In transit to Italy, 9/22-9/23
Note: these were written up in the past week, but I'm posting them now. So no, I'm currently not in Italy (sadly).
I have finally made it to Naples, despite the fates conspiring against me.
Well, not really the fates, but Murphy, at the very least. I had ticked everything off my to-do list, taken the rats to the sitter, packed, handed off everything at work, and was sitting happily at the gate, about twenty minutes before departure, when my mom called.
"Hi-I'm-at-the-gate," I said, too tired for a long conversation.
"Did you remember your passport?" she asked.
There was an extremely uncomfortable silence on my end as assorted curse words ran through my head.
It was too late to go back and get my passport, obviously, and even though the flight to Italy wasn't till 5:25 on Friday, that still wasn't enough time to FedEx it to New York. So I went to the counter, explained to the lady there, and managed to get my luggage off the flight, thanks to having painted it with iridescent nail polish after yhlee's luggage crisis at WisCon.
"Wow, that nail polish thing was a good idea!" the lady at the counter said. "They had just loaded it on the plane about a minute earlier, and one of the people remembered the nail polish spots."
I cancelled my flight and went out to the ticket counter, only to find that the ticketing agents had already gone home for the night. I called reservations on my cell, only to find that United may possibly have the most annoying phone system ever. Every single time, it makes you listen to about two minutes of talk on TSA regulations, and let me tell you, those two minutes feel like hours when you are trying to book a ticket to get to New York so that you can go on vacation. Then, during the very long "Press one if..." dialogue, it turned out that it didn't accept any numbers from my phone and hung up on me. Luckily, the line at the airport courtesy phone worked better. I rebooked a ticket that had a layover in Denver and would arrive in Newark at four and prayed that it would be enough time.
Went back home, tried to sleep for three hours, got up for the 6:00 am flight, only to find that my mom had, in the meantime, found a direct Continental flight that left at 7 and arrived half an hour earlier. I ended up going to the airport and hanging out with my now familiar old friend, the courtesy phone, to book that flight at the very last minute, cancel the other flight, juggle the courtesy phone and my parents calling on my cell, try very, very hard not to think about my credit card bill, and attempt not to panic.
I finally picked up my cell after having a ticket securely reserved (for the third time).
"Hi, where are you?" asked my dad.
"I got the Continental ticket and cancelled the UA one and I'm going to the gate now I will call the sister and tell her it should be ok, *gasp*"
"Don't fall asleep at the gate like your sister did that time!" said my dad. "You have your passport, right?"
"Yes," I said, after surreptitiously checking my purse for the nineteenth time that morning.
At the gate, I called my sister to let her know the NEW new plan.
"Mommy says don't fall asleep at the airport," she said.
"I know, Daddy already told me not to."
"Ok, cool, see you at the counter."
About half an hour later, my cell phone rang again.
"Hello?" I said, not recognizing the number, which was coming from Taiwan.
"Hi, Oyce ah? This is L ahyi from Taiwan!"
"Um, hi ahyi!" I said, wondering why she was calling from Taiwan.
"Your mom told me to call you around this time, something about a flight? She says to make sure you aren't asleep! So, are you ok?"
"Uh... yeah. I'm good. Thank you. I'm awake," I said.
"Oh, good, good. Have a good trip, ok?"
"Ok, thank you, ahyi."
I didn't fall asleep until I was securely buckled into my seat.
I didn't feel safe until I had met my sister at the ticket counter in Newark, checked in my bags, and then finally boarded the plane.
We met up with the parental units and their friends in Rome, in which there was a panicked rush for facial cleanser -- I was supposed to bring it, while my sister supplied conditioner and soap, but I ended up carrying on my bags instead of checking in, for fear of being late, so no liquid for me. After who knows how many hours without showering and in the plane and suffering the cold sweat of complete and utter terror, I felt that facial cleanser was quite possibly essential to continued survival. Alas, the lady at the duty free shop wouldn't let us buy facial cleanser because we hadn't gone through customs, thereby depriving us of the chance of actually recognizing the skincare products and brands.
We tried looking in a slightly more local beauty store/pharmacy in the airport, only to squint, puzzled, at shelves and shelves of bottles and tubes and vials, all labelled in Italian. After narrowing it down to "viso," there were still two shelves of products to go.
"Uh. This says 'detergente.' I think that means cleanser?"
"But does it foam?" asked my sister.
"Uh. It has aloe in it?" I said, cleverly decoding the aloe picture on the packaging.
"Huh," went my sister, unconvinced that I knew anything (fairly standard, actually).
"Well... this has 'adolescence' on it! It must be for pimply skin! That is good, yes?"
"Huh," went my sister, still unconvinced.
"I think the 'latte' means a creamy cleanser?"
"Huh."
"Can we just get one?" I whined.
"Mmmmmmm."
Finally, we settled on a German one, since both the Italian and the German seemed to indicate that it was facial cleanser, and since it came in a reassuring tube that looked like it might foam.
We paid, only to find that the lady at the store did indeed speak English and could probably have advised us and saved us much time.
"Oh, this is a very good brand!" she said. "It's my favorite."
"Oh good!" we said, reassured. "Um, it's facial cleanser, right?"
"Yes, yes! And the other, it is, uh..."
"Tonic?" supplied my sister, cleverly translating "tonica."
"Yes, very good for your face!"
We walked out, 80% more confident that we had indeed bought the correct products and not accidentally bought something that should be internally ingested or something.
Half an hour later, we discovered that there was another duty-free shop above our gate, with products labelled in English.
While the airport and the assorted cleaning products were rather incomprehensible, it was reassuring to find that both parents completely reverted to type. We lost my mom several times in the brand-name stores, and my dad eventually emerged from the wine store with a large bag.
"You already bought wine? We haven't even gotten to Naples yet!"
"Yes!" said my dad, quite proud of himself.
Me and my sister looked at each other and shrugged.
Ravello, good and proper:
The drive to the hotel was beautiful, at least the bits that I saw in the few seconds I opened my eyes between cat-naps. In town, I caught signs pointing to Carrefour and Ikea, signs everywhere in the middle of the mountains for assorted pizzerias and ristorantes. It actually reminded me a great deal of Taiwan: all green and lush, vines and flowers everywhere over crumbling concrete walls; twisty roads with unexpected small stores in the middle of trees right around the bend and cars having to inch past each other; steep green mountains on one side and an equally steep drop-off on the other with a dramatic view of the ocean.
I was slipping in and out of sleep, having not had a full night's sleep for two days, so I missed a lot. I did, however, manage to watch the van driver sloooowly inch past tiny cars with families of four packed in them, and I managed to fend off my dad, who was attempting to kidnap my iPod to listen to the little classical music I had on there.
The resemblance to Taiwan promptly stopped once we reached our hotel, which was smack in the middle of a tiny little alley with arched doors leading in. All the buildings look small and cramped from the streets, and the streets themselves are tall and narrow, old and cobblestoned, overgrown with greenery. But when you open the doors and enter, the small lobby falls away to slopes of terraces and balconies, and a giant, almost unreal view of the curve of the Amalfi coast, the city below, and the Mediterranean, stretching out to the horizon, small boats speckling the waters. It was literally breathtaking; I think we all gasped as we stepped in and caught sight of the view.
The hotel restaurant has some of the best mozzarella ever. I will blog about all the food later, after I upload all the pictures off my camera, but I felt like I should make a note of this. It wasn't insipid like bad mozzarella can be, but creamy and sort of tangy and salty and incredibly rich. So delicious!
After a much-needed nap on my part, we ended up exploring the small villa down the hill. There was a little church there where someone had just gotten married; small paper purple hearts, paper white doves and paper white bells festooned the stone steps, left over from the festivities. The church was obviously the main staple of the villa square -- picture all the little Italian and/or European villages that you see in movies or read about in books, and that was exactly what it was like. Little children running around chattering, moms making sure they didn't stray too far, old men sitting at tables smoking their pipes, small, nearly hidden, storefronts, and all of it opening up to a spectacular view of the mountains and valley behind, lights in the distance speckling the landscape.
Apparently this place is known for its ceramics, for there were about ten different ceramic stores all selling hand-painted dishes and bowls and curious little signs.
After dinner, we went to a small concert (a violinist and a pianist playing some Mozart, Schubert, Brahms and Grieg), as there's apparently a music festival going on in these parts. It was tiny, wooden chairs lined up in a white room with vaulted ceilings. Amazingly, I didn't doze off, though pretty much all the parents did, my mom being the worst culprit. At least no one snored, like we were joking about on the way over.
Then, to bed. Nothing feels quite as good as clean sheets and a flat surface, particularly after having spent approximately 24 hours travelling.
ETA: accompanying pictures
I have finally made it to Naples, despite the fates conspiring against me.
Well, not really the fates, but Murphy, at the very least. I had ticked everything off my to-do list, taken the rats to the sitter, packed, handed off everything at work, and was sitting happily at the gate, about twenty minutes before departure, when my mom called.
"Hi-I'm-at-the-gate," I said, too tired for a long conversation.
"Did you remember your passport?" she asked.
There was an extremely uncomfortable silence on my end as assorted curse words ran through my head.
It was too late to go back and get my passport, obviously, and even though the flight to Italy wasn't till 5:25 on Friday, that still wasn't enough time to FedEx it to New York. So I went to the counter, explained to the lady there, and managed to get my luggage off the flight, thanks to having painted it with iridescent nail polish after yhlee's luggage crisis at WisCon.
"Wow, that nail polish thing was a good idea!" the lady at the counter said. "They had just loaded it on the plane about a minute earlier, and one of the people remembered the nail polish spots."
I cancelled my flight and went out to the ticket counter, only to find that the ticketing agents had already gone home for the night. I called reservations on my cell, only to find that United may possibly have the most annoying phone system ever. Every single time, it makes you listen to about two minutes of talk on TSA regulations, and let me tell you, those two minutes feel like hours when you are trying to book a ticket to get to New York so that you can go on vacation. Then, during the very long "Press one if..." dialogue, it turned out that it didn't accept any numbers from my phone and hung up on me. Luckily, the line at the airport courtesy phone worked better. I rebooked a ticket that had a layover in Denver and would arrive in Newark at four and prayed that it would be enough time.
Went back home, tried to sleep for three hours, got up for the 6:00 am flight, only to find that my mom had, in the meantime, found a direct Continental flight that left at 7 and arrived half an hour earlier. I ended up going to the airport and hanging out with my now familiar old friend, the courtesy phone, to book that flight at the very last minute, cancel the other flight, juggle the courtesy phone and my parents calling on my cell, try very, very hard not to think about my credit card bill, and attempt not to panic.
I finally picked up my cell after having a ticket securely reserved (for the third time).
"Hi, where are you?" asked my dad.
"I got the Continental ticket and cancelled the UA one and I'm going to the gate now I will call the sister and tell her it should be ok, *gasp*"
"Don't fall asleep at the gate like your sister did that time!" said my dad. "You have your passport, right?"
"Yes," I said, after surreptitiously checking my purse for the nineteenth time that morning.
At the gate, I called my sister to let her know the NEW new plan.
"Mommy says don't fall asleep at the airport," she said.
"I know, Daddy already told me not to."
"Ok, cool, see you at the counter."
About half an hour later, my cell phone rang again.
"Hello?" I said, not recognizing the number, which was coming from Taiwan.
"Hi, Oyce ah? This is L ahyi from Taiwan!"
"Um, hi ahyi!" I said, wondering why she was calling from Taiwan.
"Your mom told me to call you around this time, something about a flight? She says to make sure you aren't asleep! So, are you ok?"
"Uh... yeah. I'm good. Thank you. I'm awake," I said.
"Oh, good, good. Have a good trip, ok?"
"Ok, thank you, ahyi."
I didn't fall asleep until I was securely buckled into my seat.
I didn't feel safe until I had met my sister at the ticket counter in Newark, checked in my bags, and then finally boarded the plane.
We met up with the parental units and their friends in Rome, in which there was a panicked rush for facial cleanser -- I was supposed to bring it, while my sister supplied conditioner and soap, but I ended up carrying on my bags instead of checking in, for fear of being late, so no liquid for me. After who knows how many hours without showering and in the plane and suffering the cold sweat of complete and utter terror, I felt that facial cleanser was quite possibly essential to continued survival. Alas, the lady at the duty free shop wouldn't let us buy facial cleanser because we hadn't gone through customs, thereby depriving us of the chance of actually recognizing the skincare products and brands.
We tried looking in a slightly more local beauty store/pharmacy in the airport, only to squint, puzzled, at shelves and shelves of bottles and tubes and vials, all labelled in Italian. After narrowing it down to "viso," there were still two shelves of products to go.
"Uh. This says 'detergente.' I think that means cleanser?"
"But does it foam?" asked my sister.
"Uh. It has aloe in it?" I said, cleverly decoding the aloe picture on the packaging.
"Huh," went my sister, unconvinced that I knew anything (fairly standard, actually).
"Well... this has 'adolescence' on it! It must be for pimply skin! That is good, yes?"
"Huh," went my sister, still unconvinced.
"I think the 'latte' means a creamy cleanser?"
"Huh."
"Can we just get one?" I whined.
"Mmmmmmm."
Finally, we settled on a German one, since both the Italian and the German seemed to indicate that it was facial cleanser, and since it came in a reassuring tube that looked like it might foam.
We paid, only to find that the lady at the store did indeed speak English and could probably have advised us and saved us much time.
"Oh, this is a very good brand!" she said. "It's my favorite."
"Oh good!" we said, reassured. "Um, it's facial cleanser, right?"
"Yes, yes! And the other, it is, uh..."
"Tonic?" supplied my sister, cleverly translating "tonica."
"Yes, very good for your face!"
We walked out, 80% more confident that we had indeed bought the correct products and not accidentally bought something that should be internally ingested or something.
Half an hour later, we discovered that there was another duty-free shop above our gate, with products labelled in English.
While the airport and the assorted cleaning products were rather incomprehensible, it was reassuring to find that both parents completely reverted to type. We lost my mom several times in the brand-name stores, and my dad eventually emerged from the wine store with a large bag.
"You already bought wine? We haven't even gotten to Naples yet!"
"Yes!" said my dad, quite proud of himself.
Me and my sister looked at each other and shrugged.
Ravello, good and proper:
The drive to the hotel was beautiful, at least the bits that I saw in the few seconds I opened my eyes between cat-naps. In town, I caught signs pointing to Carrefour and Ikea, signs everywhere in the middle of the mountains for assorted pizzerias and ristorantes. It actually reminded me a great deal of Taiwan: all green and lush, vines and flowers everywhere over crumbling concrete walls; twisty roads with unexpected small stores in the middle of trees right around the bend and cars having to inch past each other; steep green mountains on one side and an equally steep drop-off on the other with a dramatic view of the ocean.
I was slipping in and out of sleep, having not had a full night's sleep for two days, so I missed a lot. I did, however, manage to watch the van driver sloooowly inch past tiny cars with families of four packed in them, and I managed to fend off my dad, who was attempting to kidnap my iPod to listen to the little classical music I had on there.
The resemblance to Taiwan promptly stopped once we reached our hotel, which was smack in the middle of a tiny little alley with arched doors leading in. All the buildings look small and cramped from the streets, and the streets themselves are tall and narrow, old and cobblestoned, overgrown with greenery. But when you open the doors and enter, the small lobby falls away to slopes of terraces and balconies, and a giant, almost unreal view of the curve of the Amalfi coast, the city below, and the Mediterranean, stretching out to the horizon, small boats speckling the waters. It was literally breathtaking; I think we all gasped as we stepped in and caught sight of the view.
The hotel restaurant has some of the best mozzarella ever. I will blog about all the food later, after I upload all the pictures off my camera, but I felt like I should make a note of this. It wasn't insipid like bad mozzarella can be, but creamy and sort of tangy and salty and incredibly rich. So delicious!
After a much-needed nap on my part, we ended up exploring the small villa down the hill. There was a little church there where someone had just gotten married; small paper purple hearts, paper white doves and paper white bells festooned the stone steps, left over from the festivities. The church was obviously the main staple of the villa square -- picture all the little Italian and/or European villages that you see in movies or read about in books, and that was exactly what it was like. Little children running around chattering, moms making sure they didn't stray too far, old men sitting at tables smoking their pipes, small, nearly hidden, storefronts, and all of it opening up to a spectacular view of the mountains and valley behind, lights in the distance speckling the landscape.
Apparently this place is known for its ceramics, for there were about ten different ceramic stores all selling hand-painted dishes and bowls and curious little signs.
After dinner, we went to a small concert (a violinist and a pianist playing some Mozart, Schubert, Brahms and Grieg), as there's apparently a music festival going on in these parts. It was tiny, wooden chairs lined up in a white room with vaulted ceilings. Amazingly, I didn't doze off, though pretty much all the parents did, my mom being the worst culprit. At least no one snored, like we were joking about on the way over.
Then, to bed. Nothing feels quite as good as clean sheets and a flat surface, particularly after having spent approximately 24 hours travelling.
ETA: accompanying pictures