Example primo- on arrival. To be fair I had a nine hour layover in Singapore, where I wandered aimlessly through that bland, bland modern city (bags in tow) instead of resting my weary body in the airport hotel like any intelligent person would have done. And I had a much longer flight. 3 hours round 1, and 13 hours round two. Ouch. This is compared to her mere eight hours round 1, then three more. Please. Child's play.
And (laying it on real thick, naturally) since I've been living in Thailand, I have an unusually hefty load. Heavy, heavy bags I lugged up and down stairs and on and off trains and through cobblestone streets to get from the airport to our guesthouse. Then I did it all again with my mother's things only a few hours later. So, I do have a bit of an excuse.
Still, it was embarrassing. Our first full day and I can't even get out of bed. Literally. I thought I had the flu. I was ready to call an ambulance. Didn't want to move, or eat or drink. In too much pain to sleep. And there was my momma, politely resting alongside me, but fresh and fit as if she had woken from her own bed that very morning. Not lagged a bit. The nerve of her! First time to cross the pond and she is skipping and dancing off the plane, while I'm lying with my tongue hanging out, dead as a doornail. Not how I wanted it to go down at all. On the bright side, after a mere 24 hours spent in a catatonic state, I was back in the game.
In my past travel experiences, I have always had a home base; never the nomad like Traipse Across Italia 2k10. So, on Day 2, when I arrived back at life-oh-norm-al, I thought I was set.
Wrong.
Packing it up and moving from Rome to Florence was unnerving. I could just barely handle it. I discovered (even though I totally already knew this) I would hate backpacking. Really. I need the stability. Day trips-- okay fantastic. Overnight, paying for two accommodations-- excellent, when affordable. Always on the move-- straight debilitating.
Once we arrived at the central station in Rome, I was past due for a stressfest. It was nothing, and I was flipping. Nearly in tears. Exhausted. And there she was --the mom--, relaxed and calm, not a care in the world.
I was once told that I might find Europe more difficult than Asia. That it would feel like home, so the misunderstandings would be more challenging. TRUE. In Asia, I don't have any issues with stress (usually) when I don't understand, because like, why would I know what's going on???! And that's cool. But here, I should get it. Man, it was killing me. Prime Example: Bathroom signs in Termini Station. They lead to NOWHERE. I walked circles around that bia for 20 minutes, upstairs and downstairs, inside and out, to no avail. Finally, I discovered they were behind service doors on which my little American brain had plastered imaginary Don't Enter signs. I finally went against my best judgement and gave it a peek. They opened up into warehouses with restrooms, and these fools wanted me to pay to use a toilet. Gah, I was so not about to do that, especially when I had just shelled out 50 bucks for an hour and a half train ride. So I held my bladder until we reached Florence just to spite 'em. Trump card goes to me. How do you like them apples, Rome?
That's about all I have to offer in the way of I'm Much More Horrible at Traveling Than You, copyright 2k10, all rights reserved, for now. For the rest, only time will tell. For today, I'm unpacked and refreshed, enjoying Firenze-- the most beautiful city I could ever imagine, and loving every second. Ciao!
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