...jiggity jig

so, allora, io sono qui, i am here, a cormons, in cormons...
took long enough. the flight in from london wasnt bad (*note: on british airways the wine is gratis), though 4 babies situated on all sides of me cried either singularly or together, in almost perfect harmony, throughout the entire flight. managed to drown them out by keeping my headphones on with harry potter #4 going full blast, and dreamed fitful dreams that i was already in london (much like when i was living at the hostel in rome, right before i left for spain, and the evil spaniard (he turned out not at all to be actually evil, just the opposit, but the name suits him in a way so it stays) and all of his evil friends (who were kind of evil, actually) would come in drunk at 5am and go into the room next to mine and hoot and hollar at each other in spanish until the sun came up and i would wake up thinking i was already in barcelona...oh, the spaniard). was really heartbroken to leave the states. called teresa from the airport to whine a little and she told me that i was doing better than she did; the last time she left to go back to new york she said she cried so hard through security that they asked her to step aside while they rescanned her luggage, just incase she had a screw lose. upon arrival in london, however, my spirits perked up. i was so excited to be there, and kept thinking how lucky i was to have this day in london, all to myself, and it was bright and sunny and warm, a rarity in those parts. made it to victoria station and checked my bags. lighter on luggage, face scrubbed clean, i took off through london with no specific direction in mind. found buckingham palace, and strolled up through the park, saw big ben and that tacky ferris wheel, almost got slammed by a double decker bus, as well as about ten old timey taxis, due to the fact that i kept forgetting to look Right-Left-then-Right when crossing the streets. London was as i remembered it, clean and dapper, bright and collected. but i was so proud of the brits: on such a bright, lovely day, all the men in business suits were outside on sidewalk cafes, enjoying pints and coffees, soaking in the sun. from lunch time on, it seemed everyone had skipped out of the office and was taking advantage of the nice weather. the city was bustling, but not with a busy feel, more with excitement and sighs of relief and relaxation. everyone seemed so happy, and in between sleepy pockets when i considered laying down in the park grass with other happy sunbathers, i sat in the pubs and skipped along the sidewalks listening in on conversations and smiling at the cute boys. was positively lovely! i found a few galleries open, so i spent some time looking at art, and about 8pm i found a nice "traditional" london pub, and had a pint with the locals. spent the evening in soho, making friends with people in the pubs and eating indian food. absolutely everyone i met was so friendly and nice and helpful! love the british. at about midnight i felt the clock strike, so i made my way back to victoria, hopped a train to gatwick, was awoken by the train conductor at my stop 30 minutes later and bustled rather gently off the train, found a free couch at the airport starbucks, and curled up to fall into a coma for, oh, about an hour. after that, i was wide awake and hating the world until 8am when it was time to check in for my flight. easy jet is officially on my shit list (they get props for not crashing, thats about all). went to check in, luckily earlier than necessary due to ample- AMPLE- time. was told that my carry-on, which was the customary carry on size in a suitcase made for just that purpose, was too big. i was offered the option of paying 125 euro (15euro per kilo) to check it in. told the woman to bite me. decided instead to go find a plastic bag, as i have grown accostomed to traveling like a hobo, and put all of my stuff in there. trouble was, london is weird about their plastic bags. in the US we hand them out like fresh air, here take some plastic, take some styrofome, whats the harm. london chrages for theirs and makes them extremely small. so i began to roam the airport, desperately searching for an adequate plastic bag in which to put my stuff. finally found one of decent size at the Marks and Spencers. decided to empty suitcase and get stuff down to bare essentials, forgoing things like plastic containers for my cds and the bulky cardboard box for my tampons. ended up on the floor of the airport with a pile of lose things all about, hair ties and mascara and bed sheets and european plug adaptors. then realised could not find any british money. had managed somehow to spend or lose everything, down to my last pence. plastic bag cost 9 pence. was now searching desperately for money amidst pile of crap, keeping an eye on the clock which told me i had about 10 minutes to go recheck in. started to panic, flinging tampons and batteries all about in an effort to find enough change in american or euro coins to go to the Money Exchange counter, the whole while pulling at my hair like a psycho bag lady crying, "i just need 9 pence! 9 pence for a bag!". was terrible. people stared. finally came up with a euro and flug it to the guy at the exchange place, babbling about 9 pence for a bag and he very frightendly gave me 86 pence and a receipt. managed to shove all of my stuff into the M&S bag, loose tampons and postcards flying out of the top, and ran back through the check in just in time. had to lug my now empty suitcase with me, as could not just leave it cause surely people would think it was a bomb. lady at the easyjet counter looked pissed and defeated. i smiled proudly, held my head high, and walked through security. all the nice british people were positively aghast that i was being forced to throw away my suitcase, and encouraged me to hang on to it. didnt really have a choice. when i finally got to the counter to board the plane, the nice man smiled apoligectically and told me that the carry-on suitcase was the right size after all. dumped my plastic bag of stuff back in it and boarded the plane, plotting revenge.
made it back to cormons about 10 hours later due to train complications, ate a bag of salted peanuts, and commenced to sleep for pretty much the entire weekend.

so by now most of you know that i did, in fact, make it home, and that there was some wonderful work from above in my favor in that situation. left cormons early that last thursday morning for venice, where i was hopeful of hopping directly onto a plane to new york. however, once i reached the airport, i saw the dreadful "volunteers" sign flashing, which meant that the plane was overbooked. was told to stand aside and wait. finally the delta gate closed, leaving me and two adorable old people in a cloud of dust. the three of us wandered over to the delta counter and began asking questions. they, too, needed to fly to the US, and were on standby, so we were pretty much asking the same questions: where and when and what are our chances. we were told that there was a flight out of venice the next day that looked terrible, but was worth a shot compared to other flights from milan or rome. i was totally distressed, as i had been banking on a flight home that day: i had no money, no dorm to return to (was closed now for easter break), no other place to stay, and a plastic bag full of clothes. the lady, ann, turned to me and said, "what are you going to do?". and i told her, truthfully, "i don't know". "well," said bob, "why don't you come with us? we booked our apartment in venice for a couple of extra days just incase something like this happened. we have an extra bedroom!" i smiled and thanked them and told them that i would love to come. we met up a little later in piazza san marco, and they led me back to the darling apartment, all the while ann telling me stories of her parents, who were both italian, and growing up in boston. i LOVED hearing about this, and we talked for a long time about the italians and history and family. went out for a walk a little while later to regroup, and found that it was one of the most beautiful days that i have ever seen in venice. the streets were full and bright and there were children scampering through the alleys, over bridges. i felt, for the first time honestly, very lucky, extremely lucky to be in venice, and i felt then that good things were abound. that night we all went out to dinner, and i told them all about my family and bragged on grant and quinn for a while (one of my favorite things to do), and we spent some time calling their son, who works for delta in atlanta, and checking our chances on the flight the next day. it looked grim, but we got a wonderful nights sleep regardless. the next day we took a water taxi to the airport, and tried again. it was unsuccessful, as we suspected. but even worse, i was told that starting that day, there was an embargo. that meant that i could not fly on any delta flight for the next 4 days, not until tuesday. the sweeneys, being the stellar world travelers that they are, booked a flight to madrid, where they could get out the next day. they asked me again, what will you do? i told them this time, again, honestly, that i did not know. i still had no money. i now definitely had nowhere to go. all i had was my plastic bag full of clothes and 4 days to fill somehow. bob took out his wallet and pulled out $100 american. i tried to protest, but he said, "no, no. our son went traveling the world when he was in his 20's, and we always heard the best stories of people who helped him out, of people who were good to him. we always said if we got the chance we would do the same for some young traveler. all i can ask is that you give it back some day." my eyes filled with tears and i hugged them both and thanked them from the bottom of my heart and promised that i would give it back, in as many ways as i possibly could. we parted ways and i went outside. sat down on the curb and waited. i had literally no idea what to do. my mind was blank. a million options and no options. i just decided to wait until something happened. about 30 minutes later my phone rang. it was antonio, my darling, calling from rome. i had asked him earlier, before all the chaos about coming home, if i could use his apartment over easter weekend. he had told me that he was renting it while he went to tuscany, so i gave up on the idea. now he said, "oh, my apartment didnt rent. im leaving for tuscany tonight, but i can wait until you get here, if you're still coming, if you want it". i took the $100 bob had given me, exchanged it for 70 euro, bought a 65 euro ticket to rome, and was in antonios flat by 9pm. the next 4 days were some of the most beautiful that i have ever spent in rome. beautiful weather, beautiful easter, beautiful friends, a beautiful walk through the roman streets with a gorgeous roman at sunset, being shown a handful of tiny secrets i had never known, could have never imagined, a kiss on ponte sisto, the popes blessing, news of that wily spaniard, dancing till i got a cramp, cappucinnos and camparis and memories galore. it was incredible, and i knew then, and i know now, that those days were a gift, and i cherished every minute.
tuesday came, the day of reckoning. got scary news from john that for some reason i wasnt allowed to fly on the incredibly wide open flight to atlanta. said, well pish-posh on that, and went to the airport poised for a fight. marched right up to the counter and demanded to be let on, told them that this rediculousness would not stand. they relented. well, then. was shown to my cozy first class seat where i stuffed my now battered plastic bag into the overhead compartment, ordered a glass of champagne, and went right to sleep. 10 hours later i landed in the atlanta airport, was greeted with the smell of waffle fries, called my mama colelct from a payphone, and waited, thrilled, in the glorious hazy atlanta sun for my darling sister to arrive. i was home, and everything was perfect.