It’s true. There’s no place like home for the holidays. Leaving the second time was harder than the first. (Oh Emilia, why are you always right?) However, (almost) all the sad feelings passed when I woke up from my after-flight nap and sat down to dinner with my host mom, and it was like I never left. I went home to the States to a family, and came back to Italy to a family. I like that idea, and am comforted by it.
Home was glorious, if only for the fact that it was familiar and I could lounge around doing close to nothing without feeling like I was missing out on an adventure. I am all for traveling and having life be “go, go, go”, but a “rest, rest, rest” was highly needed. Christmas Eve didn’t disappoint, though it may have gone by too quickly for my liking, and I was able to catch one good snow storm. (Even if the temperature did shoot up to around 50 for the few days after.)
The trip home, however, was not glorious in the least. In fact, it was horrendous. Remember how excited I was about all the snow Florence was getting? Well, that feeling went away FAST when I learned that my flight home might be cancelled. Here’s the play-by-play:
- Saturday, 6 am.: Wake up, getting ready, and immediately start calling for taxi’s for myself and my housemate to get to the airport and train station, respectively.
- 7 am: Keep calling.
- 8 am: Keep calling.
- 9 am: Get the gist yet?
- 10 am: My housemate gives up, and snags a ride with some nuns that live across the street who have agreed to drive her to the nearest train station.
- 10:30 am: Time to “fare l’autostop.” AKA, hitchhike. My host mom and I set out with my bag and try to thumb down a ride for me, for however far they will take me.
- 1 pm: Three different cars, a slip-sliding bus ride, and some difficult trekking with my suitcase later, I finally arrive at the train station. A good place to get to, even if it’s not my final destination quite yet.
- 1-1:30pm: Wait in the ridiculously long line, that continues to grow on account of all the trains being cancelled due to snow on the tracks, for taxis.
- 1:30 pm: Finally! A taxi…shared with 4 other people.
- 2 pm: Arrive at the airport. Flight has been cancelled. Time to wait in line…again.
- 3 pm: Finally get up to the counter to talk to the worst airline representative in the history of airline representatives. She puts me on a flight for Tuesday, assuring me it is the only possibility.
- 4pm: After trying to get to a non-existent hotel that the airline graciously did (or I guess, in reality, did not) set up for me, I go back to try to talk to the representative again, only to overhear her put 6 students on a flight TO BOSTON for THE NEXT DAY. No. No no no. Not happening.
- 4:15: The fight ensues. Said representative lies to me, continuously, about putting these students on the flight, until I bring one up with me (We’re all american. We’re all from New England. Obviously we’d already been talking. Come on lady) to dispute the lies that the representative tells me. In yo’ face. No progress was made. Boo.
- 6 pm: Back to Via Gabriele D’Annuzio, 202.
- Sunday, 10 am: Back to the airport. This time, I get my way on a flight to Zurich at the last minute. They assure me the flight is full and that I got the last seat. I get on the plane, and to my surprise, no one is sitting next to me, and no one is sitting in the row across from me. By this time I am fed up with Italy.
- Sunday, 4 pm: Zurich. Yes. Now to get to Boston. I should be on standby for the next flight, which leaves at 5:30. I make it past passport check, to security, where I get stopped. “You are not on the list Miss, and the flight is full.” Fight with them for about 10 minutes, then run back to check-in to straighten this out.
- 7pm: No Boston today. Still waiting in line at check-in, making lovely friends who watch my bag while I go to buy a bag of M&M’s, the ONLY gluten-free food I can find. Ha.
- 9pm: Give up on the economy check-in line, and go to the first class one. Cry. Yes, cry. The woman at the desk tells me the earlier flight to Boston left with 10 empty seats. Whhaaaaaat? She puts me on standby for the next day, and the next, and the next. I WILL get out of here. Hopefully with my luggage, which is somewhere in the airport, but seeing as my boarding pass in Florence was hand-written, I have no information on my luggage for the airline to check on it. It will have to wait until tomorrow.
- 11pm: Arrive at the hotel Swiss Air paid for. It is wonderful, and I cry (again) when I see my amazing room. Shower, mint tea, and Bridget Jones’ Diary, and I’m out.
- Monday, 2 pm: Back at the airport, camped out in front of security. Made friends with a lovely french businessman who happens to have a house on Lake Sunapee. He assures me he will do everything he can to get me on that flight home.
- 5:25 pm: Plane leaves in 10 minutes. French man and I stand at the desk, and he uses his frequent flyer miles to get me a seat. However, they won’t give it to me yet, because there are 35 other people on standby. Ah!
- 5:35 pm: En-route to Boston. Played babysitter during the flight for two belgian kids, but I could have cared less. We play cards and they tell me how weird American accents are. I trade M&M’s for an apple. Score.
- 12am: Home. Home home home.
- The End.
I should really be focusing on my final papers right now, but there is snow in the forecast here, and it reminded me of the last time I experienced snow in Florence. I was luckier than most, but still. C’mon Florence, get it together!
Music for Today: These Old Shoes by Deer Tick
You’re a trooper, babycakes!