People Who Wander in Circles— Departure Day
Originally published Sept 2014.
Originally published Sept 2014.
On our earlier trip to Uganda, foreigners, particularly white people, were often referred to as muzungu, literally “ someone who wanders in circles”.
We went to Rome. Before we begin there are some things you should probably know. Rome is an ancient city on the banks of the Tiber, which was the capital of the Roman Kingdom, Republic and Empire between 753BC and 293 AD. Glen is my friend and tormentor, who lives beside the Thames and isn’t capital of anything — he sees himself more as an Alexander the Great figure.
It was recommended that I take a holiday after working for the summer because that’s how people rest. I have never done a city break before, so I mooted the idea with my man friend and we began. The booking experience was anything but restful, but in the end I found a trip to Rome. Certainly some people seem to think Rome is “quite good”. (moneysaving expert is really helpful).
On the day of departure, panic number one happened as I realised we hadn’t invited Luke. “Luke do you know the definition of the 11th hour?” “When someone is invited to something just before it happens” He’s fun, see. “Yeah something like that”. Could he come? Yes. If he bought his girlfriend a horse. And if BA haggle. They don’t. Lonesome, Glen and I set off.
Chatted to a bloke on the plane. We told him he should name his spreadsheets after dinosaurs and encourage his staff more; he congratulated Glen and I on our anniversary. I enjoy the whole travelling experience because you can’t do anything other than rest. I’m not great at that, so some enforced relaxation etait bon.
On our arrived at Fiumicino airport, I was once again reminded of BAs status as a premium carrier. I had booked a lift from the airport, so that at half 11 at night in a foreign city we weren’t forced to do deals with local cabbies. It didn’t appear, the the BA and lift company desks were closed and their 24 hour english-only emergency line was answered by a confused Italian man who promptly hung up on me. Urgh.
I have been scared on few occasions, particularly with Glen at my side (read that how you will); the ensuing cab journey was one of these. You have no idea which features are the ones to trust and you don’t have Liam N33son coming after your if you’re wrong. We opted for a(n official-looking) white cab with some kind of identification, prayed and checked road signs to make sure we weren’t heading towards the sea.
As we checked in we were “reminded” of the city tax. 6€ per head per night. See, here it says on your voucher that you have not paid such taxes, got to pay it or else. Thank you BA, thank you Italy.
Finally, they had thought us a couple and so Glen and I piled into our double bed, talked for 2 hours and then went to sleep.
<edit> Edited to remove things I’d no longer say. And sense. I never quite know where to draw the lines on edits, but some things while technically fine would need so much justification/nuance that I think it’s easier to remove them </edit>