Another Travelin' Song

Hello!

As I'm sure most of you know, I am back in the States.  I have been meaning to post, but we took off for Racine almost as soon as I got to Detroit and then I got to spend a week in Chicago with Adam.  So, finally, I blog.

I flew Delta back .  Oh, Delta.  When I flew to Rome, I flew from Detroit to New York to Rome.  In Detroit, we boarded the plane and then deplaned because they had made a mistake and that plane was not safe to be thousands of feet in the air.  Reassuring, yeah?  My flight out of New York was delayed due to maintenance problems.  I talked to at least three other people who had taken connecting flights to New York and were all delayed because of maintenance; I was expecting the same on the way back.  Thankfully, there were no delays save for an extra 30 minutes to taxi.  Lest Delta jump from America's number one least favorite airline, they had to attempt something ridiculous.  They served us pizza and gelato on the the flight back from Rome.  Sorry, I mean "pizza" and "gelato."  It was an individual, boxed, microwaved pizza, and a Dixie cup with different packaging.  I laughed out loud.  On the flight to Rome, ok, but really?  On the way back, after everyone has clearly indulged in the best pizza and creamy, whole, delicious gelato?  

My second flight was from New York to Detroit--a tiny, crowded plane, you know the kind.  I had the window seat; I love the window seat--better view, easier to sleep, etc.  The man in front of me had a broken seat, one that wouldn't stay in the upright position.  Frankly, it didn't bother me.  Sure, I have an inch or two less leg room, but I didn't really have a comfortable seat to begin with, so what's the big deal?  (Did you hear about the man who got into a physical fight with another passenger on a recent 11 hour flight to Africa because he put his seat back?  They turned the plane around had to have two fighter jets accompany it back in case it was a distraction for a terrorist.  It cost something like $60,000.  Because a man leaned his seat back.  On an 11 hour flight.)  As we were about to taxi, a flight attendant came over and asked him to please put his seat up.  He showed her that he couldn't, but told her that he would just sit up during takeoff (yeah, great idea).  She informed him that she would have to find him another seat for his own safety.  She looked around for a minute and told him there was a free aisle seat a few rows back.  He looked at her, got this attitude, and said, "But I want an aisle seat."  Really, sir?  You are 50 years old.  Don't whine like a preteen girl.  It was an hour and fifteen minute flight from New York to Detroit.  There's not much to see.  I could tell the flight attendant was frustrated (understandably), so I took the aisle seat and he took my window seat.  As we used to say at Milaeger's--People.  They're the worst.
But, I made it back physically unscathed.  We got to our house in Flat Rock where I opened my big suitcase and moved some stuff to a smaller suitcase, slept for about 5 hours, and took off for Racine to celebrate my grandma's 80th birthday.   

Isn't she the cutest?  I hope I look that good at 80.

The following Monday I went to Chicago to spend the week with Adam, whom I hadn't seen since the beginning of January.

Look, we aren't 7 hours apart anymore!

 Memorial Day I returned to the Flattest of Rocks and tomorrow I will head back to my beloved Hope and Holland to do summer research with the history department.  

I haven't had reverse culture shock thus far--maybe it just hasn't hit yet, maybe it's due to so much moving around, maybe it won't ever come, I don't know.  I am happy to be back to a place where I know where I can buy things and buy many different things in one place (i.e. Kohl's, Walgreens, etc...).  I am happy to be rid of pigeons and those seagulls that made such a ridiculous noise outside of my window (They kind of sounded like monkeys.  I kid you not).  I am happy to not smell city smells all of the time; to smell grass and the smell that comes with being near water.  I am happy to be back to a kitchen that has windows.  I am happy to be back in a place where I am not breathing in tons and tons of second hand smoke.

I miss Italy more than I am happy to be back though, I think.  I miss walking everywhere, as weird as that is.  I don't know how well all of that walking would translate here as I have a lot more specific time commitments, but it was lovely.  I really miss my favorite take away pizza place i suppli.  They had such delicious pizza and suppli, their namesake (suppli are balls of rice mixed with tomato sauce and a bit of ground meat with a chunk of melty mozzarella in the middle, breaded and fried.  Sounds weird, tastes delicious).  There were always Romans inside and the same two to six men working.  My favorite was a bald man who became more friendly as I kept coming and he realized I wasn't just a tourist.  

I miss the Tiber.  The Tiber is a bit like the Root River in Racine.  You love it because it's part of the oldest history of your city, but in reality, it's just a dirty river.  But you ignore that and hold it close to your heart.  I love the Tiber.  As long as I could get to the river, I could find my way home.  I loved walking along the river, especially once I got back from Barcelona and all of the trees had blossomed.  

The river is on the right.  Miles of tree tunnels.

I loved walking under the branches of the trees.  It was always the perfect temperature because the sun wasn't beating down on my head, but it also wasn't full shade.  The trunks have this wonderful painted look.  I felt snuggled between the city and the river, intimately part of Rome.  As many cathedrals and ancient works of art that I saw, I was always smitten with my beloved trees.  Occasionally, I would find myself pressing my hand flat against one of them, hoping to soak in some of their steadfastness.  I miss my trees.

 I also miss my park.  I passed the park almost every day on my way to school during the first half of the semester when I took the tram.  It's right on one of the busier streets and there are usually dogs playing.  I'm surprised, honestly, that I loved it so much.  I typically prefer parks with tons of nature, if you will, and quiet.  This park was neither of those things, but there were always Italians there, chatting, resting, smoking.  Old men would come and sit down on a bench next to me and just sit.  Not reading, not writing, not talking to anyone, just sitting.  I love the fountain in the park and there was always, again, the perfect amount of sun and shade.

I don't mind the pigeons if they stay up there and look quaint.

That man sleeping on the cardboard was not my favorite part.  And he was only there once.

I did a lot of reading and writing here.

I miss seeing the man with two big dogs, a touch screen cellphone, and a sign asking for money.

I miss seeing this Space Invader almost every day: 

Love love love.

 I miss seeing this door on my way up to our apartment every day:

I hate that bassline between scenes, though....

 I miss seeing this outside my window every morning:

I am also going to really miss blogging.  It has been a lovely way to do some creative writing amidst a life of research papers.  I would love to keep on keeping on, but do you really want to read about my latest trip to the farmer's market or why I was disappointed with the book Water for Elephants?  Probably not.  

Thanks for reading and sharing in my adventures.  Now that I'm back, let's get together and talk in real time?

Tanto, tanto amore,
Hannah