by Kristen E. Bower, Ph.D. "Questi
posti sono nostri," she said.
My Italian is just good enough to understand that
we were in seats belonging to her party. I handed
her my ticket and asked her in broken Italian
where our seats were, and she pointed to a cryptic
spot on my ticket encoding seats a few rows back.
Scott and I thanked the woman and hopped up, grabbed
our three tiny bags and headed to our seats, where
we repeated the settling in process. Meanwhile,
the woman motioned out the side door, and her
party - of eight - filed aboard with an entourage
of baggage handlers. Were it not for the designer
bags, they might have been a lost Sherpa expedition,
horribly detoured from their trek through the
Himalayas.
For a full fifteen minutes, they fussed and argued
over who was sitting where, all the while trying
to squeeze thirty-five full-sized suitcases into
the tight overhead bins. Exasperated, one of the
men finally yelled at one of the women (in English,
which I appreciated,) "The train isn't leaving
because of YOU!"
Granted, there is the issue of souvenirs and gifts.
Inevitably, I always come home from a trip twice
as laden down as when I left. Unfortunately, the
exodus of a cheap umbrella and a trial-sized packet
of Tide only clears so much space in a tightly
filled day pack. Coincidentally, someone on my
gift list always receives a lovely bag embroidered
with the name of wherever I've been, and everyone
else receives something small enough to fit inside
it. The funny thing is, they usually seem to think
I've purchased these items out of purely altruistic
consideration for them. As the cat is now out
of the bag, so to speak, I hope nobody in my family
reads this and catches on.
Now that we are enlightened (pun definitely intended),
Scott and I are - of course - acutely aware of
everyone else's "weight problem" when
it comes to luggage. Leaving Italy, we stood on
a waterbus in Venice with our bags thrown casually
over our shoulders, while a herd of college girls
struggled to hoist their 200 pound life-pods off
the deck and onto the boat. I had begun entertaining
visions of the Titanic to pass the time, when
Scott leaned over and whispered to me, "Do
you think they're moving here?"
"Maybe," I laughed. "Or maybe they
just have a layover on the way to Neptune."
(...BACK)
|
