On Oct. 9, at an insanely early hour I set out for Heathrow from our London hotel via cab. It was expensive, but I just wasn't sure I could manage the underground without help at that hour, when I'd never taken it to the airport. I am directionally challenged, and when presented with unanticipated options--like signs that say something other than what I was expecting--I get confused. Despite this, I'm a pretty intrepid traveler, and I always get to my location.
Fortunately the alarm had gone off (although no requested wake up call), and I managed to get the water so it wasn't ice cold (do they shut off hot water overnight?). I had some trepidation, but not about the trip to the airport, or even about meeting Susan at the airport in Rome (see below), but because the email from British Airways with my itinerary had the wrong dates and was to Mitch, not me. I had noticed this in Barcelona, but decided to take my chances. I knew Mercury was in Retrograde--as evidenced by all the glitches in our travel planning, so I just decided it would work out and I wasn't going to sweat it. But despite my certainty, it was possible that it would be an incredible problem if it didn't work out.
At the airport I checked in, but on the final screen at the kiosk it told me to see an agent. This made me a little nervous, but it was really too early to get in a twist--4:50 a.m. I waited on line and got checked in and dropped my bag without a problem. Starbucks was open--as was another similar business, but the Starbucks actually seemed less challenged by the prospect of making and delivering beverages to customers, so I chose it and got an espresso and muffin and settled in to wait until the shuttles to the gates opened at 6:10 a.m. I can't really remember most of the flight, or the details of getting on the plane; I was in 16F and I'm sure I slept most of the way. My only memory of the flight was looking out the window as we approached Rome and thinking Bella Italia! I read my book until it was possible to get off the plane and walked to the immigration lines, which weren't unreasonably long, but full of Americans who seemed to be the biggest whiners and complainers in the world; I guess they didn't realize that the Italians have their own way of doing things, which is why Italy is different from the US. My book was really good, and I read to shut them out. A little surprised that the immigration officer asked if I'd had trouble with the law when I was last in Italy, but that process, as usual, went without a hitch.
Now the tricky part. The day before in London I had been unable to charge my cell phone. Since I didn't recall Susan and I making arrangements to connect by phone this didn't seem like a big problem, but it
totally freaked Mitch out. He even offered to let me take his phone. He began quizzing me about what arrangements Susan and I had for meeting and was completely unsatisfied with my description of Mossimo picking Susan and Mom up then picking me up. He was making me a little crazy on the subject so I suggested that we call Susan. We caught her just as she was leaving the house and she repeated our arrangements (see above) and I wished her a good flight and said I'd see her in Rome. Mitch is right that it was completely unreasonable that we should expect to just "meet at the airport", but I planned to go to the marked exit for arrivals and look for Mossimo's black and yellow station wagon. I'm tall with bright red hair, how hard could it be? So I was coming out the doors from immigration and carefully reading the signs when my name was called by Susan. T
here she was, there was Mom, and most importantly, there was Mossimo (being picked up by a nice-looking Italian gives anyone a lift!). Indeed, as Mom had said when I'd last seen her in San Francisco before Mitch and I left for vacation, "See you in Rome!"
Photos are fresh basil and olive oil from Castlemuzio taken in my SF kitchen. I have no Italy pictures.
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