AFAIK, I didn’t feel anything (I did wake up, check my email, and go back to bed right around that time, but that could easily be coincidence) but the poor inhabitants of Abruzzo and the neighboring areas definitely felt the quake. Many centuries-old buildings are completely destroyed. So far, the death toll is nearing 100, and they’re not yet done searching for survivors.

The Italians went to help en masse from all over Italy to the point where the announcements on the radio and news are advising people to stay home because the roads to Abruzzo are completely impassable.

Even though Mondays are filled with school and client work, at least I can still procrastolate by staring out the big window behind my desk at the sunny city I’m busy not exploring… Pauverina io.

P.S.
I have no idea what plants are on my balcony. I think she might be trying to grow… dandelions?

One (technically three) exceptionally cool sights in this church are the tombs of the poet Dante, the painter Michelangelo, and Gallileo.

My clothes (and everyone else’s, apparently!) are now hanging out to dry… I hope. The weather forecast is threatening rain!

…which, for me, would only be par for the course. Even the signora calls me “la frana”, which is Italian slang for “walking disaster”. Heheheheh.

One nice thing about being on the fifth floor–and having balcony access in virtually every room except the bathrooms–is that no matter where I go, there’s always a great window view.

I love Italian food, and as it turns out, there’s no better place to get it than in Italy. I’ve eaten tons of pasta so far, and snack on a different panini (technically panino) or its ilk every day after school.

Breakfast is included with my rent, so every morning I have coffee and some type of bread with the lady who shares the apartment with me. Today her daughter had to pick her up early to run some kind of errands, but when I woke up, she had everything set out and even left me a little note to say good morning!

Jojo dropped me off at the TPA airport, where my flight left at promptly one hour late. This was allegedly due to inclement weather, although it was 80 and sunny in Tampa and we never encountered a drop of rain. In any case, I wasn’t worried about the delay since I had a 3-hour layover in NYC-JFK anyway.

Or so I thought.

I was juuuuust about to hand over my ticket and board the plane when I heard an announcement seeking volunteers to take the next flight. I stopped texting Lacey and hung up with J (because, yanno, my crackberry is glued to my ears/fingers) and went to check out the situation.

The plane is oversold by 8+ tickets. The LED marquee keeps flashing “Best Deals, Guaranteed!” (An actual seat, however… not so much, apparently.)

The guy at the counter (Freddie, if you’re taking notes) says he’ll offer $400 flight credit and a pair of meal vouchers if I’m willing to take the 9pm flight instead of the 5pm flight. Plus, he says, AlItalia serves way better food. Mmmmm, better food, you say? No problem.

(Except, of course, there’s always a problem…)

I end up waiting in line at the counter until about 6:30 before I got my new ticket to Rome via AlItalia instead of Delta. And then I had to exit the airport, walk down the street with my luggage, enter a different terminal, wait in line to go through security again, only to discover that the new ticket they printed me != boarding pass, and I have to go check in for my new flight through AlItalia. Oh, and the bag I had checked in Tampa is still on the plane that already left for Rome…

The folks over at AlItalia were super nice, particularly when they informed me that the 9pm flight had been delayed until 11:50pm (later changed to 10:50pm). This was not as sparkly as 9pm. Being good sorts, they got me on a completely different flight, which was scheduled to board in… 10 minutes. (Remember the part where I’m still not through airport security?)

Happy to be arriving just a couple hours later than my original flight (assuming I make it through security on time) I tear through the checkpoint as fast as possible and sprint toward my gate when I remember–oh yes. My meal vouchers. Each worth a hefty $7.

There’s no time to go to a restaurant, so I stop by the first shop I pass and try to buy a horseshoe travel pillow. No dice. Food only. Fine. I end up buying a bottle of water and 5 packs of gum. They weren’t thrilled about it (why do they *care* in what manner I choose to waste my food vouchers??) but after some insistence that gum was surely a foodstuff, I’m once again off for the gate.

Natch, the plane is running late. An hour late. And then another hour on the tarmac because we were cleared #24 in line for takeoff. Good times. Please stay seated with your seatbelt fastened. Indefinitely.

At long last, however, we were on our way! Yay! I was seated next to a super-friendly Italian guy who gave me lots of random pointers and never laughed at my bad Italian, except when I said “ho spegnuto” instead of “ho spento”. (Stupid irregular past participles! He knew what I meant!!!)

After much shenanigans, we arrive in Rome, safe and sound.

I head to the AlItalia counter to inquire after my luggage. They direct me to the Delta counter. The Delta folks direct me back to the AlItalia counter. Right when my head was about to explode calculating how much it was going to cost me to replace everything in that bag, one of the other volunteer-bump passengers takes pity on me and shows me to the storage room between the two offices where all the orphaned bags are kept.

Thanks, I tell him. It helps to speak the language, he replies.

(I cannot tell you how much that little bit of snark irked me. I *know* it helps to speak the language. I’m here to learn Italian, after all. I even asked after my bag in Italian. However, no level of fluency would’ve made me ask, “Is there a secret hidden door with no signage whatsover that might be hiding a cache of lost or forgotten bags?” Especially since they’d've mentioned it if they realized such a thing existed. But anyway. Settle down, E.)

Since we were (bizarrely) not required to fill out any customs forms on the plane, I anticipated some form-signing action in the airport or at least a barrage of questions (why are you here? how long are you staying?) from the customs folks.

Nothing. Not even a “buon giorno”. Just an outstretched hand for the passport, a quick stamp, and off you go. Good for speed, and all, but… weird?

Have you ever been bumped from a flight, voluntarily or involuntarily? If you’ve flown internationally before, are you used to filling out customs forms or breezing right on through?