative energy isn't helping. I call again. Minutes later, I hear my mothers voice calling me. She has the bag in her hands. I start hugging everyone.
She said she stood on the sidewalk and prayed. He literally pulled up when she opened her eyes. I don't care which worked -- positive thinking or divine intervention -- it was a freaking miracle. Assefa said he got all the way back to DC and saw the bag on the back seat. He made a third trip back to drop it off, for which mom rewarded him with another nice tip.
We could have just taken a limo at this point.
You would think a lesson learned, right? Then you don't know us very well. We are enjoying a bite at TGIFridays, where we have a glass of champagne and toast to better luck and gelato ahead. Mom is telling me about how she upgraded to first class on e way here. I ask why.
"I can give you 65 reasons why... all the people behind me."
So we have promptly lost track of time and end up running to the gate. On the way, mom leaves HER backpack at security and loses one of the straps to her shoe. I may start praying at this point.
As I'm regaling the woman taking my ticket with what just has happened and she says the best thing, quoting Anthony Bourdain... "It's the journey."
And THAT it's shaping up to be.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
I should be ashamed of myself... but I'm not.
Yes. We leave tomorrow. No, I have written absolutely NOTHING on this blog in the past few months. Do you have any idea how much time it takes to field a dozen phone calls from your mother every two days? I mean, really. So this is how it is -- I'm not taking your stinking guilt trip with me.
Primarily because I don't have room in my luggage.
We're packed. I have a shiny new and completely unnecessary international drivers permit that my mother insisted on taking up space in my passport wallet. In less than ten minutes, I magically turned three thousand dollars into a thousand less in euros on Friday. I have two new credit cards -- one that allows me to check baggage for free on Delta, and the other, a stylish Chase Sapphire card that doesn't charge foreign transaction fees.
That's right. I'm cheating on Citibank. We had a fight and I was feeling unappreciated, so I'm running around town with my sleek new Sapphire Card. It's very sexy, but I digress... Citibank and I had a fight about extra charges on my card after I bought the opera tickets to La Scala. What the F is a foreign transaction fee? Basically, it's the credit card company's way of saying, "Welcome to your vacation. Although we realize you probably didn't enjoy the screwing you got in changing your dollars to euros, we thought we might try screwing you again. This time, for no reason other than our own stinking greed." So, thank you Citibank -- but despite my having been a really good customer for a really long time, your stupid card will be staying at home. Ta da... rant finished. Thank you very much.
Mom is in the air somewhere between Sarasota and Atlanta. She arrives at 11-ish tonight. I think she's a bit panicked that our itineraries are not linked and we have thus been assigned separate seats on the flight from Boston to Rome. Despite my phone calls to the airlines, and both their and my reassurance that it would all work out okay -- she's unconvinced. She told me to tell them she is a convalescent and needs my care.
Well, at least she's finally admitting to it.
In less than 24 hours, we'll be airborne... with no chance of escape. Ryan, are you praying yet?
Primarily because I don't have room in my luggage.
We're packed. I have a shiny new and completely unnecessary international drivers permit that my mother insisted on taking up space in my passport wallet. In less than ten minutes, I magically turned three thousand dollars into a thousand less in euros on Friday. I have two new credit cards -- one that allows me to check baggage for free on Delta, and the other, a stylish Chase Sapphire card that doesn't charge foreign transaction fees.
That's right. I'm cheating on Citibank. We had a fight and I was feeling unappreciated, so I'm running around town with my sleek new Sapphire Card. It's very sexy, but I digress... Citibank and I had a fight about extra charges on my card after I bought the opera tickets to La Scala. What the F is a foreign transaction fee? Basically, it's the credit card company's way of saying, "Welcome to your vacation. Although we realize you probably didn't enjoy the screwing you got in changing your dollars to euros, we thought we might try screwing you again. This time, for no reason other than our own stinking greed." So, thank you Citibank -- but despite my having been a really good customer for a really long time, your stupid card will be staying at home. Ta da... rant finished. Thank you very much.
Mom is in the air somewhere between Sarasota and Atlanta. She arrives at 11-ish tonight. I think she's a bit panicked that our itineraries are not linked and we have thus been assigned separate seats on the flight from Boston to Rome. Despite my phone calls to the airlines, and both their and my reassurance that it would all work out okay -- she's unconvinced. She told me to tell them she is a convalescent and needs my care.
Well, at least she's finally admitting to it.
In less than 24 hours, we'll be airborne... with no chance of escape. Ryan, are you praying yet?
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