I’ve usually traveled in winter -- rates are lower, smaller crowds, less frenzied inn keepers, more locals to chat up about what it’s like to live in a place I’m just in for a holiday. The downside to this is cold weather and sometimes (insert ominous organ music here) the dreaded snow. I was zooming off to Italy for a visit with my fabulous pal Cynthia and husband Giovanni at there new home in southern Tuscany.
I was a wee bit nervous about this trip because my hearing had dropped quite a bit -- it had yet to go the way of the Dodo but it was definitely in weak sister-land. I figured I could get by on my own, of course, but wondered where, how and when the hurdles would appear.
My flight to Rome had, what was supposed to be, a brief layover in Milan. Normally I just love flying through Milan -- the descent over the Alps is tremendous, breathtaking, glorious, stunning, amazing and a minimum of at least twelve additional superlatives. On this trip, however, the Alps were invisible, the sky an opaque white; we were landing in the midst of an enormous blizzard. The pilot announced that we would be able to land, but all connecting flights were canceled; the airport shut.
Panic set in. How would I negotiate getting to Rome or even contacting Cynthia and Giovanni? They were driving down to pick me up and, by the time we were on the ground in Milan, would have already left San Casciano. Would I have to camp out in the Milan airport? Could I get to Rome that day at all? Would I be able to understand the airline personnel? If I stayed in Milan overnight would I wake up as a shrill fashionista? All critical concerns!
As soon as we entered the terminal I raced for the Rome departure gate n search of options. I wanted to get to the desk well before the other stranded travelers since I knew my ability to understand would be slow, limited and far more challenged if I was in a crowd of people all talking at once. Even if the airline folks would be speaking English, it would be with an accent and that would up the misunderstanding ante immeasurably.
I got to the desk and, wonder of wonders, had no trouble understanding the most awesome attendant. She spoke slowly, clearly and with hand gestures -- it is Italy after all. I found myself able to read her lips better than most strangers back home in Boston. Seriously.
Good thing too, since my journey to Rome was just in its nascent stages. I had to get down to the first floor where there would be an office dispensing bus tickets. I had a voucher for a trip to the train station in Milan and then a ticket for the train to Rome. Making all of these connections was heavily dependent on my ability to negotiate my way through an often confusing transportation system -- a mega challenge even for folks with all their hearing.
Dependent on that AND my ability to run fast -- think Flo Jo, think Marion Jones, think Run Lola Run! The dashing, bobbing, weaving, sprinting and the glory of Italian train travel tomorrow.
I was a wee bit nervous about this trip because my hearing had dropped quite a bit -- it had yet to go the way of the Dodo but it was definitely in weak sister-land. I figured I could get by on my own, of course, but wondered where, how and when the hurdles would appear.
My flight to Rome had, what was supposed to be, a brief layover in Milan. Normally I just love flying through Milan -- the descent over the Alps is tremendous, breathtaking, glorious, stunning, amazing and a minimum of at least twelve additional superlatives. On this trip, however, the Alps were invisible, the sky an opaque white; we were landing in the midst of an enormous blizzard. The pilot announced that we would be able to land, but all connecting flights were canceled; the airport shut.
Panic set in. How would I negotiate getting to Rome or even contacting Cynthia and Giovanni? They were driving down to pick me up and, by the time we were on the ground in Milan, would have already left San Casciano. Would I have to camp out in the Milan airport? Could I get to Rome that day at all? Would I be able to understand the airline personnel? If I stayed in Milan overnight would I wake up as a shrill fashionista? All critical concerns!
As soon as we entered the terminal I raced for the Rome departure gate n search of options. I wanted to get to the desk well before the other stranded travelers since I knew my ability to understand would be slow, limited and far more challenged if I was in a crowd of people all talking at once. Even if the airline folks would be speaking English, it would be with an accent and that would up the misunderstanding ante immeasurably.
I got to the desk and, wonder of wonders, had no trouble understanding the most awesome attendant. She spoke slowly, clearly and with hand gestures -- it is Italy after all. I found myself able to read her lips better than most strangers back home in Boston. Seriously.
Good thing too, since my journey to Rome was just in its nascent stages. I had to get down to the first floor where there would be an office dispensing bus tickets. I had a voucher for a trip to the train station in Milan and then a ticket for the train to Rome. Making all of these connections was heavily dependent on my ability to negotiate my way through an often confusing transportation system -- a mega challenge even for folks with all their hearing.
Dependent on that AND my ability to run fast -- think Flo Jo, think Marion Jones, think Run Lola Run! The dashing, bobbing, weaving, sprinting and the glory of Italian train travel tomorrow.
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