Rome was lovely. Honestly, we found the cutest little bed and breakfast hotel just steps from the Trevi fountain that was just amazing. Modern, tucked out of sight but so central at the same time, the picture below is the view out our room’s window, it was straight out of a movie. We enjoyed a lovely time in Rome that was far more relaxing than our London trip had indicated.
Our flight out of Rome was quite early on our last day, so we made the executive decision to check out of our adorable little hotel and spend the last night in the hotel at the airport so we wouldn’t have to pay for a cab in the morning, as the trains would not be up and running that early. So we packed up a picnic dinner of fresh bread, fresh cheese, olives and wine and headed out to our hotel. As with any place where you are trapped, it was quite expensive. We explored our hotel and discovered that sadly, the exercise room I had planned to use before we left would not be open that early either. Our genius plans thwarted, we enjoyed our meal and hatched a plan that I could do a little run in the walkway between the airport and the hotel. Genius! It was well-lit, safe and open.
So we tucked into our bed and went to sleep. However, not before we had to call the front desk and explain that my husband had taken EVERYTHING out of the mini-bar in order to make room for our cheese. We had NOT consumed anything at all, and the fact that it was weight operated was going to be a problem.
We were nervous wrecks about the $400 mini-bar tab, but it was the least of our worries.
I awoke early, strapped on my running shoes and made my way to the walk way to the airport. I began me jog, I wasn’t going to sprint through. It was basically empty, except one person sleeping in a corner of the enclosed walkway. I ran to the end and ran back and turned around. On my second lap down I was greeted by a security officer.
He wagged his finger at me and said, “No, No.”
I understood. That was the first time that it registered with me that RUNNING in an AIRPORT was probably not the brightest idea.
So I walked until I got out of his sight, and then ran again. I did complete my run outside, making laps around the parking lot.
Upon completion, we packed our belongings and made our way to the airport. Having learned my lesson in London, I took my vitamins but did not drink any coffee. We arrived at a very dead airport, and began to make our way through security. My husband, a constant worrier, kept making sure that my stuffed carry-on bag would fit through the security screening machine. It made it through without a problem. As he tried to cross through the metal detector, it did not go off as it usually did. His security prowess had improved on our trip. HIS bag, however, did not. It seems he had forgotten to unpack the stolen bread knife he had made off with from our first hotel to cut our bread and cheese for our picnic.
Security took it away, and we made our way to the gate.
I was starving and decided that I needed to get food before the flight, just to be safe.
There was one little cafeteria open in the airport, so we stopped. When I got to the cashier, I tried to pay with my card. She shook her head and said, “Euros.”
We didn’t have any more Euros. We had spent them all because we were flying home that day. So I put the food away and went to the gate, a little irritated. We could do nothing right at Da Vinci airport.
It came time to load the plane, the same plane we had flown days before from London. I was handing my ticket to the attendant and she pointed at my personal item and carry-on and said, “Only one.”
I tried to explain that one was my carry-on and the other my personal item; that days earlier I had flown and it had been no problem. She refused to accept this and took my carry-on and tagged it. I hoped I would see it in the US, as we had a layover in Amsterdam.
By this time, I wanted out of Italy. I had done nothing but cause problems in the past four hours and was ready to go home. I scarfed the little snack on the plane and couldn’t wait to land in Amsterdam and eat. And EAT I would. However, the lines were long and the place I wanted to eat was far from where our gate was located. So we grabbed our food and began to head to plane, when they began calling final boarding call.
We didn’t even know that they had started boarding. My husband, the worrier, booked it. It was actually kind of funny, because he was sprinting amidst the crowds of people, and I just pulled my bag behind as fast as I could. So we showed up with our food…and found we had to go through security AT the gate. Which included dumping any liquids…including the yogurt parfait I had planned to enjoy. I stuffed as much of it in my mouth as I could and threw it out, and boarded the plane barely satiated and grumbling about the $10 latte and soda we had just chucked.
Needless to say, we were very, VERY happy to arrive home with no drama on the flight. We were rewarded for our trials by – my suitcase arriving in Minneapolis. One thing went right on one of our European travel days. It was enough to make me want to plan the next trip.