The Day of the Flight

My family came over the night before my flight for dinner and a sendoff swaree, along with a couple of neighbors and close family friends. In hindsight, maybe drinking heavily the night before my Italian voyage was not the best decision I have ever made. I struggled on my way down to my bedroom after being at the Bench (where some friends of mine met me to say goodbyes that were never actually said). True Story: I fell down an entire flight of stairs.I’m about 110% positive that there is currently a broken bone in my lower back. Even still, nothing was going to stop this trip to Italy. If I could walk, I was going!

I tried not to get emotional during that night of the going away party but it was hard being surrounded by people that I loved and people that were genuinely concerned about my well-being and happiness. I received cards and gifts that I was not expecting and I was so grateful. Several well wishing and advice for my travels caused me to get more emotional than I expected. It's obvious that everyone is scared to death about my safety and I promise to come home in one piece! Messages came from the heart...unlike my little sister's parting words to me at the airport: "Don't get raped!" Thanks Cassidy.

Procrastinating and being the kind of person who packs too many things into too little time, I woke up the next morning hung over, all sorts of pain but mostly from my back, with an unpacked suitcase and piles of Callie belongings everywhere. Think about how hard it is to function after a night of drinking, now picture me trying to pack 3 months of my life in a span of a couple of hours. Let’s just say I was on Struggle Street. A street that I tend to visit often. Thank you Mom and Cassidy for helping me because if it weren't for your help, I would still be sitting dumbfounded next to an empty suitcase. After a solid singing of "all my bags are packed....I'm ready to go"....this picture happened...

My parents and Cassidy drove me to the airport and it felt like they were dropping me off at New Paltz for the first day of my Freshmen year. I had my very last Long Island bagel for breakfast and my Dad drove us to Newark via the city. My mind was calm (or exhausted) and I was excited but not nervous. Just steady and ready.

I changed the seat on my flight the night before because I wanted a window seat, instead of sitting in the middle of the 2 aisled plane. Happily seated next to the window, a large Italian woman kindly asked me to change seats so that she could sit with her daughter. "Of course!" I said. With eager, I awaited to see who my partner on this 8 and a half hour flight would be. A young Spanish looking girl sat next to me and we sat in silence while we got ourselves situated in the seats. I was going to ask her if she wanted a piece of gum as an "icebreaker", (no, not ICEBREAKER gum) but soon after started crying. I felt bad and before I could stop myself, I kindly told her that everything was going to be okay. Then she showed me her passport...which was in 2 pieces. If you know anything about passports, you know that this is very illegal and she had to decide right before the flight whether she was going to come to Italy or not because she might not be allowed back in the U.S. I tried to get her to laugh as we joked about her broken passport and my broken back. "Laughter is the best medicine." She seemed like the equivalent Spanish version of the mess that I am!

Elisabet was on her way to a week meditation in Italy but she had been studying English in Washington D.C. because one day she was on a beach, met an American who told her about English classes in the U.S. and she said "Why not?!" (cue the Lizzie McGuire song playing in my head....) We talked about all different things but I fell in love with her when she grabbed my arm in excitement talking about a pasta dish with pesto that she once had in Rome. My kind of girl! We talked about the illumination and the sensations of traveling. She called me "enlightened" for doing what I was doing and I laughed out loud. I'm not trying to change the world here people. I'm just trying to change my own world. I got Italian language lessons from a Spanish girl. Not trying to play the "everything happens for a reason" game but sitting next to her assured me that I was, in fact, doing the right thing. She was able to communicate things in a way that I couldn't. She used the example of waking up in a hotel and going to the buffet for breakfast. You see a banana and your heart says "Banana!" but your mind says Should I eat that banana...should I eat something else? would an orange be healthier because of the vitamin C? Think with your heart and not your mind. Elisabet told me that day in Spain it was the holiday of St. George, similar to our St. Valentine's Day, where men give women roses and they in turn give men books. We parted shortly after getting off the plane and I hope to see her again one day.

I was happy that the flight went by quick and was on time and also that I had no problems with my luggage. So many horror stories keep me happy about the little things. I had specific directions to the location of my apartment in Trastevere (the Greenich Village of Rome). I was successful in buying a ticket but I almost got on the wrong train. PRETENDING that you know EXACTLY what you are doing has nothing to do with what you ACTUALLY knowing what you are doing. Several kind people tried to help me with my luggage but I just heard everyone in the back of my mind telling me to be careful....so I did what I always do and showed my muscles and told them I could manage on my own. After the train, I took a tram but couldn't find 143 on Viale Trastevere. Through the rain with my umbrella tucked deep somewhere inside my suitcase that I was carrying, along with my heavy carry on bags, I walked up and down the street 3 times searching for the apartment. My hair was soaked and I looked like a mess. I can only imagine the crazy tourist that I looked like. I finally found it and was greeted by the intercom with the voice of Maria, a girl studying abroad from Boston College. A full FOUR flights of stairs? I paused to catch my breath at each step and got to around the 2nd floor when a kind Italian woman, who also lived in the building, showed me the elevator. Duh, Callie. They briefly showed me around the place but what I needed was a direction to anything resembling a bed.