Clichéd lines poured from the lips around me:
- "This will be the time of your life!" (my mom)
- "Take care of yourself." (my dad)
- "Be safe." (my sister)
- "Have fun!" (all of them in unison)
Meanwhile, Alyson was going through a similar series of good lucks and goodbyes. More than ready to get going, both of us began to pick up our bags and go through security. We said our final goodbyes. I clutched my bags like a life line and checked, rechecked, and triple checked the safety of my man purse hidden beneath copious layers clothing. We both headed through security and waved goodbye to our families on the flip side (or as George would call it Flipyside) as their heads poked above security like meerkats in the bush.
Suddenly, a feeling of complete excitement took hold. I was on my way to Europe! Months of planning, days of packing, a summer of working, and months of anxiety had all come to fruition. No more planning was necessary; I was there. Relaxing a little, Alyson and I headed to the gate where our plane was set to depart in the early afternoon. Arriving slightly early, we decided to sit and listen to music together. I pulled out my splitter and in no time we were both listening to 'The Recession' by Young Jeezy (thanks to Ryan). As the time to board grew near we took turns filling our nalgene bottles and going to the bathroom.
Half an hour later we were in the air. My primary concern was to attempt to adjust to the new time zone over the course of the flight to speed up my recovery time. I fended off sleep for as long as possible, finally falling asleep at approximately 10:00 pm Berlin time. The flight was pretty much a blur, although one moment does clearly stand out (random though it may be). During my frequent trips to the bathroom (thank God for water, right?) I accidentally caught my foot on Alyson's orange juice cup, sending orange juice flying all over her and her no doubt unwashed, Lufthansa-provided blanket. Naturally she was not very happy; I apologized.
After 11+ hours, the captain finally came over the intercom. Everyone peered excitedly through their closest airplane window (except in the case of the man sitting across the aisle from me who proceeded to stare at me... creepy.) to get a glimpse of the German land below us. The rumble of landing gear jostled many out of their restful slumber as the plane filled with the noise of people rushing to get their stuff together. Everyone had the same obnoxiously naive goal: To get off the plane of first. After waiting for half an hour for the huge clump of 'sprinters' to inch their way out of the plane, Alyson and I finally arrived at our destination.
Side note: Prior to leaving my dad had printed some specialty name tags for all my bags. By accident he had printed approximately 15 extras (exaggeration, but not really). I only wanted to put one on my bags but he said, "No, what happens if one of them falls off? This way you'll have extras." I argued the point to death saying that would never happen and made fun of him for weeks for being the 'ever-prepared scoutmaster,' but still put them all on my bags. End side note.
I waited along with a group of probably twenty Gonzaga-in-Florence students for the bags to trickle onto the conveyor belt so that we could grab our luggage and go to the hotel. I sighted my huge gray duffles and approached, poised to strike. I grabbed one and then went to reach for the other before it zoomed around the corner. With sheer skill, a little luck, and a huge display of athleticism, I was able to get a finger on it before it escaped. But, as karma, fate, or whatever you want to call it would have it, I was never fated to win against my father. As I dropped the bag, one of the thousands of tags strategically attached to my bags caught on my pants and ripped off. Freaking parents are always right! How do they always know?
Anyway, I slung my backpack on, stacked my duffles one on top of the other and carried the 100 pound package into customs to exit the airport. Using the excuse of giving me a break from carrying my heavy bags, the customs officers stopped me and asked to search my things (but I knew its really because I look like a terrorist. Or maybe they know that I am friends with a certain Persian minority from LO...?). Everything checked out so they let me through where I was greeted by the small crowd of Gonzaga students and Alessandro. After everyone made it through, we traversed the muggy airport and met up with Shelley and Linda who then lead us to the bus where we were met by Peter (yes! This is a lot of names, don't worry, I shalt elaborate.).
Side Note to the Aforementioned Names: Alessandro is an administrative official at Gonzaga-in-Florence. He is Italian and is absolutely hilarious because he is supremely sarcastic. Shelley and Linda both work in the Student Life Office. They help plan trips on the weekends and handle general affairs at school like communication. Peter is the travel coordinator. He literally plans the itineraries of the trips and is fluent in three languages (German, Italian, and English). He is quite possibly the most informed person I have ever met. He seems to know everything. End Side Note to the Aforementioned Names.
Peter gave a mini tour as the bus careened recklessly down the German streets. Within minutes we arrived at the hotel. Let the games begin...
