A 'Memorable' Start

This picture can be very deceiving. Italian gelatto may be amazing, but my broad smile is prompted by more than the sugary, icy hazelnut chocolate goodness I'm putting in my mouth.

To my knowledge, neither Brian or I have ever had such an eventful start getting out of town. Scheduled to leave late on a Saturday afternoon, we woke up excited, went on a run in London's parks, and carefully packed all day for our trip. Did I mention that due to some expat friends' sublime packing example (thank you, Rita and Michael), Brian and I restrict ourselves to one carry-on size suitcase and a travel bag each every time we travel. Difficult, but better in the end. Anyways, hence the careful packing.

All smiles, we head to Earl's Court station to board the District line to Victoria and then take the Gatwick Express train to Gatwick airport. Whew, step on the express train just as the conductor tell us it leaves in 20 minutes. Perfect timing. Still smiling. Then, 15 minutes later: 'train delayed due to a person under the train.' WHAT!!?? Check tickets and check in time for British Airways. Whew. Still OK on time. Smile faint but still there. 30 minutes later, conductor: 'Train delayed 20 more minutes due to a person under the train.' Now, I'm not cold-hearted, but a person in London commits suicide on the tube tracks at least once a week. I'm annoyed. Brian's annoyed. And in the words of my old London neighbor, Rita, 'end your life elsewhere, you self-involved, jerk! it's really inconsiderate to make your woes everyone else's.' We are about to miss our flight to Florence, for crying out loud! Tears begin to ensue. Panic sets in. Sweating through turtleneck and coat. (Yes, it is already that cold here in town.) Next: we debate a cab or taking the 'express' train (and I use that adjective sarcastically). We decide we will miss the flight after a whole hour and a half (!!) of sitting on the tracks while Scotland Yard or someone investigates this mess. The phrase, 'Good grief' is heard all throughout this 'express train.' Loathe public transportation. Miss cars we sold in Texas.

We make it to Gatwick. The gate closed 5 minutes ago. Throngs of angry Gatwick 'Express' travelers line up to try and switch their flights. We are speedy second people in line. Two options: flight to Bologna or flight to Verona. Where is Bologna, Italy? Closest airport we found out, so we decide we want on that one. Oh, BA can't put us on stand-by until 6 am the next morning. It is now 8 pm. We live 1 hour from Gatwick. We head home. After we have to buy another 25 GBP (each) Gatwick 'Express' ticket. Brian says to ticket officer: 'So, you just make money off of these track suicides?!' We get a prompt 'yep' in a British accent. Appalled. Wonder how they get away with this. Get on train back to tube, back to walking in the dark to flat, swallowing frustration, hoping/praying/praying harder we get on that flight to Bologna. No food in college dorm-size fridge. We drown our sorrows in plates of Thai fried rice. Go to bed. Cold, because we decided to get our comforter dry cleaned since we were 'leaving town.' Get up 4.5 hours later to get ready to go back to Gatwick. Brian had called a car service (we were not risking another flight with the 'express' train). Car service arrives at 5:15, goodness, things are looking up now. Onward, and upward. So we think. Driver seems a little tired. Well, now we are swerving all over these highways driving on what still feels like the wrong side of the road. Sweating in outfit again. Clutching Brian's hand, thinking: 'What is wrong with this guy?!' Driver rolls down window to let 40 degree air in. Driver turns to Brian and says, 'Can you talk to me? I've been doing runs since 7 pm last night, this my third time to the airport 'tonight' and I'm about to fall asleep.' Oh. My. Goodness. More rapid heartbeats. I don't want to die on the M-25 highway. We talk about everything we can possibly think about and I prayed for so many angels to surround that cab. Thankfully, I think they did, because somehow with more small talk than we've ever rambled off while the driver is going 90 mph, we make it. We have him drop us off at curb of the airport as he tells us he might just fall asleep and park his car at the airport. We walk the rest of the way. No words. We sign up for Bologna flight. BA lady is nice, that is refreshing. We are the first people on stand-by. Obviously, the other slow-pokes didn't have an-about-to-fall-asleep-driver going 90 mph taking them to Gatwick. We have breakfast. I talk to my sister who hasn't gone to bed yet Dallas time. She laughs (sympathetically) at our situation and does research about Bologna, Italy, and reassures us we will make it and have a great time. We go to wait in stand-by line. Only 3 stand-by seats left. 30 minutes to go. Good grief, are we not supposed to go to Italy? 1 more passenger steps in. We make small talk with stand-by British Airways person and I smile telling him how much 'we really cannot wait to go to Italy' and how 'we've been planning it for so long' and 'has he ever been to Italy?' I am beginning to make a friend. He stops calling for Bologna and starts last-calling for Salzburg. Praise. The. Lord. We walk out to the plane. Wait, everyone is wearing Oxford University sweatshirts but they look Italian. Yes, a plane full of Italian study-abroad students and their profs. And, Brian and Kambry. That is it. Little plane. Lovely. We take off. Every time we hit a bump, Italians put hands in air like we are on a roller coaster and yell. Do we all know how I feel about roller coaster AND flying? They are basically the same to me. No good emotions about either. I basically grit my teeth and bear it. We start descending over Italian Lakes. Very pretty. Italian students are going crazy because I guess they haven't been home in a while. Cheering for pilot before the landing gear even goes up. Goodness. Clapping upon landing. We are the first people out of the plane. Find out we have to take a cab to train station to get us to Florence. Only about 11 am or so, so good timing. We made it! Yeah, Bologna! No idea what is here, but oh, well, we are going to the train station. Hail first cab. Cabbie twitches violently all the way to the train station for 30 minutes to the point of also swerving. Flashbacks of 5:15 am in London. I am suppressing laughter at this point over our eventful travel. Board train for Florence. Italian police search train for who-knows-what-but-it-didn't-seem-ordinary, but now we are less fazed due to recent 24 hours of events. Thankfully, nothing bad in our carriage car. Try to ignore situation and focus on arriving in Florence. Wow. Arrive at Florence train station. Pinch ourselves to see if we are dreaming. We are not dreaming. We are here and it is 20 degrees warmer than London. Awesome. First stop, Italian gellatto. Smile for more than one reason. Welcome to Italy.