Travel Improv 2, or Whatever Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger

Time to finally document the story for generations (and maybe some time later I'll tell you how I almost died falling down the side of a mountain in Morocco while trying to change a flat tire). This is Murphy's Law, only turbo-charged.

I begin our story benignly, with the wife and I being the last of the Terracina Villa inhabitants to exit. All was well, just a little scratchiness in my throat, which I thought was from the combination of swallowing sea water the day before and the Ferragosto Eve revelry that had me up until at least 1:30am. As I exit the entire complex and within moments of hitting Via Pontina for the drive to Lido di Ostia and our last hurrah in Italia, I have a coughing fit and start sneezing. Oh shit.... And... My body has decided that two-plus years of planning this spectacular success of a celebration has run its course,.... In other words, my body said: "Peace out, yo!"

It wasn't a struggle driving to Ostia, but, I thought of other things I could be doing instead of driving, like ogling young, lithe Italian bathing beauties on the beach in Terracina. But I digress.... After much ennui in the Audi A1, a pee break, and an annoyingly slow negotiation of a beach traffic-congested main drag leading right into Ostia, we finally made it. We parked our car near the closest commuter rail station (in what seemed like a legit parking space), trudged to where our B&B would be, and... Waited... And waited... And,..oh an email: "Be there in 30 minutes..." Swell. The street is deserted. Ferragosto in full bloom. It's true! Italy DOES do a quick exit at Ferragosto! Well,... doesn't that just beat all!

OK, we finally made it to the the B&B, checked in, and I am overcome with a dreaded sense of exhaustion. Just a short nap, I pleaded. Then I'll get the rest of the bags and make sure the car is all secure.  Three hours, and a severe case of discombobulation later, I finally get the bags, move the car, and high-tail it back to the B&B. It is at this time that my malaise has become a full-blown nasty-ass head cold.

I plead with the Mrs. to head around the corner for some pizza take-out and hunker down into bed for some much needed rest. As I peruse the satellite TV channels, I notice that there is a curious over-abundance (my estimate was approximately 500 channels--no exaggeration) of Islamic channels emanating from every possible "-Istan" in the world. OK, BBC World News will be our companion tonight!

Let's fast forward to our exit from Italy. In the meantime, a suggestion by my friend, Tini, on a cure for my malaise (consisting of lots of vodka and a hot shower) seemed to do the trick! Yay me! Yay Tini! The night before we were to leave, I decided to check the Air Canada website for the status of our flight number on today's flight and the prior two days (I'm a numbers guy; if there's a trend of relatively on-time departure, we're as good as gold). Alas....

Today's flight left after 5pm.... Nearly SIX HOURS after scheduled departure. WTF!?!?!?!? I then checked the scheduled departure for tomorrow's flight AC891: DELAYED... 1pm. OK. Not too bad.... We can still catch our connecting flight.... Rest easy.... As the packing is completed and we settle in for the night, I decide to check on the status of our flight the next morning. DELAYED UNTIL 2pm! Hmmm.... This is a statistical trend that is not trending in a positive direction. But for the sake of positivity, I spin it to the Mrs. that there's good news! We can get up 90 minutes later than we had planned! Hey! At least we KNOW it's delayed for 2.5 hours!

Morning of departure: check the website... DELAYED.... 2:40pm departure! OK,... Positive POV here: at least it' s not 5pm! Oh wait, there's more: a message from Air Canada: We have rebooked your connecting flight for 8:30pm to Chicago.

OK, positivity: Air Canada is being proactive. Good on you, folks! And now the morning can be a little bit more leisurely. We'll, hop on the airport bus and do what we need to do.

Fast forward to Fiumicino Airport.  We are winding our way through the maze, and the Air Canada check in is ALL THE WAY at the end of Terminal 3 opposite of where we are standing (harrumph!), and so we trudge down to the butt end of Terminal 3 departures. And lo and behold! A line snaking through the terminal that seems to end up at... Wait for it.... Air Canada!  This is not happening like in the movies!

The upside to this is that I was fed up with the relative slowness of the line and that there were multiple banks open, but only this line was going to one particular representative. So, after a quick inquiry with the ennui-rich other representatives, I pulled the wife, dragged the bags and checked in for our flight. Our bags were overweight, but luckily the rep was new and distracted, so we dodged that bullet. They even bought us lunch (and as it turned out, it was on the cheap, with plenty of restrictions, in a cafeteria style food court, not in a restaurant)! But I digress....

After a slight blow-up at the cafeteria, trying to convince the cashier-tron that the beer and wine that we had on our trays was not an attempt to sneak around the restrictions that Air Canada cheaply foisted upon it's weary passengers; we were going to PURCHASE the items. (Minor, I know, but at this point, I was completely saturated in sweat and frustration). And attempting to cool down from my boiling point, we had a leisurely lunch. Then head to the gate for the corral-like human experience... And... Wait... Wait.... OK, now we're at boarding time...and we...wait....and wait...now we are at departure time...and...ok, NOW the line is moving...good! Wife and I had to book separate seats, so we're on our separate journeys within the fuselage. Home free!

[SCREEEEEEECH!]

Me: Sir?
Old Crotchety Italian Gentleman--a.k.a. OCIG: [no response]
Me: Mi scusa. Signore?
OCIG: Eh?
Me: My seat. You are sitting in my assigned seat. Are you in this row?
OCIG: I no move.
Me: It's ok. If you are assigned next to me, I can accommodate you. Can I see your boarding pass?
OCIG: I pay extra for leg room. I no move. YOU move!

...and at this point, the traffic in the aisle and the other passengers' impatience has facilitated some interference by the attendants...

OCIG: I no move!
Me: [obviously at wits end] FINE! Where do you sit? I'll take your goddamned seat! I paid good money for an exit row, but sure, let me pile on more wasted money. JUST GET ME THE HELL OUT OF YOUR GODDAMNED COUNTRY!
[crickets...and stares....]

I've seen the ugly American, and it is me. [sigh]

Attendant A: Sir, thank you for doing that. It's an aisle seat, two rows back.
Me: Let's just make sure we're taking off soon.

I skulk off to a middle four seat on the aisle, easing my German-American male frame into an economy section seat two rows behind the beloved exit row seat I had won fair and square in the lottery called "seat reservations".  All this time, three different attendants are speaking to the OCIG in Italian, pleading with him to leave the seat he squatted so deftly. Five minutes later, a fourth attendant (Attendant D) taps me on the shoulder: "Sir, excuse me, is that your seat?"
Me: No
Attendant D: Then you're going to have to go to your assigned seat.
Me: See those three attendants conversing with that elderly gentleman there?
Attendant D: Yes?
Me: That's my assigned seat. You convince him of the error of his ways and get him to plant his derrière here--HIS assigned seat--and I promise you as God is my witness, I'll go to my assigned seat, with a smile on my face and a tap in my toes.
Attendant D: No need for dancing. We'll see about getting him somewhere else.
Me: Thank you.

And so 40 minutes of negotiation later, he still didn't go to his assigned seat. I did, and he caused another American mope to give up his Premium Economy seat for the OCIG.

Bene! Andiamo!  And around 3.5 hours after our originally scheduled takeoff time, we are bound for Toronto! Hallelujah!!

Now, normally I'd fast forward through this part, because it has little to do with Travel Improv, but I will have to add one small bit of advice for those of us broad of shoulder: aisle seats in the exit row are fine, but the window would be better. I was jostled around by lavatory-bound passengers and meal and snack-slinging attendants.  The Xanax pill I had taken did have one desired effect: I was relaxed and not anywhere near the ugly American I was an hour earlier. But in the nine hours in the air, only one was spent in a state of unconsciousness.

Now, landing... Good stuff. Immigration. Good stuff. Automated. Not bad. Then "pre-customs" for entering the USA. I think a number of American agents were hired for this, because just as our sizeable group of USA-bound passengers were piling onto the pre-customs snake, three of the agents went on break. I don't think Canadians would do this, or at least they'd announce their profound regrets about going on break and offer a Tim Horton's gift certificate or something like that.

The line is moving slowly, and we are approaching H-hour for the connecting flight to Chicago. The sweat is again pouring down my back. We get rushed through and begin to make our way to the gate, which is--you guessed it--ALL THE WAY AT THE END OF THE TERMINAL! The missus and I are hoofing it with 3 bags in tow (the other two are still somewhere en route to Chicago). The last moving sidewalk is in sight and we are less than 10 minutes from boarding time. I see the gate ahead of me. And I also see three teenage boys, with luggage in tow, finding the challenge of going the WRONG WAY on the moving sidewalk too irresistible.

Me:  YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY.

Two of the teenagers immediately see the error of their ways, and exit the sidewalk, choosing the old-school method of non-confrontation.

The third--whom I'll call Gordie Howe, for reasons that will soon become clear--bellows toward me, "I'm well aware of that."

Hmmm.... OK, then. So he's well aware that he's coming up on an adult male walking toward a gate where his last flight connection to Chicago is about to board, increasing his velocity to that comparable to a mama Hippo about to defend it's calf from being attacked by a hyena. How did Newton's Law go?

[BOOM!] Gordie Howe was body-checked.

A voice from the side goes: "HEY! HE'S ONLY A TEENAGER!"

Me: I'm well aware of that! And considering that this young man was well aware of his running in the wrong direction on a moving sidewalk with an adult male walking hurried toward him, I'm confident he was well aware of the consequences of him being a jerk-off!

We move forward. We're at the gate. [huff, puff]

The wife gives me some words of admonishment about body-checking a jerk-off teenager, and I quickly translate her words to Charley Brown-esque "Wha-Wha-Wha".

And then it happens. "Attention all passengers of Air Canada flight 375. We are experiencing a delay in our originally scheduled takeoff time of 8:50pm. We cannot announce when we will begin boarding because there are a number of passengers still going through U.S. Immigration pre-screening. When U.S. Immigration officially closes at 9pm, we will then be able to announce our boarding time."

And my head begins to pound mercilessly against a nearest wall. I would suspect that I would receive a bill from the Toronto airport authority for repairs to one concrete column in Terminal 2.

Eventually we board--with the wife sequestering herself in a row without any neighbors. I am hoping against all hope that there is some sort of nitrogen gas injector available in the engines of the plan to cut some 40 minutes off of flight time. I guess that's not the case.

Last bus headed for home:  10:45pm
AC375 arrives at the gate in Chicago-O'Hare: 10:44pm

The only redeeming part of this portion of the homecoming is that, while the wife and I took some time to find a restroom and relieve ourselves, someone at the baggage claim did ourselves a proper and lifted the behemoths from the carousel onto the floor. They were the only sentinels left at the carousel when we got there.

Booking.com--my best friend in the whole wide world at this point--advised me that the O'Hare Hilton--just steps from where we were--was a mere $380. I opted for the Holiday Inn & Suites in Des Plaines, with a shuttle that arrived every 30 minutes, and a cost of only $170. Good choice on my part: two queen size beds in the suite, and each bed in it's own separate room. The wife was pleased at her good fortune of having sleep uninterrupted by my snoring. And I took the bed with the television nearby. Finally, a win-win outcome!

The next morning, we opt to take a bus relatively early. At least we could arrive at home before Noon, only a mere 18 hours later than we had intended! At the bus terminal, we were not so much greeted but rather accosted by a surly bus driver. Compound this with my inability to pull out an official ticket (I only had the payment receipt), and he was a treat. Then I pulled the "sorry--we've been in transit for 36 hours" card. He chilled out and accepted the payment receipt as proof of purchase.

Whew!

Things are looking up!

We are leaving. This is a good sign. Then, one mile outside of Kenosha, WI, the bus driver announces, "Uh,... There is a check engine light that just came on. For safety, I will need to pull over and take a look at what's going on."

I thanked the bus driver for his openness.

I then laughed hysterically.  The wife smiled with a toothy grin that I hadn't seen in a long time. It was just too true to be good!!

Ten minutes later--it was a false alarm--and we were off.  One hour later we were at our stop, and called our friend Doug to pick us up. Great! We're almost home!

[ring]
Me: What's up?
Doug: Anna's car won't start.
Me: What?
Doug: Anna's car won't start. It's dead.
Me: Um.... OK, what about my car?
Doug: Right. OK.

[ring]
Me: Hello?
Doug: You're car won't start. It's dead too.
Me: What the...?
Doug: Yeah....
Me: Can you pick us up in your Wranger? I can wait while Anna gets taken home.
Doug: We'll get this done.
Me: Great. See you soon.

We stuffed five bags and three grown humans (including our driver) into a 2004 Jeep Wrangler. We come home. Home sweet home.

Bags are dropped inside. And I head to the cars. Doug volunteers to leave his car for jumping the batteries.

Three hours later--3pm CDT--the cars are charged and I head straight to bed for a brief nap.

It was, after all, my reward for a king size edition of Travel Improv.

As we say at work: Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.  Amen to that!

Magical Moments and Groggy Bliss

Tough morning. I stayed up until 1AM chatting away with Margaret and David, who came in from London to stay with us, and Dan, who has been here in Terracina at the villa for the whole time. It was kind of sleepless, or more of a period of insomnia interrupted by brief fits of sleep, punctuated by the early AM departure of one couple (which, in my state of grogginess, sounded somewhat like tiptoeing elephants), and snoring of the men-folk.

At 5:30AM, I decided to take advantage of the silence and solitude, stepped out in my shirt and sleep shorts and walked the beach toward the town of Terracina in the east. 

What glorious colors awaited me in the eastern horizon! This was a magic moment! This was what the entire trip was about. The moment to stare at the wonder and beauty of the universe's creation and soak it all in. The beach was empty, except for a forest of closed umbrellas and flat tanning beds, with the occasional group of teens wrapping up their all-night bonding sessions (or make-out sessions, in some cases), and a few of the die-hard shore fishermen casting their last lines into the sea after spending the hours since the dying of the previous day.

Amazing. Words fail me to describe it. And they couldn't do justice to what I saw and what I felt. So maybe I can share a sliver of it with you in pictures. 

Enjoy. Savor the moment. 

Just know that I had something magical that can never be taken away.

Terracina: The land of radiant smiles and endless laughter. This fits it to a "T".

One more thing: Terracina

I just want to add that Terracina and environs have been a most delightful and extraordinarily pleasant way to spend a vacation.  The beach head north of the town of Terracina, going all the way past Porto Badino and toward San Felice Cercio is a sandy paradise, peppered with both private (paid) and public (free) beaches.  If you are looking to get away from it all, go camping. But if you want to get away from your English-speaking compatriots, this is a fabulous getaway.

By the way, as far as swimming in the ocean, I was most pleasantly surprised by the combination of sand and CRYSTAL clear water (no lie, folks!). In the area where I stayed (Lido Circeo), there is a gradual steepness in the water, that approximately 30 meters out, I was over my head. But then, you swim another 80-100 meters out, and you're back on your feet. Really cool!! The August weather was absolutely hot but the breeze made life tolerable on the beach.

There is an old part of Terracina uphill from the main town, filled with medieval buildings built atop Roman ruins, and a portion of the Via Appia evident within the Town Hall Square.  It's a great Roman scavenger hunt for the family! Combine this with the Temple of Jove in Anxur at the top of the hill, and you have a delightful mini day trip.

Now about transport:  The closest train station is in Priverno-Fossanova, a 30-45 minute drive from Terracina, through back roads and regional highways. The fare for a one-way trip to Rome Termini Station is €5.00--a bargain. The fare for a one-way trip to Naples is higher, depending on the type of train and number of transfers. But there are opportunities for day trips if you want to combine a several hour trip with a late afternoon beach excursion in Terracina.

So, if you are considering a casual vacation--I stress CASUAL, not the stereotypical "Europe in seven days" excursion--I highly recommend Terracina, Italy, as the place to plant your flag (and beach umbrella) and give the area some of your tourist Dollars and Euros. You will NEVER regret it!

The Best Idea: It Doesn't Suck

I'm sitting on a chair on the Lido de Circeo somewhere between Terracina and San Felice de Circeo, on the beautiful Tyrrhenian Sea.



My thoughts go back a couple of days to when my erstwhile and new friends--Lori and Brian--commented on their experience with this little fantasy come true called my 50th birthday celebration. The comment was: This was an absolutely brilliant idea and the most memorable experience we've had. And the thought bubble that popped in my head was, "Yeah. It doesn't suck!"

I guess it was the greatest source of stress for this entire trip: what if everything falls apart and it turns into the greatest fiasco? You can plan and plan and plan for your plans to be planned, and it could, at the drop of a hat, all just "plotz" with a resounding thud.

Luckily, my friend and co-host, Vivian--also a newly minted 50-something--read my thought bubble and voiced the exact words. And so the motto of this little adventure was born: It Doesn't Suck.

Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves and think that this didn't run picture perfectly. It hasn't. The promised WiFi is wonky at best--adding to the cost, because I have to constantly buy day passes on my Skyroam hotspot. The TV satellite reception is out for an unknown reason, and the reboot trick, demonstrated by the Italian caretaker (with only a slight modicum of English language knowledge to match my slight modicum of Italian language knowledge) hasn't worked. Thus we don't get to see the Rio Olympic Games, which seems to be the most engaging games in several Olympiads. But it's all good--the only vice we seem to have here is an addiction to data and a need to download offline google maps for our day trips. The villa we rented is  off the beaten path, making for a trial-and-error method of helping guests find this little corner of paradise (and we got it right, just in time for the last family to arrive last night).

All in all, it's been a great week so far, and a great week is yet to come. I can safely attest to the YOLO trend, that despite the initial expense outside of my budget, and the subsequent impacts of "travel improv," currently at $1,000 and counting, this has been a great idea, and the epitome of vacation/holiday. I haven't felt this relaxed in years, and neither has my wife.

It sure doesn't suck.

The Art of Travel Improv

A bit of time has elapsed since our last posting. So, let's begin with highlights.

I began my trek into Italy one week ago, looking forward to a leisurely train ride and an overnight sleeper car taking me straight to Rome. Well, this is where we stop with organized travel, and begin with "Travel Improv". The truth is, you truly have to be willing to be fluid and roll with the punches when traveling. Organization is nice (although it is a bit daunting for me due to ADD), and the benefit to organization is that you have options to choose from, when the poop hits the fan. 

Travel Improv, as defined by yours truly, is the art of taking an "oh, shit!" moment, swallowing hard, coughing up whatever cash is needed to make it through, holding your head up high and proceeding to have an enjoyable trip. Travel Improv has the added benefit of granting you access to people, places and things that you never would have seen had the plan gone through flawlessly.  It's also God's little joke on truly organized people. Allow me to explain with an example.

The train that I was supposed to catch in Bolzano--planned as merely a transit point for me on this journey--was cancelled. Not delayed, but CANCELLED.

I exited my delightful train from Munich in Bolzano, went to the main hallway to check on things, and saw the dreaded Italian word "annullato" [cue element of surprise music here].

When I asked the lady behind the ticket window (who appeared to be dying of ennui brought on by the rigors of a state job), her eyes lit up and she said (in German--this is the capital of Alto Adige/Süd Tirol, after all--and this brings up a tangential point, that wherever in Europe I go, I am CONSTANTLY mistaken for a German), her eyes lit up, as if I were to receive a secret prize! In her glee of Schadenfreude, she confirmed to my horror that the train was, indeed, cancelled, due to a strike. She also enthusiastically said that there were no more trains to Rome scheduled for today. Adding insult to injury, the earliest train to Rome, where I was to meet my wife, was at 5:16am and get me into Fiumicino airport approximately 7 minutes after her scheduled landing. BUT [cue element of surprise music here], and cost me an extra 90 Euros (of course, I could always attempt to get a refund from Deutsche Bahn for the unfortunate Bolzano-Fiumicino stretch that was purchased in ol' Germany, but of course, the Italians didn't bother sending a memo about said strike).

And so, after a brief self-pity party, I set out to check my German cell phone for available hotels and grabbed the two suitcases (because the wife thought it practical that I play pack mule, since I was going to Europe first), and hoofed it, to one hotel (no go) and then to Hotel Regina--my saving grace. They had a one bed room (a little bigger than a closet). And it was wonderful! After securing accommodations, I ventured into the center of the town, and came across a brew pub (go figure--in the German speaking part of Italy). So, out of lemons, lemonade was made. It still required me to get up at the butt-crack of pre-dawn, but that was minor compared with what I could have dealt with had I not had a room to sleep in.

Travel improv: it keeps one's blood pumping.