Just My Luck

I am currently two hours and 30 minutes from landing in Rome. Today’s post will cover two days: the flight day and the couple of hours I’m awake in Rome the following day. It’s been my lucky day, to say the least. Let’s begin, shall we?

When we arrived at the gate, we were told that the plane was on schedule. It was hard to believe, given the plane outside the gate was mysteriously missing shortly before boarding. Not long thereafter, the big screen behind the ticket counter changed from a 3:35 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. departure time. Not a huge deal, but I was hungry and was now in need of food. It would be too easy for the airport to have a food court inside the security checkpoints, so we had to venture back into the “general gathering area” for food. Yep, I had to once again join that long line at security and have all my bags re-scanned.

Back at the gate, I looked over my Italian phrase book. When we landed, I didn’t want to be one of those Americans. After skimming through the greetings section, it’s safe to say that while I won’t be one of those Americans, I will be the tourist who pulls out her trusty dictionary to make a simple statement. I also used this precious time to people watch, scoping out our fellow passengers on the upcoming 8.5 hour flight. We have the typical couple with boisterous kids, a woman dressed entirely in neon colors and a middle-aged man with his passport tied securely around his neck via lanyard.

When the plane finally arrived at the gate and we were called for boarding, we all began to shout out our seat rows, just hoping someone from our group was next to us. Excitedly looking at my ticket, I saw that I was in row 11—my lucky number! So precious of a number, in fact, that just one other person from our group was seated next to me. The rest of the group was about 20 rows behind us. But at least I have an awesome (and fellow Orange Iguana) plane buddy!

Planning to nap through the flight, I ferociously dug through my carry-on bags. Dramamine, Dramamine, where art thou?! It’s in the middle zipper of my purse. My purse is on my duffel bag. My duffel bag is located under my seat. In the cold confines where the airline stores its checked baggage. Oh, goody. But wait, there's more. I found the meds in my backpack thirty minutes prior to landing. Go figure.

Not to miss an opportunity to people watch, I was immediately drawn to the passengers seated in the row in front of me. Why is the kid sitting with his chair not in its upright position? We’ve hardly taken off and he’s kicking back like he owns the place. Kid, I need my leg room.

And gosh, didn’t they look familiar? Why yes, yes they did. Weren’t they the family with the two out-of-control children I saw running around at the terminal? Yes. Yes they were.

And as for the gentleman seated to my left? No, he was not the middle-aged man with his passport leashed around his neck. He was a whole new character I’ve never had the “privilege” of sitting next to on a flight. I think he might have missed the memo about airline courtesy. Not that there’s a memo going around, but I feel like shoving a pillow in your fellow passenger’s mouth so you can gently rest your head on the pillow, which is conveniently located on the raised armrest is not very courteous. Seriously, sir, could you please get off of my seat and my armrest? If you wanted to take up two seats or attempt to sleep in a fetal position in your own seat (and mine), you should have purchased two tickets. So, grazie, kind sir.

A picture of the previously mentioned passenger should accompany this post, but he saw us trying to snap his picture when we thought he was sleeping. Therefore, no picture was taken and no picture will be posted.

The upsides of this flight include the free bag of crackers served with the drinks, us flying over Canada (I don’t know why I thought this was so cool, but I did), and me switching seats will a fellow Orange Iguana so I could take a nap without my neighbor sitting on me. It was necessary, trust me.

And after all that fun, I have safely arrived in Rome. All unpacked and in the new apartment, which is pretty nifty. The view is spectacular. Our balcony looks out onto a main street and the architecture is just so Rome. I don’t know what constitutes something as being “Rome,” but I know it when I see it.

For dinner tonight, we ate as this little corner place called Frontoni. It was super quaint and very delicious. I had 5 types of pizza, one of which was gorgonzola. It was very different, but somehow still tasty.

Our waiter was the most adorable elderly man you’ve ever seen. He thought it was great that we were from Chicago and thoroughly enjoyed speaking English to us (and we were equally as excited to not have to stumble through our broken Italian). After dinner we explored a little bit of Trastevere, traveling to the town square and Lettera da Santa Maria in Trastevere.

After walking for 2.5 hours, my feet our incredible sore and my eye lids are slowly beginning to close after my sleepless night, so I’m off to bed. Tomorrow is the first day of class…yay for a lesson on gelato!