Home from Italy

The trip home from Italy was ... long. That one word describes it all.

We had everything packed the night before. In the morning, we got up at 3:50 am (local time) and hit the road by 4 am to make it to the airport. Our flights from Naples to Rome, and then Rome to Chicago – while somewhat bewildering because of the language barrier – weren't bad overall.

Unlike our flight to Europe, the return flight was conducted in daylight, and we could see out the window. Much of the trip was cloudy so there was nothing worth photographing. But then ... we flew over Greenland.

I never realized how mountainous the interior of Greenland was. Gorgeous!

The northeast corner of Quebec was very flat and looked marshy, though of course at this altitude it was impossible to tell.

In Chicago, we arrived a few minutes late. This meant we had just a one-hour layover, during which we were required to reclaim our luggage, go through customs, re-check our bags, and then go through security once again. Everything – everything! – seemed to delay our attempts to reach the right gate in time, and of course Chicago is a famously huge airport.

Unlike what a lot of people have experienced this week, the TSA line wasn't especially long. However, Older Daughter got delayed at airport security because the airline-issued water bottle she was given ON THE PLANE was ONE OUNCE greater than permitted while going through security, so she was held back while her bag was searched. She urged me to run ahead to the gate and beg the plane not to leave without her.

So I ran for the gate and did just that, panting. Believe me, I wasn't the only one panting and arriving late. Still, by the time Older Daughter arrived (panting), we were literally the last passengers onto the plane.

We dropped into our seats and caught our breath, glad to be on our final connection at last. And then here's the thing: Apparently there were some complex calculations the pilots had to make concerning the amount of fuel necessary to combat the headwinds we would be facing for the duration of the cross-country trip. Then we had to wait to be fueled. We also had to wait to be de-iced. The delay was originally predicted to be ten minutes, and then it was lengthened and lengthened, with frequent explanations and apologies from the pilot.

Here are the wings being de-iced:

Eventually passengers were urged and encouraged to deplane for the duration of the delay to stretch our legs, or at the very least to move around the cabin. Everyone took this in good grace and started chatting with fellow passengers, and the plane hummed with conversation. Also, lots and lots of people used the lavatories (which were right behind us, so we should know). The plane was supposed to depart at 3:30 pm, but it didn't end up leaving until closer to 5:45 pm, well over a two-hour delay. At the very least, we didn't have any connections to make. I don't think a lot of people did, which is why everyone seemed to handle the delay without a problem.

After the plane was reboarded and secured, we had to wait for other airport traffic behind the plane to clear before the plane could back away from the gate. Then there was another delay of unknown origin lasting 15 or 20 minutes before we could even taxi to the runway. And of course, there was a long line of planes waiting to taxi.

The cross-country flight was smooth, with the only turbulence hitting as we were descending into Spokane. The delay in Chicago put us in Spokane around 9 pm instead of 6 pm, but oh well. We claimed our luggage and headed for the parking lot.

The moment we stepped foot outside the airport, we were slammed with wind. It was howling at about 50 mph with gusts probably at 70 mph. No wonder the pilots had to calculate for extra fuel. No wonder we hit turbulence as we descended.

At one point, pausing to zip my jacket higher, the wind caught my suitcase (on wheels) and sent it whizzing away. I had to run to catch it.

We got the car loaded up and hit the road. We still had a five-hour drive ahead of us, and we were starving. We stopped for some food and kept driving, switching places when one of us got too sleepy to drive. The wind slammed into the vehicle all the way home, sometimes pushing us onto the side of the road before we were able to correct our course.

We limped home at about 2 am, greeted our grateful husband/father and the frantically happy animals, took late-night showers, and collapsed into bed, having been up and traveling for 30 hours total. Let that sink in: 30 hours of travel to get home.

And this, by the way, is one of the reasons why we're not frequent travelers. To address a European reader's comments on an earlier post:

"It's always a small shock to realize how little you Americans travel. I have been in 10 countries on 3 continents and that is really very mediocre on European standards. I get that your own country is big and there is plenty to see, but it seems to me that most of you still never visit the states that are further away. I mean here in Europe it is very common to pop for a weekend to other country. With foreign language, foreign culture etc. People even have their weddings and anniversaries in other countries."

Aside from travel costs (and remember, Younger Daughter paid for our plane tickets) and livestock obligations, the time and effort and planning to even reach an airport from our remote location is unfathomable by most Europeans' standards. The reasons we live where we live is because we enjoy rural life and living on a homestead, but it comes at a cost; namely, the inability to "pop for a weekend to other countries." Thirty hours of travel is, by no stretch of the imagination, a "pop."

Our Navy daughter has been blessed to experience easy and inexpensive travel to various European and Asian destinations, and we're so happy she's had this opportunity. But for us, this is why we're homebodies.

My concluding thoughts from our time in Italy:

• The Italians live up to their stereotypes, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. They're loud, flamboyant, full of life, enjoy good food, and gesticulate like mad. (This spoof by a comedienne captures their mannerisms exactly.)

• Smoking is much more common. American smoking rates have been declining for decades, so it was a little bit of a culture shock to see the casual use of cigarettes in such high proportion.

• We saw very few disabled people in Italy. Not because they don't exist, but because there appears to be very little public accommodations available to help them get around. In many ways this can't be helped. It's impossible to retrofit centuries of accumulated infrastructure for wheelchair accessibility. 

• Strangers seldom meet your eyes or smile at you on the street. The general attitude is just to ignore you. As an introvert, I found this rather a refreshing change from American friendliness, though it took some getting used to. That said, when directly interacting with people, Italians were uniformly kind and pleasant.

Given the opportunity, would I return to Italy? In a heartbeat. The people were lovely, the cities are stunning, the history is amazing.

Thank you, Younger Daughter, for the trip of a lifetime.