In the air. OK, I am officially disgusted with most of my fellow passengers. Gum-chewing, whiny, talking about getting “some good American food”. Dear God in heaven, The airport snack bar was an Italian Autogrill with about 24 different fresh sandwiches, any sort of coffee drink, six kinds of cornetti, plus Danish, plus fresh-squeezed blood orange juice etc. etc. etc. For about $6 I had a fresh cornetto, a caffee latte lungo and a glass of that aforementioned blood orange juice. What more could you want? A Big Mac with a half a cup of corn syrup and a spoonful of MSG, I guess?
Ms. Packratty slept poorly Friday night, worried about the alarm and waking up because she didn’t have any backup and she was already tired when she set off for the airport. It was very sad to pack the last few things and drag my suitcase down to the front entry before making a final check and grabbing my purse and carry-on. It was well before dawn on Via Urbana and the cobblestones were a bit damp and the air smelled of old stone. I bumped my suitcase down the block, past the little workshops, the coffee bars, the storefront where classes in mosaic are taught, the restaurants, Only one shop was open, the coffee bar closest to the metro and only 2 other people on the platform.
The metro took only a minute or two to reach the Termini station where the lighting was brighter and shops were already opening for the day at 6:15. I found binario venti quattro and heaved my suitcase onto the third car of the Leonardo Express and within 5 minutes, the glossy train pulled out of the station and started speeding to the southeast and Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport.
At the airport after a trip that felt as though the train was running on glass, a transportation comedy began that was to be echoed 15 hours later in Atlanta. First the international passengers for Terminal 5 had to go to Terminal 3, where our boarding passes were inspected and we were ushered over to a bus and driven to another large building. Once there, we were handed plastic bags and told to put all electronic devices in the bag and some very cheerless sorts inspected our boarding passes and checked our passports (for the first time). Then we were sent to another large room where we waited to deposit our checked bags and then put back on the bus and driven to the actual gate area we were to depart from. At the gate, our passports were inspected for a second time and then we sat and waited. The departure area for a flight carrying about 200 people had fewer than 75 seats and since they expect you to get to the airport 2-3 hours before a flight, it was a miserable and uncomfortable wait, especially after I visited the ladies and lost my seat and had to either stand or sit on the marble floor.
Finally they started boarding and in typically illogical fashion, the airlines board the forward sections first and then the back sections, leaving the back sections to squeeze and stumble past the earlier boarders. Coupled with people bringing on suitcases as carryons that are over 20 inches high, boarding is like something in a circus act - an act, though, that one is an involuntary participant in. And before they let us on the plane, they inspected passports a third time.
Once on the plane we sat, despite an announcement that we would be leaving on time, we didn’t take off until 40 minutes after the published 9:40 a.m. departure. Delightfully, Ms. Packratty also drew an aisle seat directly behind the inevitable jerk. The guy with the sound-cancelling headphones and the Steve Jobs imitation buzz cut who conspicuously read his International Herald Tribune during the safety announcements, who jacked his seat back immediately on reaching altitude and then kept bouncing up and down in his seat so that Ms. Packratty’s water was in danger of spilling if she set it down on her tray and didn’t stop until she finally started kneeing the back of the seat every time he bounced the chairback up and down. The same jerk also opened the overhead bin and rummaged in his enormous backpack a total of seven times during the 11 + hour flight and turned on his cellphone the instant the plane landed despite the pilots announcement that electronics and cameras should not be used until customs and immigration had been cleared. Ms. Packratty was relieved to hear his weasel-faced wife whining about having to change planes before they got home because she really didn’t like the idea that they lived in the same city =- and she only wishes they came from another country. To her absolute delight, the two of them were shortstopped by an immigration officer as they used their smartphones while waiting in line to clear immigration. Apparently it was absolutely imperative that Mrs. Jerk update her Facebook status.
So we unloaded and cleared immigration, picked up checked baggage and then trudged over to customs. Ms. Packratty’s total customs inspection was “Got any food?” She replied, “Some risotto mix, a bottle of booze and some chocolates.” And she was waved through. After customs, the baggage went back on another conveyor and we passengers were herded onto buses that took us on to the main terminal and baggage claim, where, after about 20 minutes, bags came tumbling back out.
Checked bag recovered, Ms. Packratty bungee corded her carryon to the suitcase, shouldered her bag and headed to MARTA where she hopped on the train and rode it up to Lindbergh station where she cabbed back to the office and retrieved her car. It was very odd to be driving after 10+ days and her Buick felt like a limo after riding in an Italian taxi or two.
Sadly, her homecoming turned out to be extra difficult. Ms. Packratty got home, and carried her handbag up to the door, unlocked the door and found her ancient cat, Delilah Fuzzybutt, curled up on the front landing, obviously dead within the last 8-12 hours. Delilah was over 18 years old and had had a pretty good run of it, but coming home to bury a four-footer who had shared bed and board for nearly two decades was really difficult. One of Ms. Packratty’s very nice neighbors helped dig a grave behind an azalea patch and Ms. Packratty rummaged up a paver from an old path project to place over the grave until the lure to scavengers is past. And then she went home, washed her face, called her parents and went to bed and had a good cry.
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